Caught Daydreaming

Our eyes meet through the glass.  My heart skips and tension constricts my throat.

Flustered I stand silently beside you, as though we are old friends and this is not the first we meet.

I wonder what you think, desiring to know everything filling your mind.

Nervous, awkward, I fish for words.  Irony, being a wordsmith with none on my tongue.

Desperately I wish to just stare at you.  Study you.  Take you in.  Memorize every detail as you sit across the table, before moving to my side.

Under scrutiny, I do not stare.  I hold my breath finding words for the first time -though, they do not flow as I might wish.

Amid the constant distraction, I am aware of warmth.  You are there beside me.  It is real.

Every little detail swirls in a fog of delightful memory.  Memories to recall forever.

A gentle guiding press, directing as we walk.  When we stop your eyes pierce my soul, sending electricity through my chest.  I have never known a “spark”.  Who knew they felt like lightning?

Is this how Imprinting should feel?  Searing into my chest forever the wondrous desire for you?

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Writing Prompt Response: Out My Window

A box of concrete with two windows and a door is the place I’ve been hiding out.

Beyond the windows, the air is cool and crisp.  Green hills, with trees fading into autumn rest a gentle distance away.

Clouds are coming in, shading the world in gray.  it’s a beautiful sight, so inviting- enticing me to play… and yet I never leave.

Somewhere in the forest, all the Fae folk reside.  They’re having feasts and fellowship, dancing from dusk to dawn.

And yet for some reason, I remain alone.  Watching  Nature’s divine romance set the trees aflame from the window of my concrete hollow.

Perhaps I will join them tonight.  Embrace Freedom from this cave.

Depression is a fight, causing one to miss out on the beauties all around us.  Beyond the window of my concrete box are all the things I long to have, and none that I can touch.

Perhaps one day things will be right.  At least for now the window is open.  I can watch and enjoy the breeze.  The fresh cool air flourishing my spirits, and giving my heart new life.

Hi, it’s me, a little miss Nobody

And I want to share, is anybody listening

All of those times I was strong

I carried on, breathless and silent

Now I’m alone.  Does anybody hear my screams?
The words, they’re biting.

Yet the pages are still so dry

I stare mindless into outer space because

Nobody can hear me, nobody will see me.
Out there in the great big world of drivers,

So certain of the way they’re going.

Taking this road, that road, winding.

And yet here I am all turned around and sliding.

They make it seems so easy,

They make it seems so Right.

Each one has someone beside them.

Each one has someone there behind them.
Steadily I take back the wheel, so afraid of

What lies in front, the headlights are dirty.

The darkness has fallen, and now it’s cold out.

Can anyone hear me? I’m blinded in twilight.

The sparkling shimmer of water on the road guides me.

Back to the freeway where I turned off, for another broken dream.

It’s fading now, the traffic is slowing down.

Somebody crashed.  They jumped out to find,

We’re all just trying to figure this out

And I’ve figured out
I will go it all alone.  I can make it, but I’ll still be alone in the end when I crash.

Wanton Forms of Regret

Love. What is love?

Is it the senseless feeling you have for someone?

Is it the unrequited resolve to stay with one individual person?

She held her glass of wine feeling the tears longing to burst behind her eyes.

Setting her glass on the counter, she tucked her knees up to her chest fighting the urge to cry, replaying the scenario in her mind again and again.

Everything in that moment was bright and colorful. A dream she didn’t get to experience.

She wore a long, beautiful white dress. Her long hair adorning her head as though it were a crown spilling with curls. The long tulle veil was pinned under her hair with a silver comb, falling down her back like rushing water, tiny white flowers tucked into it.

She stood at the edge of a stage waiting for the game to be announced.

He was across the room, wearing a beautiful black suit with a white shirt and silver tie. He laughed brightly, the joy of the day shining off of his face and in his eyes.

He stopped laughing, but the mirth of the moment stayed on his face in a large smile showing off his teeth.

She met eyes, winked and then stood up on a chair with her bouquet in her hands.

Luscious red roses were elegantly arranged with sprays of baby’s breath, little blue flowers and blue ribbon that flowed out of it.

The crowd of eager young women clustered together heightened the cheer, as she faced away from them. She held her breath while the leader of the band counted to three, and then she flung the bouquet behind her.

A rush and screams broke out behind her.  She giggled softly, turning to see who had caught it.

It was a girl she had met, but didn’t know very well. She was a friend of her husbands.

Husband.

The word made her warm inside.  She caught eyes with him.

He watched her intensely, his heart bursting forth through his shining eyes.

That was all she had ever wanted to see.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as the daydream faded into reality again.

That moment had never been hers. And she wanted it so desperately.

From the shining, bursting forth of love in a man she knew beyond a shadow of doubt cared for her, to the scramble of single friends awaiting her bouquet.

The image was so vivid, and so real.  It only added to the trauma of her breaking heart.

Faith picked up her wine glass again. After another swig, she set the glass heavily down and half-ran to the sofa, throwing herself into the arm, hugging a pillow into her chest as she began to sob.

