Author Up Challenge – Day 7

The Little Girl and Her Imaginary Friend

Imaginary Friend, Unknown Artist

Happy Mother’s Day!

Welcome to Day 7 of my journey through the Author Up Challenge.

Today’s writing prompt was:

Day 7: Write From the Perspective of a Child

The extended part of the prompt was to write with a “childish” view of the world, with careful word choice and with dreamlike imagery.

The only thing that came to mind for this prompt was a piece I wrote from an image (above) a while back about a girl and her imaginary friend. I decided to revise and expand upon the original, because I so enjoyed the story idea and felt I could do it better. At first, I thought of taking off the beginning scene, with the mom and daughter, but decided to leave it, because I think it is a good intro and since today is Mother’s Day, I figured I could turn this piece into a lovely tribute to my mom. 🙂 So the book at the end is a Sesame Street book about Grover she read to me as a child, The Monster at the End of This Book, and the title and the story material were just too perfect. The theme of the book is basically, not all monsters are scary and bad. And that’s pretty much what this story is about. 🙂

~ Effy

Tea Party

Mom watched with amusement as Becca carefully spread the strawberry jam on her sandwich. Eight years old and already insisting upon doing so much herself. It almost made up for this imaginary friend business–the doctor had said children usually outgrew imaginary friends by age seven at the latest.

She ruffled her daughter’s bobbed blonde locks of hair, and Becca fidgeted out of her reach. “Mom…” the girl complained. She wrapped up the sandwich and placed it gently in her backpack with the other one–the sandwich for Casey, Becca’s imaginary friend.

“Sorry,” Mom said with a soft chuckle and threw her hands up in defeat.

“Well, I’m off. Casey and I are going to play.”

“Yes, and I’m sure Casey will appreciate the sandwich,” Mom replied, trying to keep a serious face.

“She will. Strawberry is her favorite too.”

Mom just continued to nod as Becca shouldered her backpack and skipped out of the kitchen’s backdoor. She watched as Becca crossed the yard and disappeared into the dense greenery of the trees lining the yard.

“Imaginary friends…” Mom said, trying to remind herself that it was the sign of a creative mind and nothing to be concerned with.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Green leaves shook on their branches in the spring breeze and Becca smiled and waved back. The young girl skipped over crunching pine needles and dried out old leaves, taking in the smells and sounds and sights around her. The sun snuck its rays between the closely standing trees and caught falling specks that glittered like flitting fairies.

Becca hopped and tried to catch one. Maybe a fairy queen would grant her a wish!

But she didn’t let fairy-chasing delay her too long. Casey was waiting.

“Casey? Are you here?” Becca called, cautious to keep her voice from being too loud, even though she was sure she had gotten far enough away from the house. She didn’t want Mom finding Casey.

“I am always here, little friend,” a deep voice replied. The voice seemed everywhere at first, surrounding the girl like a warm blanket.

Two golden orbs, like twin suns, appeared before the girl. The eyes, each easily the size of her head, hovered in the air among the tree branches for a moment. Then the greenery of the forest around the eyes shimmered in waves like hot pavement until a long, scaly muzzle the color of sunlit summer leaves appeared inches in front of Becca.

“Welcome back,” Casey murmured, twitching her lips. The edges of the dragon’s mouth curled up in a reptilian smile, showing the mouthful of teeth lining her muzzle.

The girl giggled and threw her arms around Casey’s nose. “I missed you,” the girl told the dragon. “I wanted to come visit you everyday! But school and Mom kept me away.”

Her annoyed pout lasted only a moment. She was so happy to see her friend.

“I missed you as well, little one,” Casey admitted, and nuzzled the girl back with the rounded end of her long nose.

“Oh, Casey!” Becca exclaimed, sprinting to her backpack. “I brought my favorite doll, Miss Heather. And her friend, Mister Teddy. And my favorite book. And sandwiches and tea–so we can have a real tea party!” The girl pulled items out of the bag in a flurry of motion, setting each on an old tree stump as she introduced them. The last item out of the bag was a bottle marked Lipton filled with light brown liquid that sloshed as Becca set it with a thunk onto the stump.

“Strawberry?” Casey asked, tilting her large head and widening her eyes.

“Of course! I know it’s your favorite!”

“Mmm,” Casey purred, and sniffed at the tree stump.

“Wait, wait!” Becca said, raising her hands. “Let me set everything up first.”

