Don't Panic Picture Prompt: April 25th

Silly me.  I totally forgot to actually post this last night!  We had three great stories that came out of last week's prompt.  What can ya'll do with this one?  Remember - 500 words or less, relatively PG, inspired by the picture, link up or add your story in the comments below, and due by Sunday, May 1st at 11:59 pm CST.  Show me what you got!

This was taken on a snowshoeing expedition with my family to Rice Lake State Park in January 2016

Random Sunday - Musicals, Thunderstorms, and Mud

My son was in a musical for church this Sunday.  Now, keep in mind, he’s three years old.  What I found particularly cute and funny was his performance.  He’d been practicing his part of the musical for several weeks now.  Instead of going through it like I know he can, he stood up there goofing around instead.  Not naughty, just looking around and waving and taking his shoes off and starting to pull one arm out of the sleeve of his shirt and the like.  It was great humor even though my son was the only one up there doing it.

I love the rain.  I woke up early this morning to the sound of thunder rumbling around and it was perfect.  Not the dangerous storms where damage and harm are done.  This was the kind of storm that you think of when you think spring showers.  I love these storms where the thunder bounces around the clouds and echoes in my body.  The lightning stays up in the clouds and illuminates the contours of the darkened clouds.  These are my favorite storms and what I got to wake up to this morning.

I had an interesting adventure this weekend.  My family and I love to go hiking and such in the state parks.  Well, we went to Moose Lake State Park and did the Rolling Hills trail.  Because it’s about a two-mile hike, we brought my son’s jogging stroller along so he didn’t have to actually hike the whole thing along with us.  I discovered that there were some low spots in the aptly named Rolling Hills Trail.  These low spots also happened to be where there were a number of trees with roots now exposed due to the water and mud.  This does not make for a good combination with a stroller.  Several times it took two of us to get my son and his stroller through those spots.  I felt bad putting his stroller back in my aunt’s brand new minivan.  At least the mud had mostly dried by then.

Studio 30 Plus: The Deal

I haven't visited Studio 30 Plus lately and, with the first spring thunderstorm here, felt the need to revisit the Weather Riders serial.  So, Studio 30 Plus gave us lagniappe or bonus this week.  I kept it just under 1,000 words.  Let me know what you think!  Also be sure to check out other responses via the button below.

                A commotion rattled out in a quick staccato from the front.  Edward and I cut around the corner, not bothering to go back through that death laden house.  Two motorcycle riders were just cutting the engines of their mean looking bikes.  With the black leathers and matte helmets with tinted face shields, I couldn’t even tell if they were male or female.  I presumed male simply because the bikes looked to be the kind men would ride – big, heavy, powerful.

                “May I help you?” Edward’s voice sounded too loud in the silence.  His arms were crossed and he moved toward the riders, blocking their way to the house.

                The first rider reached up to remove the helmet.  In that instant before I saw the rider’s face, I knew it was Caiden.  I’m not sure if it was something in the way he moved, or if I’d grown telepathic powers in the time since I was abducted, but I was so certain it was him I staked my life on it.

                I ran past Edward.  His arm shot out to block my way, but I ducked under.  I missed Micah, though.  He’d been angling behind the bikers and managed to tackle me just short of my goal.  Caiden.

                “Let.  Her.  Go.”

                I’d never heard Caiden’s voice sound like that, not that I’d spent all that much time with him.  That tone was one I generally put high on my “do not mess with that person when I hear that tone” list.  I also noticed in that moment that the temperature was dropping.  From my position half twisted toward the sky I realized the sky had grown to an ominous dark greenish yellow.  Any good Midwesterner knew that meant nasty storms and tornados.

                “I do not know who you are, but you are on private property and I must ask you to leave.”

                Edward was sealing his fate with that statement.  A bolt of lightning arced down to connect to the ground just a few yards from where this vignette played out.

                “I didn’t offer an option.  Let her go.”

                Edward stood for a few seconds studying Caiden and the other biker.

                “Let us negotiate a deal.  Her value to me is greater than you can imagine.”

                The way he said that, I knew Edward was trying to angle for his little ceremony to go off before he let me go.

                “Fine.  Let us parley.”

                “Ah.  The old terms.”

