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The knight searched both far and wide,
Looking for his lady fair.
But she was trapped in the castle dark,
Where the smell of lilacs filled the air.
When he noticed that his daughter, Lizzie, had already fallen asleep, Sam closed the book that he was reading. ”One of these days,” he thought, “She’s going to stay awake long enough that I’ll get to finish that story.”
---
Liz was running late. Again. It was the third time this month. Much more of that and the boss would fire her. That always made her giggle. Working for her father sometimes had its benefits. Sure, she’d get “The Frown” and she’d promise to do better, but she knew she wasn’t in any real trouble. She threw her keys, make-up and perfume into her purse and ran out the door. This wouldn’t be the first time she finished getting ready in the women’s washroom.
Sam hid a smile when he saw Liz rush in and head straight to the ladies’ room. She was so much like her mother. Suddenly, his ears popped and the picture frames on his desk started to shimmy towards the edge. That was his only warning before the world turned upside down.
The explosion that ripped through the basement originated in the boiler room. Despite the damage caused to the floors above the boiler, the building was still standing. Rescue workers had pulled everyone that they could find in the building out.
The worst injury was to Sam, when he clipped his head on his desk. Groggily, he looked around at the other evacuees when it dawned on him that Liz wasn’t there. He grabbed the arm of a fireman and tried to tell him, but his head was threatening to turn the lights out. All he could get out was a feeble, “My daughter… Still…” before his vision started to go dark and he sank to the ground with the help of the fireman.
Ed ran back into the building after helping the old guy sit down. Where to look? Remembering where they found him, he carefully climbed over debris and made his way up. When he got to what was left of the third floor, all he could smell was flowers. It reminded him of being a kid on his aunt’s farm in the springtime. The smell seemed to be coming from behind a chunk of ceiling that had fallen down. With a little effort, he was able to move it without making more of it collapse and could see a doorway behind it.
“Is anyone there?” he shouted. He forced open the door and shone his flashlight in. He found Liz no worse for wear, except for the smell of flowers that seemed to be coming from her. Broken bits of bottle sparkled in the light.
Sam looked up and saw the fireman helping Liz over to where he sat. Her perfume filled his nose and he smiled. He finally knew how the story ended.
-Babaluzer
500 words dead on!
July 29th, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
A Princess
Once upon a time, in a kingdom doubtless very far away, there lived a young girl of negligible importance. She was the oldest child of seven and looked much like her brothers and sisters. Above her upturned, freckled nose were two pale brown eyes set slightly too far apart. Above these was a set of somewhat-too-bushy eyebrows in the same mousy, mucky colour as her tangled mop of hair.
She wasn't a terribly bright young girl, nor was she very strong or agile; when she came of marriageable age her parents, unwilling or unable to keep her at home, were at a loss. They argued far into the night on her fourteenth birthday. Her mother mostly sobbed, and she could hear her father's bellows through the walls. When the bellowing died down to urgent and quiet conversation, the girl relaxed and fell asleep.
She awoke to find her mother, tired and disheveled, sewing in the main room. Her father was nowhere in sight but there was a hammering noise outside. Undisturbed, she went out with her six siblings to do household chores for the day.
The following day was much the same until, in the evening, her mother pulled her aside. "We're going to play a game," her mother told her. So on the third day, bright and early, the girl was stitched into a new dress. The cheap fabric was draped around her, decorated with flower garlands from the garden. She delighted in the smell of lilacs. She loved the cheap, shiny jewelry at her neck and wrists.
When her parents carried her on a litter handcrafted by her father, she imagined she was a princess on a magical journey; thus she was not surprised much at all when they arrived at the doorstep of His Grace the Duke.
The Duke's gaze never once left her as he spoke with her parents. She was sitting calmly in the litter, chin tilted upwards as she imagined a princess's chin would be. Her mother had told her she must act like a princess for the whole day, and she knew for a fact that a princess's chin was very important.
The Duke was obviously very impressed with her chin. He invited her to stay for tea, and she told him "that would be lovely," as a princess might. The girl's parents didn't stay for tea. Instead, they picked up the litter and began the journey home. When their daughter's screams rang out sharply over the field, the mother turned to her husband, smiling as her gaze passed over the silks and gold jewelry loaded onto the litter. "Six to go," she said. And they lived happily ever after. The End.
