Secrets Kept, Secrets Revealed

Write On Edge gave a prompt this week around the word core.  While I've already written one piece exploring the idea of a person's core, I continued to think about it.  Following Emma's story that started back during the prompt about Dusseldorf, here is part of her search for the core.  If you've missed it, click the link below for the previous parts of the story.

One Night in Dusseldorf

Without further adieu, here's Secrets Kept, Secrets Revealed

“How-?  What do you-?  I mean,” I fought to keep my careening mind from going down in a spectacular wreck.

Kris moved across the cave with a predator’s supreme grace to tower over me.  His golden eyes reflected the faint light like golden pools at sunset.  His scent reminded me of a rich, loamy forest after a fresh rainfall.  I felt myself relaxing, my frantic thoughts calming near him.

“How do I know what you’re looking for?  What do you mean my sister?  I mean, what are you talking about?” he whispered.

I nodded, mesmerized by the way the shadows danced across his finely sculpted face.

“Brayden is mine.  He tells me what he knows.  He sent you to me because I am one of the few who can help you find out what happened to your sister.”

The shock of hearing Brayden’s name from this man snapped me out of the reverie I was falling into staring at this man’s striking appearance.  It took me a second or two to process what he said.

“What?  Brayden is yours?  Tell me what you know about my sister,” I couldn’t talk fast enough with the flare of pain and anger at comprehending his words.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught the look James shot Kris.  Kris stepped away from me with a dark look back at James.  Clearly there was something more going on here than I was catch on to.

“Do you think perhaps there are better places and times to be discussing this subject?” James broke the silence.

“Yeah.  Let’s go,” Kris’s manner had changed.  Even his voice was rougher, colder.  He stalked out into the damp forest.

James took my arm to lead me out after Kris.  He stopped when I didn’t budge.  I just looked at him, waiting.

“I am sorry, Emma.  We do not have time for this.  We must leave, now.”

“Not until I get an explanation as to what the hell is going on here,” I stood waiting, my arms crossed.  I didn’t know if James realized I had a pair of Glock 27s beneath my jacket.

He studied me for several seconds before turning his back and scrubbing his hands through his dark hair.  I guess he didn’t know about the guns.  He had about thirty seconds longer before he’d find out about them in a less than pleasant manner.

“Look, Emma, you are straying into a world of which you know nothing.  Please, trust me when I tell you this is not the place to discuss serious matters.  We will meet Kris in a safer location and you will receive your answers there.  You have my word.”

“And how good is that word?”

Kris’s shadow darkened the mouth, “If you two want safe passage out of here, you’d better follow now.  I can’t promise anything after I leave.”

The two men stared at me, waiting.  The only trouble was I didn’t know if I could trust either of them.

Write on Edge Prompt: Core

This week's prompt:

For this week, I gave you the word “core” and 450 words to explore any meaning of the word in a work of creative non-fiction/memoir or fiction.

When I read this week's prompt, I knew immediately the core I wanted to get to was one inside of us all.  Where is that line we all have that we would never let anyone cross?  Where is that heart in a person that will not break or give up ever?  It took a while for this scene to come together in my mind enough to write it.  I have to admit, I am somewhat fascinated by my female character here.  Let me know what you think of her!

            She couldn’t stop shaking.  God only knew how long she’d been chained up there.  She had no doubt it’d been way too long.  Was anyone even looking for her anymore?  She’d been blindfolded and moved several times.

            The heavy clanking of the ancient lock roused her enough to look up.  She remembered when that sound made her heart race and body tremble for an entirely different reason.  The harsh light coming through the door cut into her eyes like shards of glass.

            “So.  Have you changed your mind?” his voice a grating avalanche to her sensory deprived ears.

            She didn’t respond.  She knew he’d take her lack of response as capitulation from her but she couldn’t muster the energy to care anymore.  The pain and hunger gnawing on her like mice in a pantry needed to end.  There was nothing in her cell, not even clothes to cover her emaciated frame.

