Friday Flash #78: The Rise of the Phoenix

First Meeting
Drawing by Me

Legend says there can be only one, and it is born of fire. 

And so it began. We searched libraries and talked to everybody we could think of who might be a source. And over months and years we wove together the tiny fragments of truth about where a legend might actually be found, and wondered whether we might be deemed worthy of finding it.

We found hers first. The fire phoenix of legend – master of life and change, death and rebirth. He tested her; oh how he tested her. And, I suppose, she tested him. But something clicked and there grew an acceptance and then a bond between them. That of a salty teacher and the only student he cared to tolerate. Majestic, intelligent, and done. Almost 500 years old, some of his spark had dimmed, and one day he made it clear to Feena his time was coming to an end.

From his ashes would rise his successor, with all his memories – although they may be fuzzy at first. Feena helped prepare the fire, unshed tears blurring her vision. The bed of cinnamon, cassia, spikenard, and amomum made for an amazingly scented kindling nest. He had told her it would ease the transition.

They stood together when the fire burned brightly, and all was ready – a rare moment of quiet between two fiery creatures. Feena could feel heat radiating from him. Suddenly he let out an ear-piercing screech that reverberated through her soul. He launched straight up, as though reaching for the noon sun, then slowly rode the wind back down, gliding in large, slow circles, as though he were a bird of prey looking for his next meal. And when he was ready he dove, wings in, extreme speed, straight towards the heart of the fire. He didn’t burn, as Feena had feared, but rather became the flame himself.  Feena felt a brief spark in the palm of her hand – the feather he had given her had also converted into flame, leaving behind a small handful of golden ash, which she gently closed her fist around.

She kept the fire burning, but nothing remained of her friend. She held vigil, hoping, but not fully believing, this part of the legend would also be true. He hadn’t been able to tell her what would happen. The magic of death and rebirth was instinctual, but otherwise unknown even to him. As far as they could know, nobody had ever seen it happen.

And so she kept the fire burning and she waited. As day turned to dusk, and dusk turned to night, and the temperature dropped, she sat watching the flames dance. In the darkest part of the night, when the only thing to be seen were the flames, the fire suddenly grew of its own volition. Sparks started flying and flames followed them.

The higher flames dancing and flickering started to take shape. Feena’s eyes burned as she refused to even blink. The phoenix wasn’t born in fire, but rather of fire. As he took form, he let out a screech not quite as piercing as that of his predecessor, but still strong enough that the world knew he’d arrived. She shifted slightly, and in doing so sharply drew his attention. He seemed to realize that he wasn’t alone and looked at her – fire and death in his sharp eyes. She didn’t see any of her old friend in his gaze, but she knew the memories would be there somewhere. Taking a deep breath, she extended her arms, opening her cupped hands to reveal the golden ashes of the one who’d gone before.

He cocked his head slightly, as though studying her, or maybe trying to retrieve a memory, and then with no further acknowledgement, took flight – straight up, just as his predecessor had done, until he surpassed the light of the fire and she could see him no more.

Feena kept her vigil on the fire the rest of the night, unsure exactly what to do next. When the first light of dawn broke behind her, she felt more than heard a gentle chuffing sound behind her. Turning she found, in full splendour, this era’s phoenix.

Friday Flash #77: Tonight

Do you ever feel like there’s a story there but it’s just out of reach? That’s what I had last night, and this is what we got instead. For the first one this year?!?! Ah well. Enjoy. 

Tonight: 

Tonight is a night where morning is a reality that can be ignored; 

Tonight is a night for walking alone in the woods; 

Tonight is a night for watching moonlight shatter on a ripple on an otherwise still lake; 
Tonight is a night to listen to the sounds we can only hear when we stop; 

Tonight is a night to stare into a fire that cackles and throws shadows that dance; 

Tonight is a night for storytellers, dreamers, songwriters, and artists; 

Tonight is a night those without imagination sleep soundly, while those with are wide awake w wonder; 

Tonight is a night that if you pay attention, you just might glimpse magic rarely seen past childhood; 
Tonight is a night for memories of what was and dreams of what may be; 
Tonight is a night for questions without answers; 
Tonight is a night for mystery; 

Tonight is a night for calm, but also for magic and chaos; 

Tonight is a first for some, and a last for others; 

And on this night, of all nights, will you experience it, or will you be sound asleep?