-Faiora
450 Words
July 27, 2007
She wasn't a terribly bright young girl, nor was she very strong or agile; when she came of marriageable age her parents, unwilling or unable to keep her at home, were at a loss. They argued far into the night on her fourteenth birthday. Her mother mostly sobbed, and she could hear her father's bellows through the walls. When the bellowing died down to urgent and quiet conversation, the girl relaxed and fell asleep.
She awoke to find her mother, tired and disheveled, sewing in the main room. Her father was nowhere in sight but there was a hammering noise outside. Undisturbed, she went out with her six siblings to do household chores for the day.
The following day was much the same until, in the evening, her mother pulled her aside. "We're going to play a game," her mother told her. So on the third day, bright and early, the girl was stitched into a new dress. The cheap fabric was draped around her, decorated with flower garlands from the garden. She delighted in the smell of lilacs. She loved the cheap, shiny jewelry at her neck and wrists.
When her parents carried her on a litter handcrafted by her father, she imagined she was a princess on a magical journey; thus she was not surprised much at all when they arrived at the doorstep of His Grace the Duke.
The Duke's gaze never once left her as he spoke with her parents. She was sitting calmly in the litter, chin tilted upwards as she imagined a princess's chin would be. Her mother had told her she must act like a princess for the whole day, and she knew for a fact that a princess's chin was very important.
The Duke was obviously very impressed with her chin. He invited her to stay for tea, and she told him "that would be lovely," as a princess might. The girl's parents didn't stay for tea. Instead, they picked up the litter and began the journey home. When their daughter's screams rang out sharply over the field, the mother turned to her husband, smiling as her gaze passed over the silks and gold jewelry loaded onto the litter. "Six to go," she said. And they lived happily ever after. The End.
-Faiora
450 Words
July 27, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Piece of Silver
It was old, there was no denying that. Gerry turned the coin over in his fingers and looked at it more closely. Over the centuries, countless hands had nearly rubbed all traces of identifying features from the silver disc, but, if angled just right, he could make out what looked like a laurel wreath on one side and the profile of some long-dead king on the other. It felt slick in his hands, and for some reason, that made Gerry a bit uneasy.
Looking at the expensive display that the coin had been housed in, Gerry decided that in the old man’s collection, this was surely the most prized. If anything would hurt the old man, losing his pride and joy would be it. And Gerry definitely wanted to hurt the old man, especially after being betrayed as harshly as he had been. “A man shouldn’t have to go through that,” thought Gerry as he carefully retraced his steps out of the office and relocked the door.
It was just after midnight when Gerry finally got home. That uneasy feeling hadn’t left him since he had taken the old piece of silver and he vowed to get rid of it in the morning.
The dreams that plagued Gerry that night were vivid… brutal… and in all of them: Death. Bloody death. The last dream had the old man, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, standing over the wreckage of what was once another person. He looked different though… younger, and with more hair.
When he crawled out of bed, Gerry felt worse than he did the night before. The uneasy feeling was now a sense of dread. He had to get rid of that coin! He rushed out of his house, deciding to cut through the vacant lot at the end of his street and over to the pawn shop on Weston.
In his haste, Gerry tripped over a half-unearthed root at the back of the lot. He threw out his hands to save himself from the fall, but the impact was still hard enough to send the contents of his shirt pocket flying towards the street. He watched in horror as the ancient coin bounced twice on the sidewalk then rolled into the street. Without even standing up, he scrambled over the sidewalk and dove for the coin. He never saw the car that killed him.
---
The car opened and the man within, despite having the sun almost directly in front of him, seemed to be bathed in shadow. He looked down and saw the flash of silver from the old coin. He reached out a thin hand and snatched it from the road with a movement almost too fast to see. He opened up a small leather bag beside him and dropped it in, where it made a pleasing clink against the other coins that were there. His voice rumbled out, sounding far too big to come from someone that thin, “Six to go.”
-Babaluzer
498 Words
July 26th, 2007
Looking at the expensive display that the coin had been housed in, Gerry decided that in the old man’s collection, this was surely the most prized. If anything would hurt the old man, losing his pride and joy would be it. And Gerry definitely wanted to hurt the old man, especially after being betrayed as harshly as he had been. “A man shouldn’t have to go through that,” thought Gerry as he carefully retraced his steps out of the office and relocked the door.
It was just after midnight when Gerry finally got home. That uneasy feeling hadn’t left him since he had taken the old piece of silver and he vowed to get rid of it in the morning.