            ‘Not like anyone’s looking at me.  There are enough black and blue shades covering me to be an art class example.’

            “Good to see you’re not so bull-headed anymore.  I told Marcus you’d break eventually.”

            He yanked her to her feet and threw an old coverall at her.  Tears splashed on the filthy floor as it scrapped over her battered body.  Chains back on, he towed her to the cockpit.  He shoved her into the second seat and took his place at the controls.

            “What are those coordinates?”

            “Omega sector.  454 mark 295,” she whispered.

            His face lit up as he punched them in with relish, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.  I’m gonna take extra special care of you and that brat of yours.  Just you wait and see.”

            Setting the autopilot, he jerked her out of the chair back toward her prison.  His words echoed in her mind.  When he stopped to unlock that door, she struck.

Kicking his right knee out, she wrapped the chains around his neck and her legs around his waist, pulling with a strength she didn’t know she had.  He struggled to stand, his leg giving out on him, sending him reeling.  He backed into the wall over and over trying to smash her into unconsciousness.  Somehow, she held on.

An eternity later, he collapsed.  She still didn’t let go.  A small crimson stream dripped out of his nose and mouth onto the pristine metal floor distracting her with the odd shapes it made as it pooled beneath them.

Realizing he hadn’t moved in a long while, she inched the chains from around his neck and untangled her legs.  Rising to her feet, she studied him a moment longer.

“No one threatens my son,” she spit on him as she turned to the cockpit, “Ever.”

I have to pee...

I couldn't think of a fiction response to the prompt this week.  So I thought I'd try my hand at something more akin to creative non-fiction/memoir.  I don't usually write in this genre so any concrit you have would be much appreciated.

This week's prompt - Makeover: It’s time for a change in outward appearance, be it a character, yourself, or someone in your life. In 500 words or less, write about a makeover of your choice (hair, clothes, makeup, facial hair for the menfolk), fictional or memoir/creative non-fiction. Let’s think about how physical appearance changes can affect the inner landscape.

I have to pee.  It’s a reoccurring theme in my life lately.  Why?  I’m six months pregnant with my first child right now.  I always knew changes like this came with having a baby, plus a whole myriad more that I never dreamed of and still probably don’t really know about.  I feel like I run to the bathroom every twenty minutes.  I know it’s not that bad at this point, but it certainly feels like it.

Furthermore, I can’t decide which is worse – having to run to the bathroom every couple hours or getting up two or three times a night to pee.  During the day I’ve noticed that it doesn’t matter how recently I went to the bathroom, it doesn’t take long before I have to go again.  Is it just the weight of the baby and everything else?  Is this kid tap dancing on my bladder?  I’m not sure.  What I do know is that inevitably I will have to go once every couple hours.  But, after I lay down to go to sleep, that weight is shifted and baby can no longer tango in bad places.  My body seems to work better and within an hour or so of lying down, guess what – I have to pee.  That’ll happen at least another time or two throughout the night and, once in a while, even more often.

What’s even better yet?  My doctor is constantly reminding me to drink more fluids.  Fluids seem to be the cure all for pregnancy issues from headaches to fatigue to Braxton-Hicks contractions.  I already have to pee way more frequently than I ever did before.  Drinking more fluids is only going to make that worse even if it makes the rest of it better.  Pretty soon I will be taking up residence in the bathroom.  I think that in place of, or at least in addition to, some of the baby samples and coupons, toilet paper companies should send out samples and coupons to pregnant women as well.  They’re missing out on a great marketing opportunity.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I do understand very well that so far I have had a pretty easy pregnancy.  No significant morning sickness, no major appearance changes other than the complete lack of any waist line to speak of, and no complications.  Everything has been about as textbook as possible.  Compared to what I could be dealing with, I will take the frequent trips to the bathroom any day.  I wouldn’t trade this for the world, though.  I’ve felt my baby kicking and moving for a little while.  I already can’t imagine life without the baby at this point.  I look forward to what life has in store for me once the baby gets here.  Until then, frequent trips to the bathroom are a major change for me and I needed to whine about it a little.  Or at least give a few people a laugh today.