#FridayFlash #76: Why Crayons Burn

Asking the important questions here -- mostly cause I really should be asleep right now.  Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.

They say that in an emergency a crayon will burn for hours.  But how long will they burn when it’s not an emergency?  A joke.  An internet meme.  But every joke has a sliver of truth to it.   

Why do you think it is that the best artwork stems from extremes of passion?  Either super calm, quiet, and relaxed, or a mad frenzy, barely contained.  With few exceptions the masterpieces of the world were created in one of those mindsets or the other.  Why is it?  Artists are passionate!  Or so the working theory goes.

But is that really it?  Or is it actually that their *tools* are passionate?  The paints, the pastels, the pencils — they feed off the emotions of their handlers.  And so it’s logical really that handlers with emotions to spare, get better work out of them.

And as for those crayons?  Small children sometimes have the biggest emotions.  Too big even to be expressed as masterpiece art.  Big enough, perhaps, to light a room in the darkness.  Especially when fueled by the emotions surrounding emergency.

So to answer the question, how long will they burn when it’s not an emergency?  That depends solely on the mental state of the one asking for fire.   May the odds be ever in your favour.

FridayFlash #75 – The Letter

"So, have you read it yet?"

Janine looked down, flipping the opened envelope slowly in her hands. She shook her head. "Why not?"

She looked up and met my eyes briefly, before flicking away. "I don't know," she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper, "what if... what if there's something horrible?"

"There could be," I acknowledged, "but what if there's something amazing?"

She started at the letter, the letter we all get on our 18th birthdays. I'd get mine next week. The letter from our future selves. Written on paper -- for some of us the only actual paper we'd ever own -- every adult got one opportunity, just one, to write a letter to their 18-year-old self.

For some it was an opportunity to change their lives, to undo past mistakes. For others it was a reassurance that things would turn out okay, or share lessons they wished they'd learned earlier in life. And there were some who never got the chance. They either didn't have a letter in waiting when they died, or they'd actively chosen not to send one. Their younger selves would receive the same envelope, but inside it would simply read "your future is unwritten."

I was curious both what I'd read and what I'd someday write; theoretically those two were the same, but everyone knew someone who knew someone who said the letter they wrote differed wildly from the one they'd received. Urban legend or actual fact? Did it happen, or did we just need to believe it could happen? I knew I would read mine as soon as it arrived, but there were some who didn't want to know. It was easier, always easier, not to know how things would end. And Janine was one who wasn't sure if she'd risk knowing something she'd rather not.

"Do you want me to read it?" It was taboo to ask someone to read your letter, to put the weight on them of knowing what you might not want to know. But I could volunteer.

The envelope shook slightly as she handed it to me. I pulled out the letter -- it was yellowed, the author had lived many years and likely refolded it many times, and short - she hadn't had much to say. The paper threatened to tear as I unfolded it; I read quickly and then exhaled the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"It's okay," I handed the envelope back with a smile, "nothing to worry about."

Janie's shoulders dropped, and her eyes softened as she took the paper back. "I'll read it at home," she said as she folded it up to fit in her purse. She got up and left without so much as a goodbye, walking quickly in the direction of her home.

The following week was both the fastest and the shortest I could ever recall. And then it was my turn to stand there, Janine at my side, with my envelope. Despite what I'd always claimed, I still hesitated. I shook my head to clear my thoughts then tore the top of the envelop pulling out what was inside.

One sheet. Only one. It wasn't new at least, but it wasn't wildly aged either. The paper was folded in three, but not many times over -- it looked like it was one of the rare ones that had been written once, folded, and sent.

I glanced up at Janine, suddenly glad she was there. She nodded once, slowly.

I flipped it over and read. My brow crinkled as I looked up at Janine.

"What does it say?" she asked, head tilted slightly. I handed her the paper. She read just as quickly and looked up at me. "I don't get it."

"I know."

I looked over at the paper she still held. The most important thing my future self could think of to tell me.

Never Visit:
- The Louvre at Christmas
- The Hopewell Rocks under a full moon
- Hadrian's Wall at Hallowe'en
- Urulu in the rain
- Kilimanjaro in the sun

Today, on my 18th birthday, I'd never been more than two hours from my home town. Travel seemed a lot of work and effort for no real benefit -- I'd seen all those places in VR. There was no need to go in person. There was no reason to imagine I would ever even consider going to one of those places, much less all of them. So why such a note? Why warn me against such places.