“Oh, all right.” A smooth rumbling noise came from the dragon as she chuckled.

Casey watched as her friend arranged the tea party. Becca draped a blue bath towel over the stump, making a lovely tablecloth of it. Then, she set out four tiny plastic tea cups on four tiny plastic saucers. Next, were the two sandwiches, set opposite each other–one for Becca and one for Casey–causing the dragon to twitch her nostrils and stir a soft breeze that made Becca giggle. Lastly, the girl set Miss Heather and Mister Teddy to either side of the table.

“Okay,” Becca said with a look of pride at her accomplishment.

Then, she changed to tea party hostess. “Thank you, everyone, for coming to have tea with me today. Please be seated and I will serve us.”

Casey smiled and rested her head on the ground in front of the table, listening and slowly blinking her large golden eyes.

“Now, you say ‘Thank you for inviting me and being such a gracious host,’” Becca prompted.

“Thank you, Becca, for inviting me and being such a gracious host,” Casey replied, her smile widening.

“Miss Becca,” the girl whispered beside her hand.

“My apologies, Miss Becca.”

Becca smiled and kneeled before the table. Then, she began pouring the tea into the tiny cups. As she did, she asked Heather and Mr. Teddy how the children were and what was new with them, nodding politely as they answered. Becca leaned over and tipped a tea cup first to Miss Heather’s mouth, then to Mister Teddy’s.

“Isn’t this fun?” Becca asked, a huge smile lighting up her face.

“I cannot recall ever having more fun. I’ve never been to a tea party before,” Casey replied.

The dragon looked fondly upon the little girl as Becca unwrapped the sandwiches and extended Casey’s toward her. Casey stuck out her tongue, a great pink thing, longer than Becca was tall, and took the sandwich with great care. It disappeared with one flick of Casey’s tongue and a satisfied look spread across the dragon’s face as she made a purring noise.

Becca giggled and took the biggest bite she could from her own sandwich in response. Casey chuckled back.

Then, the dragon dipped the tip of her tongue into her own tiny tea cup and looked happy with the taste of the sweet drink Becca had brought.

“Oh, I also brought a book!” Becca suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands and holding the fingers tightly laced together. “It’s a book my grandma read to my mom and my mom reads to me and now I want to read it to you.”

“That sounds lovely,” Casey said.

“It’s called The Monster at the End of This Book.” With that, Becca scooted up against the side of Casey’s nose and settled herself onto the noisy bed of pine needles and leaves, opening the book and beginning to read.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.

Author Up Challenge – Day 6

sunlight through leaves

Continuing on… Now for Day 6 of the Author Up Challenge!

Today’s prompt was:

Day 6: Write From the Perspective of an Elderly Person

More specifically, it mentioned looking back on their life and their memories while intermingling it into a short story/scene.

It took me a while to get started on this, because I spent most of my brainstorming time stuck on thinking about regrets at the end of life. This was far too depressing for me to put words to paper, so finally I decided I had to change gears.

A while back, when I was taking an online course about Worldbuilding from Writer’s Digest, I wrote a piece about an elderly elven woman who is nearing the end of her life. I decided to revisit this piece, update it, and expand upon it by adding memories. I agree this piece is much easier to follow without all of the footnotes and funky Gaelic words, though, those were interesting to research (and probably butcher). 🙂

Enjoy!

~ Effy

The Ritual of Life (Revised and Expanded)

The elderly elven woman came to a stop and leaned against the thick trunk of one of the many aspen trees. The cool, smooth bark helped refresh her and she pressed her wrinkled brow to it. Her breath came labored, something that never gave her problems in her younger years, but those years were far behind her. Now, even the leisurely pace she had set for herself to get to the grove had exhausted her.

1036 years would do that to a body, even an elven one.

The forest keepers prepared for the ritual of life, but she had some time.

“Today is the day–the day I rejoin the earth from which I came. I have no regrets. I have lived a long and full life. I have seen more than I ever expected in my time.

“I have seen the destruction of our forests, our Ancestors. I have seen the shattering of our world. I have seen the rise of the humans–these irreverent foreigners–and their conquering of this land which withers at their touch. I have seen many atrocities against the elven people. But we have endured and we shall endure.”

She held her hand against the trunk of the aspen tree before her. “Ancestors, lend me your strength. I need it right now more than ever before.” She closed her eyes and opened her mind.