                “I know who you are,” Caiden hung his helmet from a hook on the rear of his bike and swung his leg over, “Now.  Let the lady up.  If you know the old ways, treat her as she deserves.”

                Edward ducked his head, “Touché.  You have caught me out.  Micah, help her to her feet please.”

                “But- “

                “No, Micah.  It does not matter what she did.  A lady does not merit such treatment.”

                Micah helped me to my feet.  I jerked my arm away from him when he held it a little too long after I stood.  Dusting the dirt and grass off, I watched as Edward and Caiden bent their heads together to speak in low tones.  After several minutes of this, Caiden gestured to the other biker, who got off the bike and joined them, still helmeted.

                I tried to inch my way closer to hear what was being said, but Micah stopped me, “That is parley.  It is not to be interrupted or attended by any who are not leaders.”

                “I am my own leader, thank you very much,” I said trying once again to inch my way closer.

                “Not here you’re not.”

                I sighed and gave up.  Micah would likely call his crony in if I kept trying to push it.  So, I started to mull over the whole deadly illness issue Edward had abducted me in an attempt to address.  While I didn’t know that much about Weather Riders and such, my parents were both doctors and I knew a decent amount about illness.

                “Micah, what happened to start the illness?  Who got sick first?”

                Micah stared at me for a long moment saying nothing.

                “Come on!  I’m trying to help here.  That is why your boss kidnapped me.”

                “Abducted.”

                “Whatever.  Are you going to answer my question?”

                Micah scrubbed his hands over his face, “There was an ancient ceremony.  It was meant to bring an end to the drought that’s been killing us as surely as this is.  But, there had to be a sacrifice.  Jana volunteered.”

                “Wait a minute.  Ya’ll killed someone?”

                “No!”  Micah looked as if I’d slapped him.  Hard.

                “You said you sacrificed someone.”

                “Sacrificed, yes.  Killed, no.  Jana was ill.  Her powers were a burden to her, so she volunteered to sacrifice her power in order to fuel the ceremony.”

                “Then what?”

                “People started to get sick after that.  We tried the healing ceremony on our own first.  Marcus volunteered his power.”

                “Was he ill too?”

                “No.  Old.  Nearing the end of his time and he said he didn’t feel like he’d miss the power.”

                An idea was starting to form in my head of what may have been happening to these people.

                “It didn’t work, did it?”

                “They started to die.  Even when we brought outsiders here for the healing ceremony, it didn’t work.”

                Caiden, Edward, and the biker gestured for us to join them.

                “We’ve struck a bargain for your release,” Edward said.

                “Is it a done deal?” that idea blossomed into a plan, “Or can I add a bonus to the deal for not harming me?”

                “A lagniappe?  That has not been done in centuries.”

                Caiden grabbed my elbow hard and whispered in my ear, “What the hell are you doing?  We need to get out of here!”

                “I need to save these people first.  At least the kids, and I think I might know how.  Help me!”

                Caiden shook his head and let go of my arm.

                “Yes.  She is offering Lagniappe.”

Master Class: The Hunt Begins

I took a little break from my normal White Wolves responses for Master Class this week because the prompt furthered a scene in a short story I'm working on so well.  I do have to give a quick warning here.  While the scene is totally PG, there is an oblique reference to child abuse.  Just don't want anyone to get caught off guard.  And, please, let me know if the way it is handled in this piece is problematic.  I am hoping I've addressed it in a respectful and appropriate way, but it is a rough draft and I am certainly not perfect.

Anyways, the one piece of background you need to know for this scene is that "She" is Juno/Demeter/Rhiannon.  In other words, she who is known to be the protector of children.  And my working title for the short story is "Karma Incarnate".  Let me know what you think and be sure to check out other great responses over at Our Write Side via the button below.

                Perfect, she thought.  That was the chance she needed.  Her work could truly begin.  She insinuated herself utterly into his body, her cells paired with his, her heart beat in perfect synchrony with his, her mind enmeshed with his.  His thoughts made her furious and ill.  That part always did.

                In the basement, he sat down and buried his head in his hands.  Thoughts, memories, feeling, and more exploded chaotically.  Regret, fear, satisfaction.  His own childhood memories.  Good and bad.  Pictures.  Films.  They paraded around his mind until he was physically ill.  He sobbed.  He laughed.  He screamed into a pillow.  He punched a hole in the wall without noticing the cuts streaming blood down his arm as a result.