I pulled out my phone and did some quick searching. The Louvre wasn't even open at Christmas? And Urulu, Ayer's Rock, was in a desert. So the odds of me ever being there, and getting rained on, were pretty slim. Hadrian's wall was a crumbling relic; there's zero reason I'd ever be there, and Hallowe'en was a child's holiday. What did that matter?

I shrugged at Janine as I folded the paper and stuck it in my pocket. "Well, if that's the only advice my future self can give, I guess things will be okay? I mean, it's not like any of that would ever happen."

"But," Janine hesitated.

"But what?"

"Well, you must've had a reason for writing that... Which means, somehow, you must've ended up there, at some point. So maybe just..."

"Just what?"

"Just keep it in mind. Someday, if it seems you might be in one of those places, just... remember. There must've been a reason."

"Yeah okay."

I tried to put it out of my mind. Why would I have ever written such a thing? What would possibly happen if one of those circumstances was to occur? I was taking a gap year next year. My parents were pushing me to travel but I’d been planning to work on my music. But maybe... Maybe I should go to some of those places at times that were not aligned with the list. Just to see what the big deal was. Scotland -- I could go there first, in September, and be long gone by Hallowe'en. Surely there'd be no risk to that. And once I'd seen it, there'd never be any reason to go back. Crisis adverted.

And as I booked the tickets, I wondered, briefly, if future me had any idea the impact that letter might have? Right. Well it turns out my future self knew 18-year-old me better than I ever imagined. For what was the number one way to make me do something? Tell me not to, under any circumstances, do it. That letter got me out of my town, showed me the world, and opened my mind to imagination and wonder. I would never know if future me originally wrote that letter as a reflection of the most important parts of my life, or merely in hopes of making important things happen, but as I sat down to write the letter that would change my life, I'm forever grateful I did.

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Based off the following writing prompt:

#FridayFlash #74: A moonlit stroll

She didn’t know why she awoke, so suddenly and completely.  She’d only been asleep a couple hours, but she knew she was up for a while now.   Stumbling in the dark, she grabbed some clothes and left the room so as not to wake her partner.  The old house was quiet – not even the furnace was running, so every creak of the floor was magnified.  The highway, almost never heard in the distance, sounded as though it were right next door.

She dressed quickly, and her curious dog – always up for an adventure – sleepily came to investigate.  “Want to go for a walk?” she whispered, instantly animating the dog who started spinning in circles.  She smiled and ushered her out the door before the excited scrambling would wake her sleeping partner.  

It was eerily light outside – the harvest moon far brighter than the widely spaced streetlights.  It was a safe neighbourhood – she wasn’t overly concerned about being out alone, even so late.

She and the dog made their way along their habitual route, as one does, the dog eagerly leading the way.  Something seemed, not quite right – it took her a moment to figure out that all the noise had stopped.   That which had been so loud in her house, was silent outdoors.  She couldn’t hear her footsteps as they scrunched the gravel, nor her dog panting with excitement.    She shook her head once to clear her ears, but it did nothing.  Up ahead, she saw a woman walking toward her.  Odd, given it was the middle of the night and she never even saw people on this road during the day.  The moonlight framed the woman in such a way she appeared to glow.

She felt a shiver go down her spin, and shortened the dog’s leash, pulling her closer.  “Hello,” she said as she passed the woman.  The woman tilted her head and looked at her as though studying her, before continuing on her way without saying anything.

Weird she thought, and turned toward home, suddenly far less interested in being out alone at night.  But when she turned the corner, it wasn’t the houses she walked past every day in front of her.  Instead of her nice suburban neighbourhood, all she could see were farms.   Sound returned, but instead of the mildly aggravating growl of the highway, she heard the quiet occasional scurry of a small nocturnal critter.

She spun around, but the corner she had just turned was gone.  Her dog was sniffing eagerly, pulling on the leash, clearly enjoying this new landscape, but she felt her heartrate accelerate as panic quickly set in.  What the…. This made no sense.  It wasn’t possible.  And yet, it had happened.

She continued walking toward. Where her home should be, having no idea what she’d find.   She felt a huge relief when she got to her street to see her house was still there; it was the only one around, but it was there.  It was, however, not quite right…. There were no cars in the driveway for one thing.  Even if for some odd reason her partner had gone out, her car should still be there.   And the For Sale sign that waved wistfully in the darkness when she’d left, was missing.