“Mother,” the elderly elven woman whispered. Her breath had returned to normal but she still felt tired. She wanted to sit down, but she knew that soon it would no longer matter. Soon, she would join her Ancestors. “Mother, I go to join you today.”

And we will welcome you with open arms, my daughter. We are very proud. Your strength, your leadership, has helped lead the elves through many trials. Because of this, today you become one of us. To live on and to spread your wisdom.

The voice that came into her head soothed her and suffused her with a warmth that revitalized her. It continued then, not in words, but in images and feelings.

The old woman saw herself much younger, just a child, and following her mother around. Her younger self tagged along behind, gripping the tail of her mother’s shirt, and listened to every word, watched every interaction, drinking it all in.

Then, she appeared in her early adulthood, a time period immediately recognizable. Just remembering it so vividly caused the old elven woman to swoon with emotion. The sky roiled black and foreboding above, except for the frequent white flashes of lightning. The rain had not yet begun, the rain that came to wash away what was shattered, but the ground shook with great violence. She saw herself helping an old grandmother out of the crumbling city of Bethel. The streets heaved and broke apart around them. But some force protected her as she got out elf after elf–young and old, male and female–and led her people to the quaking woods beyond the city.

Next, she was older again, though not as grey as she was now. She had become a teacher. She taught young elves their history and evoked in them the pride of their heritage. The old woman’s heart soared with this memory, wishing she could forever share her knowledge with her people, forever remind them of all they were and all they could be, despite the decaying world around them.

Yes, my daughter, you will continue that work.

A touch came to her shoulder, drawing her from the memories and the voices of the Ancestors. One of the forest keepers, a young girl with ginger-colored hair, though not as brilliant as the old woman’s now-greying tresses had once been, smiled at her. “Grandmother Etain, it is time,” she said, addressing the old elven woman respectfully and by name.

Etain nodded. She leaned on the arm of the forest keeper and let herself be led to the circle of those who would begin the ritual of life and lead her to her second life.

Soon she would be free of this aging body. Soon she would be one with the Ancestors. Soon her mind would be one with that of the forest. Soon she would lend her wisdom to future generations of elves.

Etain could not help wondering if the transformation would be painful. She knew the Ancestors would be with her throughout all of it, but her mind began to wander to such things. Things like how differently it would feel to be an aspen instead of an elf. How would it feel to have no arms or legs or eyes or mouth?

“Grandmother Etain,” the lead forest keeper said, his voice carrying above all other sounds in the clearing, “let us begin.”

The old elven woman walked slowly to the center of a circle of elves all wearing the airy, light brown robes of the forest keepers. They tightened the circle around her and took hands. She stood in a shaft of bright sunlight–the spot for the ritual of life chosen for that exact reason. Its warmth lit her face and she closed her eyes.

Chanting arose around her. It started slowly and seemed to waver around her as it grew in sound and pitch. Everything except the chanting and the sun on her face fell away.

All at once her fingers and toes began to tingle. They felt as though they were elongating–her fingers reaching for the sky until she thought she could almost touch it and her toes penetrating the earth beneath her and seeing how deep it ran.

Then, Etain felt the sun’s warmth change. It suffused her in a way she never expected. Her arms reached for it. Her fingers drank in its energy. She felt it all through her, revitalizing her. It was an energy she had not felt in many years, a youth and strength she had almost forgotten.

She felt a need to look around her and a brief moment of panic rippled through her.

Fear not, daughter. Open your mind and you will realize the vast world your senses can now witness.

She saw, not with eyes, but with another sense entirely. The outline of every tree of the forest came to her, and she saw the lifeforce pulsing within each one, flowing slowly like great, individual rivers. Then, she realized she could also see the elves, the keepers of the forest, still gathered in a circle around her. They did not flow like rivers, rather they each pulsed with a self-contained lifeforce, and because they were so focused they shone like bright green flames.

The epiphany that came to her at that moment changed her view of the world. Even her long life as an elf was merely a flash of light compared to the slow and plodding of the existence of the Ancestors.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.

Author Up Challenge – Day 5

prescription drugs

Wow, I’ve made it to Day 5 of the Author Up Challenge. This is quite exciting.

Today’s prompt was the opposite of yesterday’s:

Day 5: Write From the Male Perspective

No additional writing prompt today. Today, I am feeling a need to be raw and open. This piece is from a male perspective, but it is also very personal. After 20 or so years of being in and out of relationships, I have a general idea of how difficult a person I am to be with. So this is a fiction piece but also a cleansing of my soul, I suppose you could say.