                There was a small part of her that wanted to feel sorry for him.  She saw those memories, too.  There was only one of her and so many more evil-doers that chose to harm children in the world now.  She got there and put a stop to it as quickly as she could.  Just like tonight.  But it didn’t excuse what he did tonight, and the much larger part of her felt no remorse for him.  He had another choice.  He chose wrong.

                All the while she hid in the back of his mind, in the deep recesses of his body, pulling strings and pushing buttons.  Watching while all of his witty untruths crumbled into the blackened detritus they were.

                She backed off and surrendered her influence when she sensed he was at his tipping point.  She didn’t want him to lose it.  That was the easy way out and he didn’t deserve that.  Not even close.  He could have chosen another way.

And you still have a few more days to link up with the Don't Panic Picture Prompt if you haven't yet!  I dare ya to give it a try!

Don't Panic Picture Prompt: April 18th

So, there was one person willing to take the Don't Panic Picture Prompt dare last week.  Who is willing to take it this week?  1-500 words based on the picture below.  Due by April 24th at 11:50 pm.  Try to keep it relatively PG or at least put a warning on it if it may not be.  Put your links or your response in the comments.

from http://www.skylerbrown.com/Albums/The_Modern_Error/pages/Mamie_S_Barrett.htm

Let's see what you got!

Random Sunday - Sore Muscles, Bikes, and Taxes

I got a Random Sunday up on time!!!

Ugh.  Am I sore.  Spent most of the weekend raking leaves up off my flowers and such.  17 paper lawn and leaf bags plus a large garbage can (think about 4 feet tall) later, my leaves are all gone.  Did most of it by myself as well.  My mom came and helped me with the last 7 bags this morning.  Then my mom, my aunt, my son, and I went on a 3.75 mile walk.  Yep.  I’m crazy.  But it was fun.  I’ll pay for it in the morning with sore muscles.  I can feel it already.  I hope the chamomile tea works.

Okay, so this next thought is at least tangentially related to my last one.  At the moment, I hate bike racks.  You know the kind that strap to the back of your car to help carry bikes to selected biking location?  Yep.  Those.  Haven’t used ours in a couple years.  So I can’t remember how it goes on my car, never mind the fact that I have a completely different car from the last time I used it.  I’m really hoping my hubby can figure it out.  I want to go get my bike from storage and start taking my son for rides in his trailer.  Which will result in many more sore muscles.  Again, though, worth it.

I particularly hated tax season this year.  I generally dislike it because I hate doing our taxes.  It’s just such a pain in the behind to sort out all of the various things needed by the respective governments in order to file the taxes.  This year was particularly nightmarish because Minnesota chose not to renew some of the tax break things that the Federal government did.  This led to me having to recalculate some things by hand.  The instructions were so much less than stellar it was crazy.  I ended up giving up and hoping I did it right because what I did was about the best option I could come up with as a result of the poor instructions.  Here’s to hoping I don’t get audited. 

There's still time.  Take the Don't Panic Picture Prompt dare!

#TuesFlashFicTrain: Unwanted Attention

It's a bit last minute, but here's my response for the next part of Gloria's story from the current #TuesFlashFicTrain.  Be sure to stop by Trials and Tribulations of Writing Fiction to read the rest of Gloria's story and to vote on who's offering should continue the train!

                Gloria ducked into a co-worker’s cubicle.  Crawling beneath the desk, she realized it was Frank’s.

                Thank all that’s good I made it to Frank’s cubicle.  He’s careless enough to leave his desk unlocked and lazy enough to leave materials in his desk.

                Gloria eased the drawer closest to her open and rummaged around, praying all the while Harvey wouldn’t hear her.  She pulled out the first container and pried it open.  Peanuts.  Literally.  No help there.  The next container revealed potato chips.  Then chocolate-covered raisins.

                Really, Frank?  Do you really need this much junk food?

                Moving on to the next drawer, Gloria first pulled out a box of paperclips.  Better, but not overly helpful yet.  At least not unless she wanted to keep Harvey close to her.  Pencils and one dried out highlighter were next.  Then, in the back of the drawer Gloria found a small wooden box.  She rolled it over several times, but in the dim lighting she couldn’t find the opening.