She was not terribly surprised when she tried the door, to find it locked.  But she had noticed that not far from where her garage used to be there was now a barn, so she led the dog that way, figuring they could stay there for the night and figure out what was going on in daylight.

“When did you get here?”   She was awoken by a pre-adolescent boy wearing clothes she’d only ever seen in the movies.  “Mom!  We’ve got another one,” he shouted.

“Another one what?” she asked, hearing the mother’s faint reply from the house.   

He just shook his head, “Mom will tell you,” and went deeper into the barn.

“Oh dear, you must’ve had a rough night.  When are you from?”

“Uh, what?” The boy’s mother stood before her, a heavyset woman with an easy smile who smelled slightly of fresh bread.

“What year is it?” the woman asked, as though that were the most natural question upon finding someone sleeping in her barn.

“Uh 2020?” hating that it came out as a question, but suddenly doubting the truth she knew.

“And this is your house?” she asked.

“Well, yes….?  Although we don’t have a barn…” 

“Okay, well it’s 1852 now child, why don’t you come have breakfast and we’ll talk.”

She followed, flabbergasted, into the house she knew so well and yet not at all.  Everything seemed to suit what little she knew of the time period.   The woman gestured to sit down and put a plate of biscuits in front of her.

“You crossed the ley lines under the harvest moon and greeted the traveler,” she said as though that made perfect sense.

“Uh, I took my dog for a walk in the moonlight?” 

“That’s okay child, it happens more often than you’d think.  Fortunately, we know how to send you home.”

The relief she felt was instant and overwhelming, but followed almost immediately by intense curiosity.

“Wait, you mean this has happened before?”

“Oh yes, at least a couple times a year we get visitors.  The first few were a shock – a couple of them stayed and it took a while to figure out how to send the others home.  All of them live in this house in their time, and all of them walked under the harvest moon and met a woman who said nothing to them.   You’re here for a week, but on our next moon, we can send you home.”

“Are you sure?  I mean, if people leave, how do you know they get home?”

“We don’t for sure, but we had one visitor that wasn’t surprised to be here, which makes us think it works.   There’s a diary – I’ll show you where it’s hidden, that we ask all the travellers to write in.  One person had found it while renovating the house – apparently inside it, are references made by people who returned home.  That’s the best I can do.   But if you don’t want to risk it, we can help you find a life here.”

She spent the week as their guest in a house she considered her own, in the most fascinating history lesson ever.  The family asked many questions about her time, interested more in daily life than in world events, and they shared what little they knew of the magic surrounding their farm.  They’d had visitors from farther in the future than her, but didn’t have any details to share.

When the week was up, she followed their directions, holding tightly to her dog, and woke to her alarm buzzing in her ear.  Rolling over she grabbed her phone, which confirmed it was really the next morning. 

She laughed at herself for the intensity of her dream, and then realized she was dressed.  Eyes wide she got up and went up to the attic.  In a hidden cabinet, she’d never known about before, she found an old leather journal.

With shaking hands and complete disbelief, she sat down on the dusty floor and started to read.

Friday Flash #72 -- Daughter of Nightmares and Smoke

Once considered peaceful, the dragons came one night and scorched the villages.   For days nothing could be seen but smoke.  The people would try to rebuild, but every few months the dragons would return.  It was a time of terror.  Hunting parties were sent to get revenge; no one returned.  

And then one day, the skys were empty.  No longer did the occasional shadow drift over the village.  No more did children cower from the giant creatures from the sky.  Nobody knew why they attacked or where they went, but over time, that became unimportant. Things were quiet, and people rebuilt out of their grief.  And as the children who had seen their villages destroyed grew up and gave birth to children of their own, memories faded.  By the time their grandchildren had grandchildren, understanding of dragons had changed.  From peaceful and harmless, to horrifyingly vicious, to nothing more than a wisp of a myth. A story to scare young children into behaving.

But time is a tricky thing, and to the dragons, it moves differently.  Only one generation had passed since The Great Betrayal, and memory of it was clear.  After all, she did live with them.  Tall and graceful, Alesha laughed as she skipped between the caves, easily avoiding the dragon chasing her.  She whipped around a boulder, turning at the last second and ducking under the dragon who almost had her.  She poked his belly as he flew over top, “Gotcha Tren!” she laughed, his roar made the rock she was standing on shake, but didn’t phase her in the slightest.   They were siblings.  Friends.  And she had very definitely won.  Again.