Enjoy. Please let me know any thoughts you might have about this piece in he comments below.

~ Effy

The Story of My Life

I always thought songs about love being like a drug were an exaggeration, until I experienced it first hand.

Sienna made me love her until I needed that love. At times I got high on her, but others I felt the headaches of her romance hangover. She was passionate and emotional, which could be either awesome or exhausting.

In the beginning, all of her passion burned like a bright flame and drew me in–an ignorant moth, hypnotized by her. I got singed, but I went back again and again. To be with her was almost painful, but to be without, an unbearable agony.

Sometimes, the terrifying fear of drowning in all those conflicting colors and sensations overwhelmed me. More and more often I hurt rather than rejoiced. I had to come up for air and when I did, it left me drained, fighting to not succumb to tidal waves of emotion.

Her passion came out in other ways too. Her temper, mostly. Quick to jump to conclusions, she could turn from hot to cold in half a breath. I didn’t always know what would set her off. I didn’t know the reasons that preceded the perceived offense. I didn’t know how to handle the walls of defensive anger that would follow. I could never tell whether she was pushing me away or desperately begging for my understanding in her own distorted way.

One day I realized the suffocating sensation that filled my waking hours–the dreadful feeling of tiptoeing around her triggers. I longed for the loving passion, but feared the passion that drove our every argument.

And I ended it.

Sienna wept some, but I’d never seen her so composed. Her calm was more alarming than her anger, but perhaps she too recognized the sickness that plagued our happiness. Or maybe she couldn’t bear for me to see her in a moment of weakness.

Months passed. My life has reached a place of normality and contentment if not outright happiness.

So why did my fingers type her email? Why did they form a pageful of confused sentences? Why does my finger hover over the send button? Why do I crave a small taste of that crazy intensity that my life now lacks?

She is the drug and I am the addict.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.

Author Up Challenge – Day 4

rain puddle reflection

It’s Day 4 of the Author Up Challenge, and I’m still going strong.

Here’s today’s prompt:

Day 4: Write From the Female Perspective

I think I’ve got the female perspective down–I’ve got some experience. So I just needed to spark an idea. I came across this prompt on Pinterest I really wanted to use for something:

Writing Prompt: Last Line - I find peace in the rain.

I decided it would be interesting to use it for the beginning and the ending. I went through some ideas–like the last line being final to the story and the character, and I also played around with the idea of the rainwater being the what caused the death somehow. In the end, I decided on a poem. I’m not sure if all of these pieces are supposed to be prose. If so, I guess I broke this one. 🙂

~ Effy

Salty Rain

I seek peace in the rain.
Falling drops drizzle
And hide the tears
That stream down my face.

The rain, it draws out
The hurt, the pain,
And sends invisible
Tracks down my cheeks.

The rain, it brings out
the reasons for my
loneliness and heartache–
Romance gone awry.

Is it me? I often wonder.
It seems too consistent
To be everyone else,
But I know I’m not that bad.

But it seems to be all my fault…

Spouting opinions that matter only to me.
Losing my temper.
Taking on too much.
Trying to fix the world.
Needing to make everything perfect.
Always being write, or do I mean right?
Being too bluntly honest.
Causing offense unintentionally.

Add them all up into
Someone impossible to live with.

There’s got to be one,
One perfect person for me,
In a world full of billions.
Someone who understands.

Or maybe he doesn’t exist
And romance is a farce
Made up by Hollywood
And too many fantasy books.

I search for happiness
Within myself, with myself.
Self love, self acceptance,
And awareness of the real me.

The water that streams
Down my reddened face
Washes away the tears
And I find peace in the rain.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.

Author Up Challenge – Day 3

A Moonlit Garden

Hello, Day 3! Welcome back to my progress through the Author Up Challenge. I thought this one might trip me up, but I pushed through.

Today’s prompt was:

Day 3: Write in Third Person Omniscient

Well, it took me forever to come up with a scene for this. I’m still not 100% happy with it, it’s only vaguely omniscient. Third person omniscient seems so awkward and lazy, and I’ve trained myself for so long to try and get into character’s head one at a time. Usually I write in third person limited and if I need a new point of view, a change scenes and switch then.

I used a writing prompt for this that allowed me to stick with the fantasy genre, once again from Pinterest:

Writing Prompt: He waited for her.