On that note, I have to pee…

Write On Edge Prompt: Paying Back What You Owe

This week's prompt puzzled me at first.  Then this idea came.  It's a little different from what I ususally write so I hope you enjoy it.  As always, feel free to, kindly, let me know what you think.

This week, write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece about a time one of your main characters finds himself or herself paying back a debt–financial or otherwise.

You have 500 words, so use them wisely, and we’ll see you this Friday to link up.

He looked around but nothing was familiar.  He couldn’t remember how he got here.

“Hello!” his voice echoed into the inky blackness, “Anyone there?  Please help me!”

A burst of rustling came from behind him.  He spun around looking for the source of the noise, his heart pounding.  He didn’t see anything.  The sound repeated behind him again.  He turned again trying to locate it.  When the noise happened for the third time, he froze, waiting to see what would be next.

“Jonathan Davis.  I have been waiting for you,” a sibilant bass whispered inches from his ear.

He jumped, turning again to see nothing but the pervasive blackness, “Damn it!  Who are you?  Let
me see you!”

“This is fascinating.  You are all alike.  You insist on having a visual construct,” the voice observed,

“Since we will get nowhere until you are satisfied, look upon this for I do not think you would appreciate my true form.”

An even darker shape materialized in front of Jonathan.  It was somewhat humanoid but the proportions appeared slightly off.

“Where am I?”

“Limbo.”

“What?  How did I get here?  What’s going on?” Jonathan struggled to breathe.

“You are dying.”

Jonathan felt as if he’d been sucker punched.  He couldn’t seem to get enough air and his head kept spinning.  He sat down hard.

The shape sighed again, sounding like a giant steam engine, “Let me answer a few of the questions your insignificant brain is trying to process.  Yes, you are dying.  No, you do not remember what happened and will not for a while.  Who am I?  I have many names.  Some have called me Hades, others Santa Muerte, yet others Izanami.”

“You’re the Grim Reaper?” Jonathan coughed.

“Yes.”

“But I’m not ready to die!  I have a trip next month.  I’m getting promoted at the firm!”

“It does not matter.  You are dying.”

The specter watched as Jonathan struggled to grasp what had happened to him.  Several minutes later, Jonathan stood up and visibly squared his shoulders.

“So what happens now?  Is this where I stay forever?”

“No.  You must face your accounting.”

“An accounting of what?”

“Your life.  The scales of justice must balance or you will be required to pay back your wrongs.”

The shadowed figure turned and gestured.  Jonathan’s life began to replay in the mist where the Fade pointed.  Jonathan noticed a second image of an old fashioned pan scale near the first.  He couldn’t tell which side was which, but there was a distinct tilt.  Jonathan looked back at the image of his life just in time to see it disappear.  The scales were still uneven.

The figure of Death turned to him, “Your life was out of balance.  You must repay your debts to preserve that balance.”

“How do I do that?  What happens if I don’t?”

“You have time equal to the length of your life to redress your wrongs.  If you fail, you will be condemned to Hell.”

Everything faded into darkness.

Into The Fire

This started as the response to a Write On Edge prompt, One Night In Dusseldorf.  But, the ideas continued to pop into my head.  These characters just don't seem to want to leave me alone.  So, here's the continuing story of Emma and James.  Their story started here.

James led Emma to the edge of the city.  There an old growth forest began.  Ancient trees sheltered the ground so well little grew beneath them aside from a few species of shade loving plants like ferns.

The misty rain that continued to fall evoked a rich, loamy smell that comforted Emma.  She watched James search for several seconds before finding a trail that led into the darkness of the trees.

“How much farther is it?” Emma whispered as if afraid of disturbing the stillness.

“Tis not much farther.  Their sentries should be stopping us momentarily.”

“What do you mean, sentries?”

“As I said at the pub.  This clan is very secretive.  They fear much of the modern world.  Sentries are posted to keep people from straying into their territory accidentally and to be certain visitors have no hostile intentions.”