It’s time to come home, the thought from their mother was as clear in her head as if it had been spoken.  Tren, having received the same message turned and headed toward her.  With a running leap, Alesha hopped on for the flight home.

She knew she was different, of course.  Small and fragile, but nimble and creative.  She couldn’t breathe fire, but she could build it.  She couldn’t fly, but she could access spaces the dragons would never be able to.  Her dragon family accepted things as they are, as they’ve always been, while Alesha questioned everything.  They complemented each other.  The smarter ones appreciated that and considered her family; the lesser ones treated her as little more than a pet.  A curiosity.  A spoil of war.

When they returned to the roost, Alesha and Tren were surprised to discover the elder dragons had gathered.  Tren aborted his landing and circled, hoping to avoid interrupting the council, but Tasque, the head of the council, noticed him and with a thought compelled him to join them.

Alesha slid off Tren as soon as he landed, preferring to face whatever was coming standing.  But while she stood calmly and confidently, her hand quivered gently where it rested against Tren’s shoulder.  

What’s going on? she asked.

The time has come for you to fulfil your destiny.  The voice in her mind was powerful, and not one who had ever deigned to speak to her before.   She met Tasque’s stare head on and held it for a moment.  She could feel a wave a pride wash over her – the dragon who had adopted her so long ago was pleased.

What do you need me to do?  Her heart beat faster and she had to consciously stop herself from fidgeting.  So long she had wondered why the dragons had adopted and raised her.  It was the one question nobody would ever answer.  

You remember, of course, The Great Betrayal?   How could she forget?   Her heart sank as she was reminded yet again of the time the dragons had attempted to aid humans, only to have five of their eggs stolen.   The dragons had found four – three of which had been destroyed; the fourth hatched and grew up to be Tren.  But the fifth egg, even after months of searching, remained hidden.  And with the humans getting closer to their nest, they had to call off the search and moved the entire flight to their current home.  But when they did that, they brought one thing that was not theirs.  They brought an infant girl.  Her.

We have located the last egg.   It will not hatch until it is returned to us, but we cannot retrieve it.  You and Tren will go together, get the egg, and bring it home.

Her eyes widened and she glanced at Tren.  She was going to go to the human’s world?   Before her thoughts could start spinning too quickly, her mother’s familiar voice interrupted.  

Alesha, you’ll need to remember all we’ve taught you about humans.  Tren will help you get there, but he must not be seen, so you will be on your own.  Several of their generations have passed since we adopted you – with us you’re still so young, but there you will age quickly.  We believe we’ve found which castle the egg is locked in, but that’s all we know.  You’ll need to find a way to get in, rescue the egg, and get out quickly.  You can navigate in the dark nearly as well as we can; most humans cannot – use that to your advantage.  You must speak of us to no one.  Dragons to them are creations of nightmares and smoke.  And you are our daughter.  Never forget it.

Do you understand? The leader’s voice interrupted.

I do.

Will you undertake this task asked of you by the dragon council?

I will.

Then it be done. We will watch for your return with each new moon.  May the stars guide your way.

Alesha bowed her head as she’d be taught, then gracefully vaulted on to Tren’s back so he could take them out of the council.  Tren tried to talk to her, but her thoughts were flowing too quickly for her to hear him.  She was going home.  A home she’d never known, true, but one where there were people like her.  And maybe, just maybe, once she’d rescued the egg, she could find a way to bridge the worlds.

The daughter of nightmares and smoke yes, but also of dreams and starlight.

Friday Flash #71: The Magic of the Night

In the darkness of the night the trees rustled as the warm wind blew wildly.  

“Do you hear them?” I asked.

“Hear what?”

“The fey?”   

My boyfriend just rolled his eyes at me.  He had no time for magic and mystery, proud his feet were firmly planted in the cement of reality.   He couldn’t hear the whisper on the wind.   But I could – just beyond my comprehension.  I could sense it, but not quite make out the words.

Marc locked the recycle bin safely in the garage.  “You coming?”

“I think I’ll stay out a bit,” he rolled his eyes and went inside, tolerant of but not understanding my more whimsical side.