But I’m still feeling all sappy and romantic. So I apologize. 🙂

~ Effy

Rendezvous

Lazarus waited for her, knowing Rosaelyn always ran late. He expected it of the princess, with all her responsibilities to the kingdom of Zandra. They filled much different stations–he being only a captain of the royal wing command–and though his demands were great, he knew they paled beside those of the princess. He had to remind himself of this, despite the fact she had requested to meet with him.

Their evening meetings were becoming harder to arrange. The last had been over a week before.

Lazarus may have appeared nervous had anyone passed by, straightening his cuffs and adjusting their place within the chestnut-colored jacket sleeves, signifying his place of command over the bronze squadrons, but quite the opposite. Lately his human form felt more comfortable than any other. Nor did Rosaelyn’s tardiness make him nervous. With King Evrain sick, much had fallen recently to his only daughter. She may have lacked in punctuality, but she never missed an appointment.

He enjoyed the view while he waited, standing in the royal garden and surrounded by trees and flowers native only to far-off Sandrae. The climate of Zandra was much too cold for them naturally, and only the greenhouse and the care of dedicated gardeners allowed them to grow here.

No one bothered him. The night stretched on into twilight and the garden remained quiet. The two moons, Harendar and Solintar, shone brightly and lent their light to the darkened garden.

“Captain Lazarus.” The familiar feminine voice came to his ears, soft yet formal.

He turned and smiled. “Your Highness,” he replied with a deep bow.

“I appreciate your agreeing to meet with me,” princess Rosaelyn said. The pale light made stark shadows on her face, and her auburn hair cascaded in dark locks, almost black, to either side. She took him in with eyes that were bright, catching every ray of light and reflecting them back upon him.

“Anything for you, princess. If you required my life, you had but to ask.”

Rosaelyn smiled in return. Her features softened in the pale light. “I did call you here to make a request, but nothing so dire, captain.”

“Ask and it is yours,” Lazarus promised.

The princess hesitated, for the briefest moment. She looked down the path to both the left and right, checking to make sure no one else shared the garden with them. She took slow, measured steps, and it seemed the distance between them was a great chasm of imposing air.

When she stopped, Rosaelyn stood only a step away from him. Her eyes searched his, her request yet unspoken from lips that formed intriguing shadows with their amused posture.

“What do you wish of your loyal servant?” Lazarus asked, his voice barely loud enough to cross the space between them.

“Kiss me,” she commanded in a breathy whisper.

Lazarus closed the distance dividing them with one eager step and leaned his face to hers. Lips met and embraced with familiarity and longing. His hands found her shoulders and his fingers entangled themselves in her long hair, tugging her closer.

Rosaelyn alternately gripped and caressed along his back and shoulder blades, feeling the warmth of him against her and relishing the fit of their bodies.

Countless moments passed, though they seemed too fleeting compared to those that had made up the intervening absence. Lips separated and Rosaelyn nuzzled against Lazarus’ neck, still pressed to his chest and not wanting to allow any air to intrude between them.

Lazarus stroked her hair, his head leaning against hers.

“Lazarus, there’s something I must tell you,” Rosaelyn said after many more moments of touching and silence.

“What is it?” He drew back at the seriousness of her tone and looked into her eyes. Those eyes, dark and shimmering, gazed back with sadness.

“It’s my father…”

“Has he gotten worse?” Lazarus squeezed her around the shoulders.

“He’s as well as can be expected.”

“What then? What saddens you?”

“He worries for me,” Rosaelyn began, faltering. “He wants to know I will be cared for when he is gone, and he has arranged for me to be married.”

Lazarus felt he had been kicked in the gut and took a moment to catch back his breath. “Is that what you want?” he asked when he could.

“No, of course no. I want to be with you.” She buried her face in his neck. “But how can we tell anyone about us?”

Lazarus nodded, as much to himself as her. “I know, it would be as much of a problem with Hephaestus as with your father.”

A dragon and a human? It was against the laws of both races and part of the treaty signed when the alliance had formed between Zandra’s ruling family and the metallic dragons. Lazarus and Rosaelyn had known, had fought their feelings for almost a year, but it had not stopped them from falling in love.

But now, it seemed the forces that could not keep them apart would succeed in breaking them apart.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.

