Rite of Passage

“Catherine don’t just stand there like a dead duck”
“….but aunty?”
“I would have you know in my days I was flawless , none of this sweating and shaking.‎”
The door to our left opens and with a quick push she sends me on my shaky feet through the open doors.
The orchestra switches to a low song on my third step in, and the crowd sweeps back.
All eyes on me.
One, two, three….my sweaty foot slips deeper into my kitten heels. Four, five, six…..in the center hangs the chandelier that has seen generations of debutantes, with its splendor of little lights.
Seven,…my ankle gives way and the floor rushes into view I could see the chandelier as it winked at my grand tumble head first into adulthood.

Inspired by Friday Fictioneers 23 SEPTEMBER 2016

Image Credit – Roger Bultot

Family Dinner

Typical dinner small talk.
‘Auntie dearest, so glad you survived’ said Alex solemnly.
‘Ho, but I’m all better now thanks to your half-baked brother not finishing me off properly’ her smile spoke volumes.
‘but Auntie innocent until proven guilty’ Alex replied coyly.

Family, I love and hate them under these twinkling lights.

Inspired by Grammar Ghoul Shape-Shifting 13: 56

Friday Fictioneers: Legois Chronicles

The acid smell of burnt flesh still rings in my memory. The smell and pain felt as of another body not mine, as I stood overlooking the plains of ascension the book a pile on the pedestal while my flesh crinkled and charred black like burning paper.

I was unworthy. Unworthy to read the Chronicles of Legois, the quest was a complete disaster. Months of journey, loss of trusted friends and warriors the ascension was over and I had been discarded by the very thing I sort above all.
Stepping down from the pedestal, I felt the silence of every worn down soul the few who made it inches from deep despair. My hands where proof that the book was indeed alive and also of my failure.
The book chose who was worthy of its knowledge, the trials to reach the book where a test of a seekers heart. It had read mine and I failed.
Simon approached me, wet bandage in hand. No words where exchanged in our little party of 9 as we made the solemn walk down to camp at the Base of the tower. The night was spent in silence as well, the crackle of the wet logs the distant animal calls on the plains where the only sounds all night.
A thick cloak of despair hung on the camp all night till morning. The captain sat aside from us, staring at the hastily wrapped hands I had tried my best to salvage, the pain will surely only come after the shock wears off.
We had lost too much. Too many good souls to reach this worthless ascension plain.
Gritting my teeth at the memory of how we sacrificed the 11th man, Gregg to leave the catacombs leading to the plains.
The captain knew Gregg from childhood, his weary figure cloaked in despair only made me realise the hero’s journey is never worth all its peril when you are not one of the chosen

Inspired by Friday Fictioneers: 14th April, 2016.

The Iron Lady’s Shadow

 “As her mount shifted uneasily under her, she grasped the brim of her old felt Stetson, gazed upwards and remembered Jean Pierre.”
The musty old cologne he layered on every morning just before giving her breakfast. The snide words and hateful banter as she chowed the almost pre-digested slurry he cooked up in the guise of charity.
Right after this daily ritual, the radios came on. All 6 of them. Tuned to all the police channels and one specially for the local crime station. No tv though, he always said it disturbed his chi. The rest of her days with him passed staring at the steel silhouette of the Iron Lady of Paris and the millions of night lights, knowing her home was one of them.
As they said our good nights, she would hear the rattle of the door chains and the frustrated clicks on all the windows. Jean never slept with the windows open. Every click, every night one more away from her family. So close yet so far.
The morning of 4th September, 2061 started with a single click. Teargas flooded the apartment and safety came in the guise of chaos.
6months in the grasp of her kidnapper, an obsessed and closet sociopath.

This was as he said in defense. It was his way of keeping her safe, the next day was supposed to be her day and she would have been saved from this dirty world.
One more day was all remained in his perfect plan to keep Marie safe forever in the afterlife.

Inspired by Mondays Finish the Story – Sept. 7th, 2015