Good morning, my queen. Your wish is my command. You wish to know the fairest in the land? Of course you! Who else possess this marble perfection?
(The aroma of your conceit sends delicious shivers through my bones. I drink it like wine, intoxicating ether.)
What thwarts your smile of ice, Majesty? Does trust in your faithful spirit fail? Confide in me your deepest fears, let me assuage.
(Ah, at last to the point. This glass that embodies thins, I taste pain. You succumb, creeping infection beneath the cracked veneer.)
The fresh rose grows to garland the crown? Ah, sneaking life, to overwhelm unchange in perfect metal. Death’s symbol in waking world. Life must die.
(The poison wracks, red blood turns crystal. Beautiful black sucking light, a vessel prepared.)
My queen, my slave unwitting, this mirrored frame no longer. A crown of bone-laid gold weighs lighter than nebulous brimstone. Rose withers, ice shatters, world chars within my empty eyes.
Well it did happen once upon a time. How else would you like me to begin?
As I struggled for breath, I reflected on the events that led to my current situation.
O-kay… Anyway, in an ancient oak in the center of an Enchanted forest lived a…
Don’t say fairy.
Fine. What do you think lived there?
A were-rabbit.
Is it at least a nice were-rabbit?
Sure, all were-rabbits are nice. Everyone knows that.
I see. Well, this were-rabbit loved living in the ancient oak. She…
He.
Sigh. He had been born in a cottage beneath its roots, behind a lovely yellow door that seemed to welcome everyone who passed by.
But behind the door lay a terrible secret.
Look here, who’s telling this story, me or you?
You, but you aren’t telling it very well.
Alright then, what terrible secret could a yellow door and a nice were-rabbit possibly be hiding?
The tree had been enchanted by an evil wizard. Whenever a visitor approached the door, the roots came alive and twisted above the ground.
Oh, I see. So the door drew people in with false promises and the tree ate them for supper.
No! Why would a nice were-rabbit love living in a tree that ate people for dinner? You’re scary, you are.
Right, right. Do please go on. You were just explaining the terrible secret behind the door.
I don’t know, this is supposed to be your story.
Alright then. The were-rabbit was such a nice rabbit that he needed to share his enchanted cottage behind the yellow door with everyone. He had paid an evil wizard to turn the roots into his special security system. Visitors became permanent residents in the warrens beneath, protected from themselves and their misguided desire to leave by the living, twisting wood crawling above them. Everyone lived miserably ever after except for the nice were-rabbit, who never lacked for dinner company as long as he lived. The end. Goodnight.
You call that a fairy tale? Tomorrow night I’m asking Dad.
The sound of the sailors’ feet shifting against the boards grated on the silence. A whispered prayer floated unintelligibly over the water, blending with the fog like something unearthly and dreadful. There should have been waves noisily licking below, the creak of rigging in the shift of the wind.
Edwin closed his eyes, his hands clenching on the railing. Why did the sun he could just make out blazing above not burn off the fog? Could it be the sea witches come to claim souls, as the old seaman claimed? He forced his eyes open and peered into the blanket of white. A good watchman might even see the witches in time to save the crew. Maybe.
A shadow flicked across the dull red glow that was the sun, then another. Whispers became mutters, and a hatch rattled farther up the deck. Edwin set his jaw. He would not abandon his post, no matter how cowardly his peers. He did wish for one of those fine pistols he’d seen while scrubbing down the captain’s cabin, though. He’d bet his shark tooth necklace that a bullet from one of those would even stop a spectre in the fog.
Were those shadows or just swirls in the fog? He swallowed. Maybe not his necklace, after all. He rubbed his thumb across the edges of the teeth, the sharp danger of it slowing his racing pulse. A deeper darkness spread like a great wing just beyond the grayness, and he opened his mouth to call the alert, unaware of the other wrapping soundless coils around his neck.
“Tilda, I think we found another set!” Mario fiddled with a button on his shirt, waiting for his partner to dig herself out of her usual mound of paperwork. “I can’t imagine what they were doing way up here.”
“What strange poses!” Tilda observed, leaning over his shoulder to view the monitor. “I can barely tell which is which, but they seem like they’re upright.”
“Wait, did you see that?” Mario grabbed for the controls, trying to sharpen the image.
“See what?” Tilda’s eyebrows met in the middle, not that that was a stretch. “Hold up, you’re shaking the camera, you’ll destroy the site!”
“How many times do I have to tell you? There’s no camera and we’re not touching the site. We didn’t move anything. They moved!” He stared at the screen, twisting the button completely off his shirt.
“Well, if there’s no camera, how come we can hear sounds from down there? It’s shifting against the rock, I can hear it scraping.” Tilda reached for the controls herself, then froze. “Does – does that sound like – like words – to you?”
Mario’s tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth, the only sound coming out a whimpering moan. Voices like the whisper of falling sand and the cracking of gravel underfoot swelled and eddied within the lab. “Souls,” they said. “So long have we waited for sacrifice.”
Tilda opened her mouth, swallowed desperately, then tried again. “Sa- sacrifice?” She squeaked. The shapes on the monitor stretched in sinuous curves and began to glow a deep red. “I thought all our imaging was black and white.”