“What’ll they do about me?  I presume they know about you.”

“I pray they have enough faith in me to allow you safe passage.”

Emma stopped, “You pray?  You pray!!  Look, mister, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing but I don’t find it funny at all.”

“I am not playing a game, Emma, this is serious.”

Emma never learned what James was going to say next.  She woke up sometime later in a cave.  James sat talking with another man at the mouth.  She lay very still, trying to hear what they were arguing about before they knew she was awake.

Before she had a chance to hear what they were saying, the two men turned to face her.  Glowing golden eyes chased her into the darkness as she squeezed her eyes shut pretending she was still out cold.

“Please do not pretend to be unconscious, Emma.  Kris has already informed me you are awake,” James’s voice came from near her head startling her into opening her eyes once more.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kick your ass right now,” Emma grumbled as she stood up.

“Perhaps because you do not know the way back to Dusseldorf from here?  Would that be sufficient?”

“I could figure it out.”

“You’d never make it past my sentries,” Kris spoke up in a distinctly American accent, “Ant to even try them you’d have to get past me.”

“And who are you?”

“Emma, may I present Kris.  He leads this pack.  Kris, this is Emma.  I spoke to you of her approximately one month ago.”

“What James is trying to say, Emma, is that I’m the guy that can give you some answers.”

“How do you know what I want to know?  Wait, let me guess.  James told you.”

“No.  He just told me you wanted to talk to me and that I might be interested in meeting you.”

“Then how do you know what I’m looking for?”

“You want information about your younger sister.”

Emma sat back down hard.  Her whole body trembled as she struggled to breathe.  She’d been so careful about the information she gave.  She didn’t want anyone to know it was her younger sister she looked for.

And this stranger knew.

Character Sketch

So, this started out as a prompt from Write On Edge about the idea of an anti-hero.  The point was that an anti-hero is different than a villain.  My piece, started out as this, but evolved into more of a character sketch.

You see, I created this character as a supporting character for my NaNoWriMo 2011 work.  But in writing that story, I discovered this supporting character, Shawn, had a story I was itching to tell as well.  So, for the moment, I am still getting to know Shawn.  Hopefully I will be telling his story before too much longer in an organized piece.  There is an earlier bit about Shawn in the Romantic Things Happen prompt.  Until then, enjoy this snippet of character sketch about Shawn.

He watched, helpless, as she washed down a handful of pills with yet another cocktail.  He’d done everything he could think of to help her, even sending her to rehab three times on two different planets.  It never lasted long.  Someone would come around, link her or email her and she’d disappear.  Sometimes it was just for a couple hours.  More often it was for days, even weeks.  Every time she turned up after that, she was drunk, high or both and it would start all over again.

“Whad er you lookin at?” she demanded only half focused on him.

“Nothing, Rach, nothing,” he sighed

“Then go ‘way.  I’m shelebratin.”

“What now?”

“Mah new job.  It’sh on…”she nodded off as the pills kicked in.

He sighed again.  Nothing had changed.  He knew he should was his hands of her, walk away.  But he couldn’t.  They had too much history for that.

Instead, he settled her bar tab, roused her enough to get her on her feet and steered her out of the bar.  Once outside he picked Rachel up and threw her over his shoulder as he made his way back to her quarters.

‘Maybe I’ll find something about this latest job after I get her to bed,’ he thought.

Reaching her quarters, he palmed open the lock on the door.  He still couldn’t decide if it was prudent or pathetic that he had to program his print into her door lock just for situations like this.

He gently tossed her onto her bed and left her.  It was all he ever did to get her into bed anymore.  As he nosed around her computer for anything to tell him where she’d been for the last month or, just maybe, where she’s headed next, his link chimed.

He tapped open the line, “Yeah.”

“Where you been, man?  I’ve been waiting for almost an hour.”

“Sorry.  Meant to link ya.  Shit came up.”

“Rachel back around?”

