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

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.

Spirit Wave

Granddad left my family with a cabinet of the best Irish whiskey he accumulated over 80 yrs. Clear and potent, almost like a witch’s brew we always dreamed of tasting when ever dad cracked open a bottle. Its scent wound round the house gut-punching any unsuspecting fellow.
it crept into my room a fortnight ago, punching the breathe outta my weary lungs. invading my tiny, book clustered single window room.
A single whiff and he was here, body, soul and full gusto. Just like old times, i and my grandpa played away time with card games. Who says who have to drink spirits to see Spirits.

Two Score and Counting

Down the colonnade, she strolled humming my song. Every evening I watch as she sings her way into my soul, she looks so carefree. An oasis of calm in the hurried crowd milling tonight. She stops barely a feet away, I can hear my breathing. The evening breeze twines her perfume past me.
Is this the night I speak to my beloved?
I’ve thought of so many ways, each sillier than the last. Watching and waiting for weeks, my stay was at a end. I will be on the next boat home on the morrow, it was now or never.
It feels just like yesterday, as we walk hand in hand down the colonnade, her hearty laughter still makes my heart skip; 42 years and i wish to do it all over again. We do this every decade or so.Me: I cant wait for another decade Lucy.

Lucy: Huh? Jeff what are you talking about. She bends towards a purple window lily.
These are so beautiful Jeff.
Me: Just like you always are dear.She always laughs, i want to hear this forever.

PHOTO PROMPT- © Sandra Crook


The Trenchers Trio

Gritty, choking hot sand funnels down my throat ridding on the back of the transport.
La Toren shimmering in the distance dunes, the occasional Truck mark we passed hinted at the distance left. It was truck-mania city, any petrol head worth their weight came here to get their fix. I could feel the adrenaline already, fuel hazes, dusty rings and the sweat slicked tattoos shinning from the stands.
Our approach of the town gate grinds to a sharp halt. Right on the causeway, a trio of Inked Trucks, hoods permanently ground shoved. A mere half of the shells grazed our dust reddened sight.

Continue reading “The Trenchers Trio”

The Dinosaur Wars: Duren Hill

‘A lone statue stands on Duren hill overlooking the old battle plains of my era. A testament to the victories of science and the truth of the price we paid in blood. In our haste to conquer history we resurrected the dinosaurs, designed to obey and bred as pets. We invited our predators with open arms, and before long they outgrew our hold.’
The scene of mayhem we watched in history class today seem like forever ago but when my grandfather a Duren Veteran tells it I can smell torn flesh, feel the fear and see endless blood in the fields.

My Fable Tower

Hot dusty roly skies, with winds coming of the range scaldingly dry.
In my fantasy was a meadow of the bluest flowers, my county of Valwall stretching to the wooded horizon courtyards encircle my tower, being the princess meant i got everything i could want. My view still couldn’t stay my shivers, i meet my betrothed tonight.
What is he like.
My wandering thoughts shatter on hearing the chatter of powerful hooves. The horsed figure stops beneath my tower the blackest of cloaks conceal his features. All my thoughts disappear when eyes of the greenest sea collide with mine.

Friday Fictioneers challenge: 15 MAY 2015

Word Count: 99.

Teary Tap

‘Important question. Who guards a mouldy old tap with 2 slim green 3 headed hydras?
Answer: my nice neighbour Mr Stile.
Of course not everyone can see them just my family on the street and anyone else with elf blood. I’ve only seen him at the tap once tho Puri. Knae’s ice coloured eyes reassured me. 3 months back at 12 midnight he came out walked passed the guard animals and got 3 drops from the tap. 3 DROPS!!!!
I just have to know Puri.’ Furring his brows into a puppy look. Knae came closer begging me intensely with his eyes.’

‘OK,ok Knae. On one condition.’ His subdued throat growl told me he didn’t like my but. ‘We find out and do nothing when we know what it is’

‘But Puri…?’ Knae’s voice grew persistent

My hands in the air paused him. ‘Yes Knae, i know’

6 hrs later i felt i should have been more specific. We broke though the wards, put the hydra to sleep and then…..
I had to say it. ‘Knae we have to tell your parents’.
His shocked look belied mine, as we turned back to what used to be the leaky tap.
Now a grown lady mermaid bound to the wall, her green green eyes 
pleading for mercy.

Written for the Friday Fictioneers, check out other posts HERE.
Image courtesy Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

NOTE: I loved the storyline too much to stick to the advised 100 word count. My Apologies.

Winter Fire

Temperature under the zeros, white out for miles around, best place to be in the world. Right beside Jamie in his hot-tub. His winter escape perched on snow dunes overseeing a steel-thick ice lake.
48hrs ago i couldn’t have imagined this.
Relaxed under his dreamy touch. Lifting my hands, drawing him close in the same motion i aim to return the favour.
His eyes fluttered every time i swept my sponged hands over his lower back.
“Ovie, you really shouldn’t tempt my resolve right here and now”, smiling swooningly as he stirs upright to look me in the eyes.

Word Count – 99 words
Image courtesy Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Dusty Ride

Sneezing right now just might damage my brain cells and clothes. John’s nose crinkles and the sneeze is snuffed. Looking around at his sleep cabin mates, his young dusty skin shines in the array of old and weathered men strewn asleep on the floor.
Every morning i go to the mines in this train, the horizon doesn’t change, dawn or dusk irrelevant to my miner eyes. I can’t help but think maybe I’ll end up like them, stuck in time. The endless vicious cycle of this ghostly outback town in Australia’s huge dust bowl.
His mind whispers; “Jump off now”.

Word Count: 100
Written for Friday Fictioneers: 10 APRIL 2015