Rewriting Fairy Tales – The Tin Soldier

Some stories are well known, from beginning to end, and their words play over in our minds.

But sometimes these stories that we know so well, did not happen they were written at all.

Take for instance, the love story of the Tin Soldier and the Ballerina.

What we all remember was an act of love, where you find the smelted soldier and the ballerina burning together, is not how it happened. No, no, my dear friends!

The little tin soldier had been wounded in a battle with the mouseking. Thankfully, the nutcracker and his dear girl had vanquished the foul beast, and ran away unscathed. But not so for our particular soldier. This little soldier of tin had lost a leg in the battle.

When he was found, his friends placed him on the mantle shelf. There he stood in a place of honor above the fireplace.

He was happy and content to watch the household affairs, knowing that he had been brave and true during the battles. Every time the nutcracker and his lady danced, a smile would warm the tin soldiers heart. His sacrifice was worth the effort as long as they lived without fear of the mouseking.

One day, the shelf was being rearranged by a maid as she dusted and cleaned. Gazing softly at the one-legged tin soldier, she happened to notice that he looked quite sad. Of course he must be, to stand there all day with no one to keep him company.

As she cleaned, she looked for something who would make a good companion.

She dusted over faeries, and dolls, dainty animals and beautiful butterflies. It wasn’t until her eyes lighted on a beautiful little ballerina that she smiled brightly, and took the figurine over to the mantle to join the tin soldier.

The maid smiled happily, satisfied with how fine the pair looked together.

When the ballerina glanced at the soldier she was to keep company, the girl grunted.

“And who are you?” She asked bitterly, “And why do you stand as the centerpiece, when you only have one ugly leg?”

Knitting his brow, the soldier was taken by surprise, “I helped save the nutcracker and his lady during the battle with the mouseking. I alone was injured this severely, and they wanted to honor me by placing me here where I could be remembered.”

A laugh bust forth from the ballerina that made the tin soldier angry. Who was she to mock him?

In the following days, the ballerina continued to jab and jeer. She was incapable of kindness. Her words tore his heart to shreds, and the tin soldier became less and less proud of his place on the mantle.

As winter started to make the days colder, fires became a more common occurrence, warming up the mantle above.

The tin soldier would watch the flames, mesmerized by their dance. They comforted him in his growing place of bitter sadness.

One night, the nutcracker and his lady threw a party, and all of the toys were invited. That is, all but the tin soldier and the ballerina, who seemed to have been quite forgotten by the others as time passed by.

“Look at them dance! Look at them laugh! They all have fun, while I am stuck here with you. You, the legless wonder his friends have forgotten.” She sighed, sitting down to dangle her legs over the edge, “You only hobble and would make me do all the work, so of course I can’t dance with you.”

Her words stung, and the toy soldier began to fume with rage.

As she continued to make her fun, she did not notice the darkness crossing his little eyes. She did not notice him begin to hop slowly, deliberately in her direction. She did not see the fire reflect in his eyes as he crept closer to her. She never knew how angry he had become, until she felt him shove her off of the mantle.

With a scream, the ballerina fell down, down, down, into the fire below.

Everyone gasped, looking up at the soldier who was losing his balance, until he wobbled off the edge.

By the time everyone had raced to the fire, it was too late. They couldn’t save either of them.

In the morning, the servants came to rebuild the fire. They found the tin soldier, smelted down into the shape of a broken heart. The ballerina’s plastic body was all mangled and cold. Her expression forever stilled in surprise and regret.

The maid was informed of the findings, and she, my friends, is the one who assumed it was love. For her efforts had put them together. But it was her good intentions, that had lost them both.

Writing Prompt Response

This is my response to the monthly writing prompt in a group I am apart of, and help admin, called Den Of Quills.
Den of Quills can be found online in three different locations!
Website: http://www.denofquills.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/denofquilla/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/denofquills

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Prompt: Write an indefinite amount of words to form either a scene or story that includes the following sentence: “I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. And I want to forget you exist!”

As they waited in awkward silence for the train to arrive, Felicia wasn’t sure what to think anymore.
It had been a beautiful summer, until last week. Last week had changed the tides completely in their relationship. It would never be the same. She knew it. She knew it with everything in her.
Turning to Dax, Felicia’s eyes glossed over with tears, “Will this be the final goodbye?”
Dax’s jaw was firm, he shifted it a few times as though the moment were difficult for him as well.
While the train pulled into the station, steam catching on the bottom of her skirt and gently swirling it for a moment, Felicia felt her heart break for the third time in a week.
Passengers unloaded and reloaded, as they remained silent.
Boarding Felicia, Dax was sullen, stern even.
As he passed her the last piece of luggage, he set his jaw again.
Her heart raced, knowing this was the end.
Firmly, without missing a beat, Dax said, “I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you, and I want to forget you exist.” With that, he turned abruptly, and walked swiftly away.
Felicia felt her hand draw to her mouth in response to her disbelief.
As she silently cried, before the whimpers were able to escape her throat, she realized just how severe one little lie could be.