Author Up Challenge – Day 2

D&D Black Dragon

D&D Black Dragon — Property of Wizards of the Coast

Welcome to Day 2 of the Author Up Challenge! I’m on a roll so far!

Today’s challenge was equally simple and open to a wide variety of possibilities:

Day 2: Write in the Third Person (Limited)

There was a prompt also given, but the email for this challenge mentioned internal struggles versus external struggles–so I felt this piece would be the perfect way to accomplish some of both. I already had about the first half dozen or so paragraphs written prior.

This the black dragon piece for my growing collection of dragon short stories. (See the others here: Green, Red, White.) This leaves only the blue dragon piece to be started. Progress!

The above image is a D&D black dragon. The dragon and his/her surroundings (a very creepy looking swamp) partly inspired this piece.

This is the first scene a longer short story, to be concluded later.

Enjoy!

~ Effy

The Dead Swamp

Moern knew the terrors that cried in the night were not his imagination. They were real. But he didn’t know their names, if they had any. And he didn’t know their faces, nor did he want to.

Whatever light the moons and stars shared with the denizens of Dadreon that night got swallowed up by the thick fog that hung in the swamp like a soggy curtain. It made a night that was impenetrably black. The fog muffled the sounds of the swamp, making them less distinct and seemingly faraway, but more eerie for their lack of location.

The merchant wished there were a better route from Balk to Traeg, but to bypass Dead Swamp would add several days to this trek. Time he could not afford to lose–time was money. The market would not wait. The customers would find other traders for their wares.

He’d finally broken down and hired a mercenary to guard himself and the wagon. Solvi was a northerner from her accent and her pale, cragged skin. Her temperament was colder than the tundras of that icy place, and Moern mostly left her to herself. As long as she performed as paid to when it mattered, he might get through this ungodly place without an incident like the last time, when he’d lost most of his goods to a band of roguish knolls.

Moern knew far worse things crept just outside the flickering, swaying light of the lantern lashed to the front corner of the wagon. Its dim yellow light lit the back of the horse’s head and little else in the murk. Occasionally, the lantern would tilt just so and a shaft of light would stretch out and illuminate the edge of the road. Each time, Moern swore he saw something skitter out of the light. It made his imagination stir with the dark possibilities of what lurked there, just beyond the light. Further out, Moern saw only curtains of black moss and what he swore were hundreds of eyes, watching, some blinking, some unblinking.

Wiping the chill sweat from his brow, Moern flicked the reins gently and made a clicking noise with his tongue. The horse perked up and quickened from a walk to a trot. Solvi did the same without a comment or even a glance in Moern’s direction. Her eyes scanned the darkness around them, her sword out and ready to strike, and Moern breathed easier for the knowledge.

“That sword will not protect you from the terrors of this place,” a rumbling voice purred. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, impossible to place in the damp and suffocating swamp.

Moern swallowed and became uncertain whether to continue forward or take off back in the other direction. Before he could even mutter, “To the abyss with this!” the horse had made the decision for him, stopping dead in the road, prancing and tossing its head. The whites showed in the beast’s terrified eyes. The man barely succeeded in keeping hold of the reins and the panting creature ignored his tugging.

Solvi looked on edge but collected. Her outward calm kept Moern from full panic.

“I would ask you to drop the weapon, but it will not stay me from slaying you both.” The voice seemed amused in a nonchalant way.

“I will not let you rob this wagon, villain,” Solvi said to the disembodied voice.

“Villain?” There came a rough coughing sound that Moern realized to be low chuckling. “What makes you call me a villain?”

“You mean to rob us, surely,” Moern sputtered.

“Rob you? There is nothing in that wagon that could possibly interest me.” The voice dragged out the last syllable until it strung out into a surreal note that bored into Moern’s head like a termite into soft wood. It set his teeth on edge and made his head ache.

“Then, why impede our progress and terrorize my horse?”

The horse, now frothing at the mouth, continued to quiver and stamp its hooves.

“It does not know true terror.”

Giant yellow eyes blinked, appearing suddenly from the surrounding blackness to the left of the road, their greenish pupils adjusting to the lantern’s light. A great reptilian head detached from that same murk, its face resembling a lizard skull with the ebony scales and skin beneath drawn too tautly. Pointed teeth lined a smirking mouth that could not contain them. Spines jaunted from its cheeks and up the side of its head to two giant, curling horns, making it almost look like an emaciated mountain goat, and completing the nightmarish visage.