                Footsteps came down the row.  Gloria slid the drawer shut and squeezed under the desk.  She whispered a few words to coax the shadows around her further, trying not to breathe.

                “Gloria!  I know you’re here somewhere!” Harvey’s sharp, nasal voice was a whisper in the still room, “Come out, Gloria!  You know we need to talk!”

                He stopped outside of Frank’s cubicle.  Gloria mouthed several more words and drew three tiny symbols on the floor near her feet.  Harvey’s head turned.  He started off, his footsteps quick and loud on the polished cement.

                Gloria counted to ten and then crept out from under Frank’s desk.  She peeked around the edges of the cubicle, convinced no one would be looking for her head so near the floor.  Seeing no one, she stood up and hurried toward the far door.

                Gloria walked into Harvey, smacking her nose into his thin shoulder.

                “Gloria!  There you are.  You need to come with me.”

                She stood there a moment, blinking, unmoving.

                “Well?  What is it?”

                “Nothing.  I just- “

                “You just what?”

                “I was surprised to see you.  I was just on my way out to grab lunch and then I was coming to see you,” Gloria begged the powers that were to lend her words enough false charm to get Harvey to swallow them.

                “No such luck.  My office.  Now.”

                Gloria’s heart sank.  She was in for it now.

You still have a little time to take the Don't Panic Picture Prompt dare!  Come on!  What have you got to lose!

Don't Panic Picture Prompt: April 12th

I know.  I'm really late.  I have a good reason this time.  I was super sick all weekend.  While I am feeling better now, I'm just getting caught back up on things.  So, this week I'll extend the deadline until Monday, April 18th at 6:00 pm CST.  I should be able to get the next prompt up around then.  Same rules apply.  1-500 words inspired by the picture below.  Add your blog links or your work in the comments below.  Thanks for not panicking!

Associated Press photographer Muhammed Muheisen

#TuesFlashFicTrain: Quite the Predicament

Getting my #TuesdayFlashFictionTrain in just under the wire tonight.  Which is fitting because I had to edit it down to make exactly 400 words and our prompt was about being productive.  Here's my answer to the next part of Gloria's story.  Head over to Trials and Tribulations of Writing Fiction for the first part of Gloria's story as well as other responses to this part.

Gloria stopped to stretch out the kinks that had formed in her neck and shoulders from hunching over her desk for so long.  Rolling her neck, she noticed the candles were mere stubs.  She checked her watch.  Not break time yet.  She scanned down her list and realized she’d gotten most of it done already.
Gloria double checked the queue in the computer.  As usual, there were several additions.  She printed off the new list and decided to grab some new candles from the supply closet.  That way, she was all set to tackle the rest of the list after break.  Hopefully that would see her through the end of her shift.  Except for Harvey.
She carefully secured her desk against accidental castings while she was gone and dug out the ancient key for the supply closet.  Making her way down the rows of empty cubicles, Gloria thought she heard voices.
“That’s unusual,” she said to herself, “There shouldn’t be anyone else in this department right now.  Hell, there’s only a few other people in the entire building at the moment.”
Gloria stopped at the supply closet and jiggled the decrepit lock open.  She always loved coming here with the neat rows of ingredients in quantities she could only dream of in her personal supply cupboard.  There were some rather special ingredients kept here as well, ones she knew she’d never have of her own.  Gloria made her way to the candles and selected the necessary colors and sizes.  As she approached the door, she heard the voices again, only much clearer this time.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” A deep male voice asked.
“There’s no one here to stop us,” a second, medium toned man answered.
“What about Gloria?  She’s in this section tonight.”
“Harvey’s taking care of here.  By the time we’re ready, we’ll be just fine.”
The voices faded to unintelligible garble.
“There’s no bloody way I’m meeting with Harvey tonight,” she whispered waiting to be sure the two men were really gone, “How am I going to get out of it this time?”
Gloria headed back to her desk.  Four rows away from her cubicle she spotted Harvey waiting there for her.  His back was to her so he hadn’t realized she was there yet.
Really!  For the love of all, can’t I catch a break?  Now what am I going to do?