My gaze was drawn upward, captured by the brilliance of the harvest moon.  The clouds formed pictures as they passed in front of it.  I watched for a while, my imagination seeing images that weren’t really there.  A dragon. A cityscape.  A mother with her child.  

But then I realized it wasn’t my imagination, and I wasn’t seeing random images.  The coulds were forming letters as they drifted over the moon.   I squinted and furrowed my brow, struggling to see more clearly, but the letters dissipated leaving wisps of a cloud that faded from sight once they passed the beam of the moon’s light.

I closed my eyes and listened to the wind.  My hair whipped around my face, but I did nothing to contain it, enjoying the wildness of the night.  I felt my heartbeat slow; my breathing became deeper; I smiled, feeling utterly and completely relaxed.  

I opened my eyes and let them return to the moon, relaxed and soft I saw the letters form.  And in the darkness of the warm summer night, I read the message that would change my life.

And with a smile, I turned and entered the house.

FridayFlash #70: Vaalea's Story

Stories are often told of princesses being rescued from dragons; as far as I know, I’m the only princess who had ever been rescued *by* a dragon. I was so young – I didn’t really understand all that had happened, or have any understanding of all that would happen. My sister, who I’d only just met, called the dragon, Drazul, and I climbed on. I was fearless and he was amazing. He spoke to me and made me laugh. And away we went.

It took forever to get there. Days? Weeks? I don’t know. It seemed like forever, but I was a child -- a year is a lifetime then.   He told me all about the special school I was going to; a school for people like me. We landed on top of a mountain. Slowly the mist cleared to reveal a castle, whose sides shimmered as though a mirage. Drazul directed me to head inside, and I was so excited – I’m sure I bounced.

There were other kids, and for the first time I could remember, I was allowed to play with them. My roommate, Adalyn, was the same age as me, but she seemed so much older. She was calm, always organized, “well put together” my mum would’ve said, and never got into trouble with the rest of us. But somehow, we still became friends.

We played, we learned, and we grew. Every once in a while, the dragons would bring us a new student. They would wander in; some were excited, but most were terrified. And thus we learned about the outside world, where magic was at best feared and at worst hunted. And so we stayed where we were safe, and we learned, and we practiced. And over time, we became strong.

But eventually, I grew up. And as I did, I wondered. I remembered so little of my life before I’d come. Why had my mother or my sister never come to visit? Drazul flew me here, surely he could’ve flown them. And I started to think that maybe it was up to me to go find them.

My first thought was to call Drazul and ask him to take me. He’d flown me here so many years ago, and stopped by at least a couple times a year since. We’d talk and play and sometimes he’d take me flying. But he never answered my questions of home, always just said I was better here. And eventually I stopped asking. Unfortunately though, I’d never learnt to call him; Drazul came when he wanted to and left on a whim – he never stuck around for long.

I slung my backpack over one shoulder, everything I valued inside. There were no rules against leaving – we could go at any time; the only rule was that once you left, you could never return. It was an easy life at the school. One where I knew everybody and was known. I could be myself and practice my magic, and perhaps one day even teach. It was a good life. But it wasn’t the life I was destined for, and somewhere, deep inside, I knew it.

I had said my goodbyes, but purposely not told anybody exactly when I would leave. It would be hard enough without a crowd. As I slid through the door, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw Adalyn carrying her matching bag. “You didn’t think you’d be going without me, did you?” she asked.

---

Author's note -- this is the start of a sequel to Jezina's Story.   For more on the school mentioned, see my short story Returning.

#FridayFlash #69: Don't try this at home

This story was completely inspired by a YouTube video posted on my wall this week.   For your entertainment, it is included at the end.

As always, comments very welcome!

Enjoy :)
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I followed the instructions so carefully.  I mixed all the powders together, then gently misted the liquid, before finally packing the whole thing around the dragon egg.   Toy dragon that is -- one of the little figurines I had bought five-for-a-dollar at the dollar store.  It would make for a great bath bomb; my nieces would love it.  And of course I had to test one.  After all, I couldn't risk giving them away and having them not work.   If only I'd known...   But how could I?   I still don't really believe it.

Sure enough the bomb fizzled and quickly turned my bath black.  I wasn't sure I liked that aspect -- would pick a friendlier colour next time.   I felt around the tub for the tiny plastic egg, but when I found it, it had already opened.

