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I just finished it, and shall go back in a day or so to edit and post.
This was so fun.
First Grand Historian of Arreth and the Lesser Realms (aka Kitty)
Fork the GorkWait, can I do a small fan fic?
"Do you want me to keep the sideburns?"
#AnduthForever (Lord Willing)Hm, maybe you need to subscribe to the topic? There’s a button for it over the topic info bar, at least for me.
You can post whenever!
This was so fun.
I’m glad this is a topic some people wanted!
You may, as long as it makes enough sense to a reader who doesn’t know your story’s lore.
#ProtectAdolinKholin
You may, as long as it makes enough sense to a reader who doesn’t know your story’s lore.
Alright, great, thx!
"Do you want me to keep the sideburns?"
#AnduthForever (Lord Willing)Alright, here’s mine.
Words
The still air pressed down on the two women sitting in the hospital hallway, and the silence seemed to be a sound in itself–a droning, ever-present note that grew increasingly louder.
Lena raised her eyes to the chair across from her, where Elise sat, eyes closed, her head tipped back in exhaustion. Her hair had darkened with time, but Lena saw the beginnings of silver in the roots–subtle, like the faint lines in Elise’s face that had not been there eight years ago.
Lena wondered for a second if she had been the cause of those lines.
Two sisters played happily on a swing, the older pushing the younger. Her laughter rang in the midsummer air, and joy shone in the older girl’s silver eyes.
“Miss Coler.” The nurse had returned. “And Mrs. Adrian.”
Lena glanced up, and Elise straightened, opening eyes, that, though gray, shone with their brightness. “You have news?”
The nurse smiled. “Yes. Your father is going to be okay. He’s had a heart attack, but the doctor says there will be no permanent damage.”
Lena couldn’t stop the choked sob of relief that escaped her. Elise breathed a prayer of thanks.
“You can go in to see him if you like.” The nurse continued down the hallway.
The crushing silence settled in over them again, and Lena fought off the tears welling in her eyes. Her–their–father was going to be okay.
He wouldn’t have been there in the first place if it weren’t for her, the voice in her head admonished.
Now it was harsh words that split the air. Hurt that shone in first, her sister’s eyes, and then her father’s.
“Lena?”
She looked up. Elise had stood, her purse in hand. “Aren’t you going to come in?” Her voice was slightly stiff, but not cold.
Lena shook her head, and the walls she’d kept up for so long crumpled. With two whispered words, eight years of silence between the two sisters ended. The ghost of their past friendship became a living, breathing thing again.
“I can’t.”
Shocked Lena had spoken to her, Elise moved closer. “Why not?”
Their father clutched his chest as the hurt from Lena’s words gave way to physical pain.
“It was my fault, Lise.” The words were barely audible. “I . . . he . . .” Lena squeezed her eyes shut.
“Hey.” Lena opened her eyes to see her sister’s eyes only inches from her own. “This was not your fault, okay? Grandpa had a weak heart too.”
“You don’t know what I said to him.” Lena clenched her shaking hands, and her fingernails dug into her palms.
“I do know that he’ll forgive you, whatever it was.” Elise’s eyes softened. She’d forgiven her sister long ago. It was Lena who still clung to her own guilt and pride.
But now Lena took a deep breath and nodded, dabbing at her own eyes that shone with understanding and repentance.
Elise offered her hand, and Lena took it. The two sisters left the hallway together.
Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. ~ C.S. Lewis
My KP notifications haven’t been working properly, and for whatever reason, the email went to my Promotions tab which I only peek into to delete stuff, so sorry about not seeing this sooner! I think i will participate.
"You need French Toast."
#AnduthForever (hopefully đź’•)Here’s my story, exactly 500 words
IF YOU ARE IN THIS CHALLENGE, DO NOT READ BEFORE YOU ARE DONE WITH YOUR STORY. THANK YOU.
A Mother’s Last Whisper
A story by Ruth A. Eisele
Sleep came to Nahim’s troubled mind and pained body and with Sleep came Dream, casting her spells over his mind.
Dream showed him the beauty of his home before the invasion; the happiness of the people, the cheery brightness of the colors, and the sweet familiar landscape. She let him roam, up the sides of the volcanoes and through the swaying blades of the grasslands. He even was briefly allowed to tread the paths he once knew within the city before turning away and walking towards the trees as they swayed in the wind, their blossoms occasionally breaking loose and traveling in Lady Wind’s arms. Nahim seated himself at the base of one of the trees with a sigh.