Stop by the Don't Panic Picture Prompt and take a shot!  You have until Sunday April 10th before midnight.

Don't Panic Picture Prompt: April 4, 2016

I had two great takers for last week's Don't Panic Picture Prompt!  Let's see if we can beat that this week!  Here's the new picture.  Get linked up by Sunday April 10th at 11:59 pm.  500 words or so (I don't actually count).  That's about it!

Found on Pinterest - pinned from Ratestogo.com

Master Class: Determination

So, by falling asleep with my son last night, I also didn't get my Master Class assignment done.  So I combined last week's assignment with this week's assignment, and managed to work in 3 of the 6 prompts.  I hope that gets me enough extra credit this week to make up for missing last week.  If you've missed any of the previous pieces of the White Wolves story, click here to catch up.  Let me know what you think and be sure to stop by Our Write Side to check out other great assignments via their button below.

            Recognizing the look on Jen’s face, Rhys got up, checked to make sure the door to the bar was locked, and disappeared into a backroom.  Presumably with Jeremy.

            Jen remained at the table, frantically trying to process everything that had happened since she first met Rhys such a short time ago.  Thoughts chased around her head making a bewildering crossing so complex that it rivaled the highway systems she’d seen growing up out in L.A.  Her thoughts kept coming back to two things, though.  Rage at her ex for dragging her and Cullen into this insane world, and a growing sense of panic for Cullen’s safety.

            She jumped when she saw Rhys standing at her table.  He’d seemed to appear out of nowhere for all the sound he had made.

            “Come on.  I’ll take you to your house so you can get some things.  Then I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

            She didn’t say anything.  Just grabbed her small purse and followed him out the door.  She paused when she saw Jeremy waiting in the truck Rhys was standing by.

            “Don’t worry.  Jeremy is one of mine.”

            Jen still hesitated.  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Jeremy.  Or Rhys.  It was more that there was a sense of finality to this.  That if she went with them, her life would be irrevocably changed.  The question was – would it be for better or for worse?

            She took a deep breath and climbed in the truck.  She needed to feel Cullen’s warm, wriggling little body in her arms.  She’d give anything to hear his squeaky voice shout “Mommy” again.  Part of it was a selfish giving; she felt as if she’d shatter into a million pieces without him.  However, most of it was that Cullen didn’t deserve this.  What two-year-old did?  It wasn’t his fault he’d been born to messed up parents.  Come whatever may, she was not going to quit until Cullen was safe with her once again.

            When they got back to her house, Rhys followed her in while Jeremy waited in the truck.  Rhys passed her to enter the house first once the door was unlocked.  As he slipped past her, Jen noticed the blood and jagged tears in one shoulder.

            “Come on.  You need a new shirt and to clean up your shoulder.”

            “It’s fine,” Rhys continued to search through the house unfazed by her observation.

            Jen made her way through the house gathering up things into a backpack.  She found Rhys waiting in the living room.  She tossed him a shirt.

            “It was one my ex left here.  I used to use it for a work shirt when I didn’t want to get anything of mine dirty.  I think it should fit, though it may be a bit tighter on you than it was my ex.  He wasn’t in as good of shape.”

            Rhys caught the shirt, “Where may I change?”

            “There’s a bathroom right around the corner there.”

            Rhys was back in less than a minute.  The blood was cleaned up and the torn shirt was balled up in one hand.  Jen was right.  The shirt was much closer fitting on Rhys.  It also revealed the edges of a couple tattered tattoos on that shoulder.  Scars and scabs marred some of the intricate beauty.

            “You ready?”

            Jen took a deep breath, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Random Sunday: Allergies, Warranties, and Politics

I know.  I know.  I'm late again.  At least I got Random Sunday up again.  Actually, it really was written yesterday.  I fell asleep trying to get my three-year-old to bed last night and didn't feel like posting it when I woke up to realize I'd fallen asleep at 11:45 pm.  Anyways, here's this week's Random Sunday.

I have yet another reason to hate allergies.  I’m talking the seasonal kind in this particular context.  You know.  The ones that make you sneeze and snot and eyes water at random times during the year depending on what particular plant is pollinating at that moment.  My poor three-year-old is really struggling with them right now.  I’m kinda wondering if they’ve turned into a respiratory infection on him.  And, being three, there is a very limited selection of options to treat his allergies.  As in almost nothing.  The poor kid is literally losing sleep over it.  Thankfully he has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow and hopefully things will get better.  Yeah.  I hate allergies.