Moern only noticed the horse was frozen in fear because the reins had stopped shaking in his hands. He too was unable to move, unable to tear his gaze from the dragon’s yellow eyes. He could only watch, jaw slack and eyes wide, as the wyrm snapped its jaws around the horse, ripping an ear-splitting shriek from the beast. A quick shake snapped the horse’s neck and tore it loose of the wagon. Moern barely noticed as the reins were ripped from his hands. Then, it two quick motions, the black dragon swallowed the horse whole.

“That is terror. Wouldn’t you agree?” The dragon grinned and it was a ghastly sight.

When Moern and Solvi remained silent, and wyrm continued on, unperturbed. “Don’t worry. I promise your fates will be far more interesting.”

With a foreclaw supporting talons the length of the tall northern woman, the dragon grabbed Solvi by the face and snapped her neck with barely a sound uttered. Only a noise like crackling underbrush and the clatter of her sword broke the silence of the stifling swamp.

Then, it came face to face with Moern and grinned again, its wicked teeth jutting in every direction. “You will make an excellent test subject.”

Moern fainted, sparing him from witnessing his own fate.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.

Author Up Challenge – Day 1

A Raven

I have decided to take up this Author Up Challenge over at She’s Novel. I will attempt to make it 30 consecutive days, but we’ll see. I know my horrible track record when it comes to long periods of posting everyday. I’d rather get all the way through the challenge then to get halfway and get frustrated with myself for missing a day or two. My goal is completion. Consistency would be a great added bonus.

Each day has a fairly simple and kind of vague writing challenge. For example, the first one:

Day 1: Write in the First Person

The email had some ideas to get you started with writing deep into the character and even a starter sentence writing prompt, but I remembered one I’d seen on Pinterest yesterday, and decided to use that one:

Writing Prompt: I hold his sword and wonder if he was a good man.

I’ll admit right off, I’ve been in quite the sappy romantic mood this weekend. (I read the first three books of the Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer and so enjoyed them that I’m now anxiously awaiting the fourth book.) So that romanticism may have seeped into the idea I had brewing for this challenge. A little.

Enjoy.

~ Effy

The Sword

I hold his sword and I wonder if he was a brave man. Did he go valiantly to his death or did he beg and bargain for his life?

From the craftsmanship of the sword, a good steel blade with no chips or pits, and the breastplate that would surely shine if not for the layer of mud tinted with blood, I imagine he was a knight. All knights are gallant and true, this knight being no exception.

I see the shining knight on his white horse. The sun, halfway up its journey to the heights of heaven, shines behind him, making him brilliant as God Himself. Pennants of red and gold flutter above him and across his chest and shield, leaving no question of his loyalty.

The knight’s eyes flare like burning emeralds from beneath the visor of his helm as he shouts encouragement to his men. He inspires bravery in them and fear in his enemies. Though he is hopelessly outnumbered, he takes down a score, no two, before his many wounds prove fatal. Even with his dying breath he tells his men to fight on and protects his fallen horse next to him.

Beside where I picked up the sword, I find a tattered, muddied cloth. It must have been the favor of a lady fair, for luck and the hope of safe return. “Take my token with you, sir knight,” I whisper, speaking her final words once more to the fallen champion. “Be protected by God and love.”

Why is fate so cruel?

My heart aches with the unjustness of it as I clutch the sword and the soiled handkerchief.

“Anya! Finish up over there! It’s getting late and I want out of this stinking field.” Ulric’s voice comes to my ears impatient as always. It’s harsh tone and loud volume turn my fantasies to scattered tendrils of memory, blown by the wind and snatched away by plump crows.

He gazes hard at me, then shakes his head, pulling the dingy handkerchief back over the lower part of his face. He goes back to his searching, tugging behind him a cart full of swords and pieces of armor and other valuables glinting in the late afternoon sun.

I try to reclaim the story of my white knight, but he is gone. Nothing but the ghosts of this place remain.

I curtsy, solemnly, to the knight. “Rest in peace, good sir.”

Then I too continue on, dragging along my own cart. It thuds and clatters along through mudholes and over the splayed limbs half-buried there. The cart grows in weight as does my wandering mind.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.

National Poetry Month – Week 4

Leather journal

More poems from Twitter. This time I think they need no more introduction.