The dreams that plagued Gerry that night were vivid… brutal… and in all of them: Death. Bloody death. The last dream had the old man, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, standing over the wreckage of what was once another person. He looked different though… younger, and with more hair.
When he crawled out of bed, Gerry felt worse than he did the night before. The uneasy feeling was now a sense of dread. He had to get rid of that coin! He rushed out of his house, deciding to cut through the vacant lot at the end of his street and over to the pawn shop on Weston.
In his haste, Gerry tripped over a half-unearthed root at the back of the lot. He threw out his hands to save himself from the fall, but the impact was still hard enough to send the contents of his shirt pocket flying towards the street. He watched in horror as the ancient coin bounced twice on the sidewalk then rolled into the street. Without even standing up, he scrambled over the sidewalk and dove for the coin. He never saw the car that killed him.
---
The car opened and the man within, despite having the sun almost directly in front of him, seemed to be bathed in shadow. He looked down and saw the flash of silver from the old coin. He reached out a thin hand and snatched it from the road with a movement almost too fast to see. He opened up a small leather bag beside him and dropped it in, where it made a pleasing clink against the other coins that were there. His voice rumbled out, sounding far too big to come from someone that thin, “Six to go.”
-Babaluzer
498 Words
July 26th, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
A Penny
Haran, literally down to the last and least coin from his shallow pockets, sat down heavily on the unpaved walk. He was hungry; that didn't stand to argument, but the last coin from his pocket was the coin that would someday lead to his own immense fortune. In this he had faith unwavering.
Turning the penny over and over in his palm, he squinted, imagining a time when the Great Magician Sonne was but the errand-boy of some minor mage, sitting as he was now at the edge of the walk, and pondering the magical potential of the circle. Surely a coin, formed into the purest of all shapes, was the ultimate vessel of power, for despite its size it possesses a strength of both material and form unequaled by any other ordinary object.
Still squinting, mostly to keep the sun and dust at bay, he rubbed at the penny with the corner of his tattered shirt, removing an age-old layer of caked-in grime. On one side, now, the penny symbol shone through. On the other, foreign lettering slowly appeared; surely this was no ordinary coin.
Haran was pulled brusquely from his daydreams by the tantalizing scent of honey-smoked ham from a nearby deli. Clutching the coin in his fist, he stood, hesitating only a moment before turning decidedly away. He must not think of food just now. He had only to harness the power stored in the coin by its previous owner, and the entire village would fall happily at his feet. He'd have all he needed, then.
He ran like the springtime rapids, far from the smells and sounds of the village. Down the forest pathway, his flight was interrupted by a root. A single, solitary root marred his path, and his hands splayed out before him to break his fall.
When Haran lifted his scraped palms from the dusty forest trail, he mourned over the loss of his beloved magic coin; for all he could find was a lone penny, no doubt dropped from the pocket of a long-gone passer-by.
-Faiora
350 Words
July 25, 2007
Turning the penny over and over in his palm, he squinted, imagining a time when the Great Magician Sonne was but the errand-boy of some minor mage, sitting as he was now at the edge of the walk, and pondering the magical potential of the circle. Surely a coin, formed into the purest of all shapes, was the ultimate vessel of power, for despite its size it possesses a strength of both material and form unequaled by any other ordinary object.
Still squinting, mostly to keep the sun and dust at bay, he rubbed at the penny with the corner of his tattered shirt, removing an age-old layer of caked-in grime. On one side, now, the penny symbol shone through. On the other, foreign lettering slowly appeared; surely this was no ordinary coin.
Haran was pulled brusquely from his daydreams by the tantalizing scent of honey-smoked ham from a nearby deli. Clutching the coin in his fist, he stood, hesitating only a moment before turning decidedly away. He must not think of food just now. He had only to harness the power stored in the coin by its previous owner, and the entire village would fall happily at his feet. He'd have all he needed, then.
He ran like the springtime rapids, far from the smells and sounds of the village. Down the forest pathway, his flight was interrupted by a root. A single, solitary root marred his path, and his hands splayed out before him to break his fall.
When Haran lifted his scraped palms from the dusty forest trail, he mourned over the loss of his beloved magic coin; for all he could find was a lone penny, no doubt dropped from the pocket of a long-gone passer-by.
-Faiora
350 Words
July 25, 2007
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