What’s with jewelry companies?  I took my locket that my husband gave me for my birthday eight months ago in because it wouldn’t stay shut.  They proceeded to tell me that the diamond is covered under a lifetime warrantee, but the locket itself is not.  Therefore, I will have to pay to have it fixed.  Now, please keep in mind that the diamond in this locket is no bigger than a pinhead.  Literally.  It’s so small that my sister didn’t realize there was a diamond in the locket when I first showed it to her.  Now, how silly is that warrantee policy?  My husband would have had to purchase an additional warrantee in order to have had the locket itself covered.  Silly, I tell you.  Silly.

I’ve been watching some of the stuff going on with the current presidential campaigns recently and I’ve come to a conclusion that I came to years ago.  Not much has changed.  I hate politics.  Not just the presidential campaigns and such.  It’s the stuff that creates the divisiveness in churches, in the movements for different groups’ civil rights, the stuff creating chaos in the school systems, and the general fractious and fractured state of our world.  It makes me wonder.  What will it take for us to finally recognize we are all way more alike than we are different?  And when will we start acting that way?

Studio 30 Plus: Choices

I've been meaning to get this posted for a few days.  Unfortunately my son has not been feeling well.  So, I've been a little distracted.  This week Studio 30 Plus gave us cliche and/or banal.  I managed to work both into the next installment of The Weather Riders.  Let me know if my efforts ended up rather cliche!  And be sure to check out other great responses to this post via the button below!

                Then it struck me.  Everything seemed so cliché.  The old farmhouse, the abduction, the power grab, wishing my white knight would ride in and save me.  I couldn’t help it.  I started to laugh.  Not just a giggle or a short burst.  I mean I laughed until I cried and I hurt.

                Micah and his crony backed off.  Maybe they thought what I had was contagious.  Edward’s lack of response at all made me think he was panicking over screwing up again, thinking I’d lost it and could no longer be of use.

                Well, I didn’t want to be a damsel in distress like in the banal books my mother used to read.  I moved through the house.  Emaciated bodies, pale and toxic, littered the floors.  In a back room I discovered my Achilles’ heel.  Children.  Five of them.  All under the age of seven.

                I noticed they didn’t seem as bad off as the adults.  I turned to find Edward trailing in behind me.  No sign of Micah or his friend, though.

                “Why aren’t they sick like the rest?  An, come to think of it, why aren’t you, Micah, and his friend not sick?”

                Edward scrubbed at his face and ran his fingers through his hair, “Micah, Jeremy, and I were not here when this happened.  We do not know why the children do not suffer so, but we are glad for it.  It gives us hope that they may outlive this even if the cure cannot be obtained.”

                “Obviously.  What happened to everyone?”

                “They said a storm came.  But not one of the elements.  They said it was as if ghosts rose up to become parasites, sucking away any energy they could.  None of us knew how to stop them.”

                “Us?” I arched one eyebrow.

                “I returned just before the storm dissipated.”

                “And how is my power supposed to help fix this?”

                “Your power is siphoned off in an ancient ritual.  Then it is shifted in to them.”

                “Whoa!  You’re talking vampire type stuff.  Isn’t that rather extreme?”

                Edward shook his head and gestured for me to follow him.  He led me out the back door.  What I saw stopped me cold.  Row upon row of graves, black earth still stark against the patchwork of snow and dead grass.

                “This is the fate they all face if I cannot stop this.  And I fear what may happen once there are no more living bodies to contain this plague.”

                “So, I participate in this ritual – hypothetically of course – and it heals everyone in the house.  What happens to me?”

                “You return to your life.”

                “That’s it?”

                “Minus your powers, of course.  They would be stripped from you to sustain and heal my people.”

                I stepped back.  No more storms?  No more weather sense?  Part of me couldn’t help but laugh again at the banality of the situation.  The other part knew Edward was serious, and wouldn’t quibble at such details as my consent for this.  That part of me was terrified.

There's still time to link up for this week's Don't Panic Picture Prompt!  Check it out!