Disappointed, I started feeling in the black water to find the little plastic toy.  And let when my hand landed on something scaly!   I flew out of the tub and grabbed a towel -- glaring at the water that another inhabitant had ruined for me.

As though expecting something to attack, I carefully reached over, then yanked the plug out and jumped back!   The drama was unnecessary as the black water calmly receded.   I thought maybe a lizard of some type?   But those don't tend to live here.

When the bath drained, a little creature about the size of my hand stood and angrily shook the bath water off.   He was a deep purple colour with wings that glistened.  He cocked his gecko-like head, seeming to study me as I was him.  The moment only lasted a few seconds before I had a very clear picture in my head of me picking him up and getting him out of the tub.

Not at all sure that was a good idea, I nonetheless followed the suggestion.  The creature gave what I'm convinced was a nod of thanks before walking out of the room, his wings folded carefully behind him and tail raised just slightly off the ground.

Panicked barking jolted me out of my shock and I raced to my dog Casey in time to see the tiny creature spread his disproportionately large wings and hiss.   Casey, my fierce protector, backed down instantly.   He could've squashed this creature in a heartbeat, but no, he lay down with a whimper, flicking his eyes from me to the creature.   Sorry Casey, wish I could help...

I opened the door to the yard, pleased when the creature wandered outside.   Relieved I waited an hour for him to leave.   Then two.  But every time I looked outside, he was still there, sunning himself on a rock and growing at an observable rate.   After only a few hours, he was bigger than my German shepherd.

When it came time for dinner, I wondered if I should feed him.   What would he eat?   Google wasn't able to suggest anything, and some instinct stopped me from posting pictures online.   As I went to peer in the fridge and see what options there might be, I saw the other bath bombs.

No way.

But looking from them to my creature, now the size of a Shetland pony, I had to accept that some how my five-for-a-dollar toy and homemade egg, had hatched an actual dragon.   And I had no idea what to do with him.

----

What started it all:

#FridayFlash 68: Returning

This one is for Catherine, who asked "but what happened before?"
Annie -- your "what happened after?" is a much longer story ;)

Thanks for reading!

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"You have to take her," the frantic whisper commanded.  Leesha grabbed the brown bundle of fabric as it was shoved at her, before realizing what it held.  Who it held.

"What?  No.  Your highness, I can't..."

"She is not safe here," the voice less frantic, more commanding.  The queen speaking rather than the mother.  "My husband will kill her.  You must take her, and I cannot know where she's gone.  Keep her safe.  Keep her secret.  Until the time is right for her to return.  You will know when the time is right to tell her."

The queen handed Leesha a small sack.  Its contents jingled as she grasped it, letting her know exactly what it contained.  Its weight suggested there was enough money to last a lifetime.  

The queen's face softened as she looked at her first-born daughter, cursed with hair pure white, as her own had been.  The baby gurgled in her sleep and the queen reached for her, but as Leesha moved to hand the child back, the queen quickly stepped aside, straightening away from the child and glancing quickly over her shoulder.

"You must go now!"  The lines deepened on her forehead, but the tension evident did not disguise the pain in her eyes.  

Leesha gave a small curtsey and backed away from her queen's haunted gaze.  What did she know was coming?  Why would she fear the king?   What could possibly be bad enough that she would send her beloved daughter away with a maid?   And why her? 

Leesha's mind whirled with questions as she returned to her chamber to gather her meager belongings.  She made her way through the castle sticking to shadows and rarely used passageways, grateful for the princess's silence.  She looked longingly at the route to the kitchen, but didn't dare visit there with the child.  She didn't know how long she'd have before someone missed the girl, or if the queen would protect her if she were caught.

She thought wistfully of the friends she'd miss and hoped one day she'd be able to return.  Leesha had no family to miss her, she was sure that was a large part of why she was chosen.   What the queen didn't know, what nobody knew, was that she did have family.  The question was whether that family would take her back in.

She glanced at the baby's face – only her eyes visible through the blankets, and those mostly hidden by shadow.  Her white hair was covered – an oddity here, Leesha would take her where she would fit in, a place where Leesha never had.

She scanned the field and saw nobody before leaving the shelter of the wall and walking calmly but quickly toward the northern gate.  She'd picked a side exit, off the normal guard route, where she knew there'd only be one guard.  She hoped it might be a friend, someone she could convince she was never there.  Or, failing that, someone who could be paid to forget -- at least for a little while.