“Don’t start.  I know what you think of this.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?  She’s messed up promotions for you twice now.  You’d have the blue ink if it weren’t for her.  She ain’t ever gonna change.  Not while you’re around.”

“And what am I suppose to do, abandon her just like everyone else has?”

“No.  Make her take care of herself for once since you two met.”

“Easier said than done.  You know my history with her.”

“Whatever.  This never gets anywhere with you.  So, you comin’ or not?”

“Yeah.  Give me a sec and I’ll be down.,” he thumbed the link closed.

Looking around, he sighed and headed out, palming the door lock on the way by.

Write On Edge Prompt: Romantic Things Happening

Things need to happen in a story. This we know, but sometimes the advice we get regarding exactly what needs to happen… well, it frankly sucks. Take this one, pulled from an unnamed source, and quoted in Marion Roach Smith’s The Memoir Project:

“Today’s fiction tip for writers: A good way to ‘liven up’ the plot of a novel is to give the characters some romantic interest. Wrong: Doreen entered the room. Right: Doreen entered the room and had sex with Roger.”

For Friday, we’d like you to take this advice with a grain (or a generous handful) of salt. Introduce a romantic interest or opportunity and see what happens.

Word limit: 450



This is more of a character sketch than a piece that will be included in an actual story somewhere...I think.  Either way, let me know what you think and please enjoy.

Shawn sighed as he wiped the blood from his face.  Rachel would kill him when she got her hands on him again.  And that was going to happen any minute.  That she was in love with him was a given.  The problem was that he didn’t know for sure how he felt about her.

Which was how I ended up on this mission getting my ass kicked, he thought to himself.

With a strip of relatively clean cloth from his undershirt keeping the blood from running into his eyes, Shawn ghosted his way back to the extraction point.  Nights were short on this planet because of the binary star system it orbited.  The first morning rays painted the way to the waiting spacecraft.  And her.

She was tall with long dark hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.  She was also the only woman he’d met in his career that stood a chance of beating him in hand to hand combat.  And she was the pilot on this mission despite everything he’d done to get away from her.  But she wasn’t watching his direction at that moment, giving him time to study her.

He’d known instinctively Rachel was a good woman, the kind he’d have thought about bringing home to meet his family before he lost them.  But there was also something about her that set his teeth on edge.  He just couldn’t figure out what it was.

His movement caught her eye and she turned to him.  He watched as relief was replaced by fear and anger.  She’d seen the blood.

“Shawn, baby, what happened?!” he could see the unshed tears as she ran to him.

“The mission.  Whadda ya expect?” he brushed by, head pounding too much to deal with her.

Shawn stepped onto the shuttle and froze.  A woman sat strapped into one of the passenger seats.  She was thin, too thin.  She had strawberry blond hair.  Shawn’s blood boiled when he saw the bruises on her uncovered skin.  He couldn’t tell much more about her since she wouldn’t look up at him.

He moved to the back of the cabin, dropped his gear, unloaded his rifle and secured it in the gun locker.  He noticed the woman jump when his pack hit the deck.  Shawn took a first aid kit and went to the head.  He winced as he pulled the blood crusted strip off his head and again when he cleaned the wound.

“That’s the best it’s gonna get,” he muttered.

Shawn put the kit away and turned to head to the cockpit.  As he looked up, he met the woman’s cloud grey eyes.  It was as if she was looking into his soul.

What's Been Going On?

Alright - I have a confession to make...and no it's not a bad thing.  For anyone who's been reading reasonably regularly there are a couple of things you may have noticed.  Maybe not and I'm just delusional, I don't know.  You may have seen that I had started this deal where I was trying to get in better shape and one of the ways I was holding myself accountable was to post certain information.  That has since died off.  You also may have noticed the number of posts I've been putting up until just recently has been much slimmer than normal.  Whether you've noticed these changes or not, here's the explanation.

First, and the smaller of the two reasons, is that work has been pretty insane.  That's just the way life goes when you work with troubled teenagers on a daily basis.