~ Effy

Twitter Prompt Poetry

His intentions were
Oddly noble
His deeds quixotic
I admired his
Romanticism
But fell prey too often
To his mishaps
#artwiculate

I imagine…
Worlds of fantasy
And romance
Where a woman
Can escape the real
And live a life
Created.
#HeartSoup

The work of the writer…
Penning life’s breath
Into characters made of
Ink and paper
Ideas and memories
Heart and soul
#AshVerse

I must confess…
As much as I love gold
I live to create chaos
And so enjoy the agony of mortals.
~ The Dragon
#POMWords

Beware, my fragile heart,
Fall not for pretty words
Or fervent promises
Follow the head
And keep safely in the shadows
#POMWords

Journeying Through Old Lands Poem

Journeying through old lands
Past ruined temples
And overgrown cities
With only the ghosts of beauty
And the fleeting essence of
Grandeur remaining.
#AMSPC

The Fire Played Bashful Poem

At first the fire played bashful
Timidly caressing the wet logs
And popping as
Dampness escaped
Until the wood
Dried and heated
And blazed to life.
#FieryVerse

The murky swamp surrounded them
With the haunting melody
Of night creatures
Creeping along just ot of sight.
#MadVerse

Two lovers uncovered
Like unveiled art,
When darkness claims
The pleading heart.
#MadVerse

Words dangling just out of reach,
Characters hiding their secret desires,
Stories begging to be told–
Awaiting the muse.
#VerseReversal

Spring has not quite sprung–
Waiting for green,
Contemplating sleeping blooms,
Dreaming in the color of lilacs.
#AshVerse

Too many tries at falling in love,
I’m tired of spinning around.
How do I keep upright?
When I’m downside up and upside down.
#FieryVerse

The school semester grows old
And classes draw to a close.
I prepare to both say goodbye
And start with a clean slate.
#SoulHoot

Other Twitter Poems

Sometimes love is selfish
Sometimes love is unkind
Sometimes love just isn’t enough
But usually love is blind.
#amwriting

Interrupted thoughts,
Discarded images,
Broken connections,
Stories left untold–
Now just crumpled pieces of paper.
#amwriting

I'll Seize the Isle of Love Poem

I’ll seize the isle of love
In choppy seas now won.
‘Til one night emotions lay trussed
By the white knight who sighed.
He gives a side glance
And sees the wide aisle
Between our trust and lie revealed.
#homonyms

Note: This last one was from a Creative Writing prompt we did in class. Our goal was to use 6 homonyms (words that sound the same but have different spellings and meanings) in a short piece.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.

Poem – Fleeting

Jetstream, by Unknown Artist

Jetstream, by Unknown Artist

This is the first free write from Creative Writing that I have tidied up and decided to share. Above is a painting shared by my teacher. Below is the poem it inspired. My apologies for the glare on the bird. I took a picture of the painting and didn’t notice the glare on the tiny screen of my phone.

Enjoy!

~ Effy

Fleeting

What was I saying?
The answer,
The thought,
Stood firmly in
My mind,
And now it’s gone–
Stolen away
Like a twig
Snatched by a bird
To build its nest.

What were we saying?
Perhaps I can
Steal it back,
Return it
To where it was
Before.
Sadly, thoughts are
More slippery than that,
Words more elusive,
Like butterflies,
Which once caught
Can never fly again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.

Poem – A Full (Empty) Life

A Water Glass

Perhaps I was already melancholy at the time, but I read a writing prompt that made me more so. It was from the blog of J.C. Cauthon:

The worst thing in life is to live a full, rich life but still die alone.

It really got me thinking about how I’ve tried to balance a relationship with family and work and school and writing. It always seems an unequal balance. How can I make a decision between what is “more important”? It seems impossible and unfair.

I’ll try and make sure the next piece I post is more cheery. 🙂

~ Effy

A Full (Empty) Life

The meaning of life
Is it money?
Is it fame?
Is it legacy?
Is it love?

Life does not balance easily.
It careens us back and forth
Like a demented teeter totter.
It forces us to make decisions
And choose sides.

Do I devote myself
To work,
To knowledge,
To writing,
To love?

Which will I choose today?
Who is more important?
Such unfair questions.

Do I focus on me?
How selfish!
Do I focus on you?
What if you leave?

At least if I’m happy with myself
I can survive.
Better than being happy with you.
Because then I could not bear
The parting.

Why focus on others?
Why leave my life in your hands?
Everyone leaves.
Only I stay.

What makes this life
Full or empty?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Creative Commons License
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.