As he sat there, a woman came, seating herself next to him. Her face was as fair as a flower petal. Her eyes were like sapphires, shimmering with kindness and gentleness, even though deeper they showed a life of worry and tears for her children. Her hair was a cascading waterfall of black, dark as the darkest night, yet not without beauty, for though the night was dark, still it had stars, and her stars were delicate flowers. Flowers, purer than the white clouds of Wond, fairer than the face of a fairy. Yellow speckling graced the center like little flakes of gold. A sweet scent filled Nahim’s nostrils, the scent of something heavenly, unexplainably heavenly.
“Hello my Strange One.”
Tears sprang in Nahim’s eyes, for the woman was his dead mother. He threw himself into her arms, crying into her shoulder. For many minutes he remained there, unable to do more than sob, listening to her voice gently whispering in his ear, telling him she knew about all that had happened and that she was proud to see her boy, her Strange One, had grown into such a handsome and fine warrior.
After Nahim’s sobs slowed, he whispered to her, “I wish to join you. I have nothing left to live for now. Let me come join you.”
“No, my child,” She tenderly kissed his head, “You must wait a little longer still, then you may come and join us in Caelawond.”
“But my heart no longer wishes to dwell with the living.”
“You can still live on Nahim, for in Ehyeh you will find strength. Live on my Strange One.”
Nahim rested in her arms a little longer, his cheek resting on her shoulder. Suddenly, with shock, he realized that his mother was slowly fading away.
“Our time together is reaching an end,” She gently whispered. “Don’t cry, Nahim, oh don’t cry, it’s okay,” She wiped away his welling tears, “Remember, when Ehyeh calls you to Caelawond we will see each other again. Good bye Nahim.” She disappeared. As the tears began to come again, the land around him began to fade away as well. As it all turned to black, he heard a last whisper, the last little message from his mother, “I love you, my Strange One.”
If it feels slightly incomplete, that’s because I have a 790 word version that I originally wrote and then had to edit down.
Hope you enjoyed!
"You need French Toast."
#AnduthForever (hopefully đź’•)Fragments
The glass was beautiful. Cracks spiderwebbed over its surface, but the silver plate behind was still untarnished. Perhaps it looked nothing like the gilt framed mirror that used to hang over our mantel, but it was mine. I leaned closer to watch moonlight play with the reflection.
There was a girl in this mirror. I stared back into her hollow grey eyes, so like mine and yet…
Something sparked in that face as I traced the webbing cracks. The thing trembled there at the corner of her mouth, fleeting, faint. A touch of warmth in a place left cold too long. I gazed back at her, watching it spread until her lips quirked and turned up, until a dimple appeared. The warm flicker brightened to a hazy gleam of joy.
It startled me. I pulled back with a gasp, then, slowly, touched callused fingers to glass. The flicker wavered a moment, a breath, and caught again. Her lips curved, teeth flashed. I raised my eyebrows and watched as it settled and faded.
It was mine, that flicker of a smile. Even with long streaks of smut and tears coating its face, it was somehow still beautiful. Untarnished. Mine.
First Grand Historian of Arreth and the Lesser Realms (aka Kitty)
Fork the GorkHave Hope, Marly
Andrew M. McLaurinMarley walked up to the wooden doors of his former home, If only I had been a better man. He looked around him, it was still winter, of course it was, this was the day after his death, Christmas day. He saw a group of boys running down the street. Marly tried to follow them, but his chains weighed him down so that the boys got too far ahead for Marley to catch up. Marley continued to walk, for walk he must. That was his punishment was it not, to walk the earth with his burden for his lack of compassion.
Marly walked until he got to his former place of work. He saw his old friend, and partner, Scrooge through the window, working at his desk. Scrooge looked up and towards the empty desk beside his own. “Humbug,” the old man turned back to his work only to look up again at the vacant seat. “He was a good friend,” Scrooge smiled, but then shook himself, “Humbug,” and went back to his work. Marley wiped a tear from his eye, “You were a good friend as well, Ebeneezer.” He turned and walked on.
He stopped at the local bakery, and heard the following conversation;
“Did you hear that he is dead?” A customer said to the baker as she purchased some bread.
“Who?”
“Old Jacob Marley.”
“Oh, yes, heard he died yesterday. … I don’t mean to be rude, but… thank God he’s gone.” The two laughed.
“We need less misers in this world, too bad we still have that Scrooge around.”
“Aye, though, I can’t help but think of him to be a good businessman.”
“Too bad he never uses any of his earnings, it seems to be a waste of money.”
“I agree. Oh, speaking of money, don’t worry about paying for that loaf Mrs. Hanney, it’s Christmas after all.”