Second - I found out I'm pregnant!!!  My husband and I found out back in December.  We just passed the 20 week mark and the baby is doing well.  We've wanted this baby for quite a while and are ecstatic that he is now finally going to join us this year.  But, that meant I was not feeling well for a while and didn't have the energy or inspiration to post.

So, there you have it.  I'll try to keep ya'll up at least somewhat on what happens on this wonderful crazy journey I've recently embarked on.

Mad Libs!!!!

Ok - so it's actually a Write On Edge Prompt.  But, I loved Mad Libs as a kid and couldn't resist the chance to do one again.  So, without further adieu, here it is!

 Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland: Chapter 7 – A Mad Tea-Party.

There was a car set out under a house in front of the tree, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having doughnut at it: a Dormouse was dancing between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a baby, laughing their toes on it, and walking over its tummy. `Very bright for the Dormouse,’ thought Alice; `only, as it’s asleep, I suppose it doesn’t mind.’
The pen was a warm one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: `No room! No room!’ they cared when they saw Alice coming. `There’s PLENTY of room!’ said Alice carefully, and she sighed down in a mottled owl at one end of the ocean.
`Have some rabbit,‘ the March Hare said in an damp tone.
Alice jumped all round the table, but there was nothing on it but pins. `I don’t see any clouds,’ she tripped.
`There isn’t any,’ said the March Hare.
`Then it wasn’t very smoky of you to roar it,’ said Alice quietly.
`It wasn’t very soft of you to smile without being invited,’ said the March Hare.

Better Late Than Never...

OK - so this was a writing prompt from a week or two ago and I just didn't get to getting my piece edited enough to be put up in time.  But, here it is anyways.  The prompt was to write a scene in 500 words inspired by the quote "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here" (or it's various translations there of) from Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy.  So, please enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think, constructively of course!

"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate” was carved in ornate script and painted in crimson above the door.

“Dante Alighieri.  Nice.  I suppose this is something like the Divine Comedy,” she muttered, pushing those ancient heavy doors open.

Sarah gave up hope of ever finding her sister alive again long ago.  She looked out of habit now rather than any real hope of success.  That, and she couldn’t bear to tell her mother the truth.  Her mother still lived in a delusional world where happy endings still existed.  Sarah didn’t have the heart to destroy that.

Her latest clues led her to this antique house in the middle of nowhere Maryland.  The four acre lot looked just as well tended as the house, which puzzled Sarah.  Everything she found prior to coming said it had been abandoned for longer than she’d been alive.

Inside, Sarah paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim light.  She also wanted to get a sense of the house and its occupants through what she could see.  The house was not deserted, of that Sarah was sure.  There was a sense of life, of care and of energy the house had that screamed louder than any Las Vegas casino sign telling her people lived there.

She made her way through the first floor of the house, careful not to disturb anything.  In each room she saw more and more signs of habitation.  Ten minutes later, Sarah’d been through the whole house and hadn’t found any of its occupants.  Taking a deep breath, she made her way out to the backyard.  Four steps from the back porch Sarah stopped when she saw movement in the trees along the edge of the property.

“We’ve been waiting for you.  Do you truly wish to continue your quest?” a deep baritone called out from the shadowed tree line.

“Who the hell are you?” she shouted back, not sure if she was more startled by the voice itself or the fact that its owner seemed to know what she wanted.

“I am the one with the answers you seek.  But, be forewarned, Dante’s words are above the entrance for a reason.”

“Nice.  How does abandoning hope help me here?  Are you taking me to her grave or something equally creepy?”

“No.  But it is not what you expect.  You must be prepared to accept what you see and not attempt to change it.  Do you understand?”

“Not really but it doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.  What do you want me to do?”

“Stand still,” Sarah found herself blindfolded with no notion of how it happened, “Now, follow the one next to you.”

Someone took her by the hand, a male perhaps, due to the size and roughness of the hand in hers.  They made their way into the woods for several minutes before stopping.  When Sarah’s blindfold was removed, her first sight was of her sister looking alive and well in the middle of the clearing.