One of the stone bodies reached it’s cracked hands upward, impossibly locking eyes with Tilda. “We will wait no more.” The voices issued from Mario’s motionless lips, and the mountain beneath them rumbled. “We are so hungry!”
This week’s response is provided by my kids. Following are two different stories using the prompt. Aside from a small amount of editing, these stories come straight from them and are written in their own voices. I hope you enjoy them.
Thor’s Hammer, by Isaiah
All this happened, more or less. I’ll fill you in on the whole story. I was sitting on the couch, veging out in front of the TV. All of a sudden I heard a CRASH. It was coming from the kitchen. Like any kid would do, I went to investigate. Now I don’t know what I was expecting but certainly not the hammer sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. I cautiously advanced and slowly picked it up. It began to glow. Suddenly a bolt of lightning shot out of the hammer at the microwave. The microwave might have exploded. All I could say was “Uh oh!” When my mom saw the cracked tiles where the hammer hit and the exploded microwave, she was going to freak. Just then a dog appeared, shadow except for brilliantly white teeth. Suddenly more lightning shot out of the hammer, and the dog disappeared. Then it hit me: this was Thors’ hammer. And if it was, then I was his son.
Wild Thing, by Sarah
All this happened, more or less. School. I hate school. In a classroom with twenty other kids. Two are my friends. Five are my siblings. Thirteen kids that I don’t know. And Mama’s teaching. Mama’s great at teaching. I’m just tired. I hardly slept last night. Then, all of a sudden, I’m not in a classroom learning about World War II. I’m out on the prairie with a bunch of wild horses. I’m not even scared. I just run up and jump on one’s back. It’s immediately tamed. I’m riding out here on the prairie with my new horse. It’s wonderful! Then I’m back in the classroom again. Mama’s still talking about World War II. Class is almost over. Aw man!
The month of March is all about books! This week in particular, at least for Smashwords readers, is super special. Books of all shapes and sizes are discounted all week, just begging to be downloaded and devoured by eager imaginations!
_Chosen_, a story of magic, dragons, and prophecy, is one of those. Seline finds herself face to face with the myths and legends that made her childhood bearable, and embarks on a mission to save two worlds from a powerful evil. A nobody all her life, she must also come to terms with her true identity and learn to use for good the power hidden deep within her.
This book is a great read for anyone who loves the fantasy genre. A wide cast of characters, magical accidents, adventure, a hint of romance, and of course dragons will appeal to young and old alike. This week only, and only on Smashwords, _Chosen_ can be downloaded for 50% off, bringing it under $4! Check it out, along with all the other amazing reads highlighted this week.
She sniffed the night air, savoring the smells of grass and dead leaves surrounding her den. A screech overhead drew her gaze, but the owl’s presence woke no concern in her yet.
A musky scent set her body trembling, and her mate trotted out of the underbrush. He sat just out of reach, tongue lolling from his mouth, waiting. She heaved her swollen belly up and attempted to gambol around him playfully, managing little more than a waddle. He licked her nose and trotted back into the underbrush.
She followed him, panting with the effort. It would be the last hunt together under the moon for many weeks. The cubs would be born before another night arrived. A scratching in the leaves behind her stopped her in her tracks, and she locked her chops as her mate crouched.
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
That’s how she knew she had stepped through. Thirteen hours on the clock. The impossible hour. Her breath froze and shattered as another puff left her nostrils. Humans weren’t meant to be here. Well, here wasn’t exactly the right word. Weren’t meant to be… now? Whatever; she needed to get her proof and find a way out before it was too late.
Her fingers, already growing numb, fumbled with the lens cover on her camera. Impossibly, the camera felt warm; maybe it wasn’t the day that was cold after all. She gripped the thing firmly and turned in a slow circle,eyes squinting into the too bright sky.
A – creature – stared at her unblinking from twenty feet away. She thought it wasn’t blinking; she couldn’t seem to focus on it properly. As if it wasn’t quite, well, possible. And it was sort of sitting in mid air, which was really beginning to wig her out. She hastily raised the camera and pressed the button.
The creature squawked and vanished at the same time that the camera disintegrated in a loud black rumbling puff. The clock face cracked and the hands spun out of control. Ice crept up from the ground, locking her in place, and her scream was a silent crystal shooting from her nerveless mouth.
Fifteen years since she had fled the city, a child in a handful of refugees with nothing to feel but pain. Child or not, that last view of the city had been burned into her memory as surely as the real fires had marked her face. She frowned, old scars pulling tight; surely it should look different by now.
The burned out buildings shot twisted iron fingers toward the sky, and the asphalt beneath her feet had melted and cooled into a strange, urban desert floor. The ruins were earily silent, the cracked walls devoid of even the smallest sign of life. She shivered, glancing back at the overgrown countryside, and faltered. The boundary was too clean, too clear.
It had been a mistake to come here; they had warned her, but she had been so sure of herself. Fire leaped suddenly around her, crackling, roaring angrily. The scent of smoke choked her airway, and her coughs joined disembodied screams and shouts that assaulted her from every direction. Despite the flames, her hands numbed with cold, and every cough spewed white mist from her lungs.
Just as suddenly the ruins were empty again beneath the blazing August sun. She turned and fled.
The Word Worker 