“Well thank you Bart. Merry Christmas!”
“And a happy New Year!”
If only I had thought of my fellow man. Marley trudged on. If only Scrooge didn’t have the same fate as I… wait. Maybe there is a chance he could change. I shall try and convince the other spirits to help me persuade him seven years after my death. Yes! He shall feel the warmth of Christmas once again!
End.
"Do you want me to keep the sideburns?"
#AnduthForever (Lord Willing)Klyuchi (Ключи)
I’ll sing again… the familiar song poured from the window above the man in the rumpled coat. He gripped the sill to peer inside.
The girl at the old piano played as if the song came from deep inside her. Each stroke of her fingers stirred up the lapping froth of music.
When summer comes…. Her lips were moving, shaping the words which drowned in the river. It rushed past until the night swallowed it up behind him. Dark, cavernous night where the song he cherished died.
And winters fade, fade away…
He crouched beneath the window where he could lay his head on the wall. The sun had warmed the brick, although May’s evening cooled quickly. It would have been dreadful in Siberia.
When hope can grow,
He stirred to his feet. The door was too near not to try. He fished for the key behind a loose rail. It was rough in his hand but turned the lock with a soft thud.
Deep within us,
He made his way down the hall, past greying photos and the one painting beside her drawing room door. There he paused, a shadow of moonlight on the threshold.
With you I’ll be, be to stay.
The piano fell quiet. He watched her hands lifting from the keys so the music could trickle into silence. She was too young. Innocent. He hesitated again.
“Milaya?”
She spun a twist into the carpet.
“Sasha.” His name caught on her tongue like a scream. He caught her before she fled or fell in a heap. Her hands were white on his coat.
“I thought-”
“I’m not a ghost, milaya. Not now.” He pressed her head against his shoulder, where she would not see the tears in his eyes.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
@whalekeeper I had so much fun writing this.
How to Kill the Ghost in the Guest Bedroom: A Instructional Guide
First you must gather your weapons. I recommend a broom for whacking the ghost, a camera for proof of the ghost’s existence, and a carrot. Ghosts love carrots.
Second, you must set the bait. Slide your carrot under the door. When the door begins to open, pounce!
Third, Ack, NO! I’m so sorry, that was not supposed to happen! It was an accident! Please! I didn’t mean to!
…I’m back from time out now. As I was saying, Third, do not, under any circumstances, hit your grandpa.
Fourth, in the off chance that your mother confiscates your broom, use the vacuum cleaner. Your mother will think you are cleaning, and you can suck up the ghost. Nine out of ten Ghost Hunters recommend using a Dirt Devil.
Fifth, if the carrot doesn’t work, wait until you hear the telltale sounds of a ghost, such as clanking, creaking, squeaking, or clattering. Our ghost, Ben the Bloodthirsty, gurgles, and sometimes squeaks or crinkles. It is a distinct possibility that there are multiple ghosts, but I’m pretty sure only one of my uncles died in that room.
Sixth, Once you hear the noises, then turn on the Dirt Devil and wreak havoc! Shouting insults is a fun way to let the ghost know you are not afraid, such as “Ben you blustering bloodthirsty bungling buffoon!”
Seventh, Don’t–oof, darn it-get the Dirt Devil–urgh, you idiot machine–tangled in the new linen bed shee–ack, don’t you dare tip! No! Darn it! NO!
Eighth, If, purely hypothetically, you happen to crash your Dirt Devil into your mother’s cabinet of Precious Moments figurines once you yank it free, and the cabinet crashes to the ground, run away. You have no hope for survival otherwise.
Ninth, If all else fai–please don’t ground me! It wasn’t me, I promise! It was the ghost! Ben knocked it over, not me! You’ve got the wrong person! Ouch, let go! I swear it was the ghost! Don’t ground me!
Tenth, If you get sent to your room do NOT attempt to climb out of the second story window and fall in your dad’s rosebush. My instructional guide for window climbing shall be released as soon as I am ungrounded.
Tempus adest gratiae
Hoc quod optabamus,
Carmina laetitiae
Devote reddamus!That was hilarious!
I’m dying right now.
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
@whalekeeper I changed the last paragraph a little to make it a little better.
If only I had thought of my fellow man. Marley trudged on. If only Scrooge didn’t have the same fate as I… wait. Maybe there is a chance he could change. I shall try and convince the other spirits to help me persuade him seven years after my death. That should be enough time to prepare to change him. Yes! He shall feel the warmth of Christmas once again! He shall be a better man!
End.
"Do you want me to keep the sideburns?"
#AnduthForever (Lord Willing)
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