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Den of Quills is currently in line for publishing our first Anthology project called, Den Of Thieves, as well as beginning our next Anthology project.  Several new Authors will be featured for the first time in this book!  Promotions and information on our projects to come!

The Ranger Of Severum: Episode 5

Trillian held his breath as the musty scent of the damp palace filled his nostrils. The women of Severum were allowed to clean, but Sideon preferred the depressing, gloomy air that hung even in the open areas of the Palace. It fed his evil soul the tiniest bit of comfort. Trillian did not find the air unbearable. The Master Trainers and Rangers were allowed brighten the fragrance of their rooms with the spicy aroma of pine. Though dreading the scent, Trillian also found it welcoming because it meant he was home.

The Ranger walked swiftly into his Master’s study, fearing the punishment in store for him. When angry, Trillian was the one Sideon took it out on.

Trillian was different from the others, his tolerance to withstand punishment was higher than most anyone else’s in Severum. He could bear it without discouragement, whereas many of the other men found themselves degraded and self-conscious.

Sideon wanted a chance to break that in him and to cause Trillian to crumble as the others, but his attempts were frustratingly futile.

Trillian stood at the door in procrastination. He finally raised his fist to knock just as the door swung open.

There, face to face, Trillian met Sideon.

“So, you finally come to me?” The Lord of the Rangers started.

His dark hair was pulled back and held in place at the nape of his neck. Streaks of gray ran above his ears and one shock trailed from the center of his brow down the back of his head.

The Old Master was in his five hundredth year and his life was coming to a close, though at least another hundred lay before him, belying the signs of age.

His angular face smoothed with relief, “Trillian, you are well aware that keeping me waiting is not a good idea. You know what happens to those who try my patience.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Wake up in a nightmare, you will, if I catch you coming to me late again.” As Sideon closed the door behind Trillian, the Master’s attention was drawn immediately to the severed wing which hung helplessly down the left side of Trillian’s back.

“What have you allowed to happen to yourself?” he shouted angrily. Sideon could seem merciful and gracious the one minute, but the next his anger would surpass constraint as he let loose in violent fury.

Trillian held his breath, ready to give his well thought explanation, but before he could begin, Sideon started right into his questions.

“So, did you complete your second mission?” Sideon asked impatiently.

“Yes Master, not one troll was left.”

“You had no encounter with any enemies?” Sideon clearly wanted the account concerning Trillian’s wing.

“This did not happen in Taar.” Trillian began.

“And has it something to do with the woman everyone watched you walk in with? Is she the one who gave improper care to your wing? I know you did not do that.”

The accusing tone in Sideons voice gave Trillian nervous pause.

“Tell me, what was she doing as she bandaged your wing?”

“I made no form of contact with this woman. I merely saved her from a small band of the Druids of Câr. She asked me to escort her to Severum this morning after she had given care to my wounds.”

“I do not believe you,” Sideon said with raised eyebrow. “I will have some of the satraps inquire of her, and if I find any reason for you to not be in earnest, I will send you and her away in disgrace.”

“If you will but give me a chance to explain—” Trillian suddenly collapsed to his knees as pain shot through every nerve in his body.

Sideon contemplated the idea of hearing his explanation, “Very well, I give you five minutes.”

Trillian related every detail that had happened from Taar, to fighting off of the last Druid.

“You used your power against them? You are not one who can work against the powers of the druids. What were you thinking?” Sideon asked angrily.

Trillian nodded, “I know that I should not have been so hasty in the matter, but I found this challenge welcome amid the frame of mind that had settled upon me.”

Sideon remained silent, so Trillian continued.

When the Trillian finished, Sideon sat back reflectively, “Your story does seem to carry some truth in it. You completed the task I sent you forth to do, you earned your punishment for combating alone, and so I suppose there is nothing left for me to do. Well done, Trillian.” He mused, tracing a finger beneath his chin. “What does this woman want?”

“I am not sure,” replied Trillian.

“Then I am giving her situation to you. You are free to go.”

Trillian knit his brow and stood, “Thank you, Master.” he replied slowly.

“Hurry and go to the healer. That wing must be tended immediately.”

“Yes, Master.” Trillian bowed at the waist, then turned to leave. He was confused, but was not going to hesitate for a moment. The mercy he had just acquired was a precious gift indeed. His hand caught the knob, and Trillian was gone without taking a look back.

Sideon almost laughed in glee, as Trillian closed the door behind him. He clapped his hands together in delight, lacing together the pieces of a grand new idea.

“Rûthlion!” Sideon called out.

“Yes sire?” the general entered from a side door.

“I want you to keep an eye on Trillian. This is the second occurrence of such events. You remember what kind of revolt he ensued last time, we do not want that happening again.”

“Yes sire. And the woman?”

“She can remain. Yulissa is promising, maybe she will be the one to beguile him.” Sideon mused.