Leesha heard sounds up ahead.  Two people?  There were never two guards here.  And then her eyes widened and a smile touched the corner of her lips as she realized what she was hearing.  The guard, being less than diligent, had found himself some company to occupy his long shift.   Leesha's luck held as the baby slept while they slipped out the little-used exit.   

She hurried across the field, trying to hold the child in such a way as to not jostle her.  The steady rhythm kept her sleeping, and her silence was necessary to their escape.  She reached the forest but found the trees too think to cut through, so stuck to the edge, hiding in the shadows.   She shortly found a path -- one of the smaller ones she knew lead to town.   

Never before had the dark seemed so complete, the night so overwhelming.  But still she walked even as adrenaline began to give way to fatigue.  By the time she got to town, she’d concluded she couldn't seek help; not with the princess in her arms.   To do so would be to risk not only herself and the child, but also any who helped her.

Terrified, Leesha hid the girl in a hollow of a tree off the poorly used path and hoped she'd make it to town and back quickly enough.   She quickly bought travel necessities and foods she could make into a gruel for both of them before visiting the docks.  A reasonably safe place, Leesha affected a bored countenance while negotiating travel for herself and her daughter up the river.   Her heart beat wildly from the lie, but the weathered boatman didn't even look at her, just agreed to a price and told her to return before his crew finished loading.

Leesha hurried back, fear making it hard to swallow, but the baby was still there and fine, just starting to fuss and wave her tiny fists in the air.  She fed her quickly before rebundling her, careful to ensure her hair was entirely covered.

Only once the boat was on its way with Leesha on it, did the reality of what she was doing sink in.  As she dozed on the gently rocking ship, she remembered the village she’d left as a girl.  A small village it was bound by stricter rules than most.  She recalled as a young child, visitors had been encouraged, but by the time she was a teen and ready to explore herself, things had changed.   A wall had been built that few were allowed to cross.  “For the good of the village,” the elders said.   They knew what was out there and had to protect against it.  Those who wished to leave could, but they were not guaranteed to be welcomed back.  Leesha was afraid the hard words she had exchanged with her mother before leaving would ensure she would not be permitted to return.

The journey took several weeks, and while there were some challenges, they made their way there together and unharmed.  The wall was much smaller than Leesha remembered, and the gate stood open.

“A keelah!” Leesha heard a child’s excited shout and the nostalgia it brought helped calm her nerves.

The baby whimpered and Leesha softened her hold.  She focused on calming the girl as she entered the village she’d sworn never to return to.  As she looked up a woman stepped out of the crowd, her face pale but proud.   Not a welcome, but more encouragement than Leesha had expected.

She held the bundle out and uttered the lie that would change lives. “Mom, I’d like to introduce you to your granddaughter.  Jezina.”

#FridayFlash 67: A Flash of Colour

Follow the lemmings, she thought as she joined the hundreds of commuters filing two by two down the stairs to exit the train station.   Her whole life had been an adventure.  She loved that her friends watched her, bemused, to see what the next twist might be.  But now she who loved light, colour, and openness trudged between the tight grey rows of skyscrapers.

At the first red light, she looked around, determined not to succumb to the temptation to stare at her phone and complete the transformation into “one of them”.  It was a little defiance, but the only thing she could do to keep her sense of self.  On the opposite corner, she noticed a teenage girl wearing a brilliant red cape. Most unusual though was that the girl was looking right at her. They made eye contact as the light changed.  The girl pointed with her chin over her shoulder, spun around and left; her cape billowed behind her as people blindly shuffled to allow her to pass through.

Lizzie elbowed her way to the front of the crowd, eyes scanning the limited routes.  A flash of red flickered at the edge of an alley, and without allowing herself to consider her motives, Lizzie trailed it.  This alley was noticeably quieter and calmer.   The masses of people continued down the main road.  Up ahead the girl looked back over her shoulder, gave a mischievous wink, and let herself through a gate.

Lizzie was sure the gate hadn’t been there yesterday.  She would’ve sworn this was a dead end.  She looked behind her, giving a moment’s thought to the safe and responsible option of continuing on to work.  She dismissed it instantly. 

On closer inspection, Lizzie decided the gate had been there forever, she’d simply missed it.  It was ancient, yet opened smoothly when she pushed through it.  She heard the latch click behind her and turned to look back, relieved that everything was exactly as she’d expect to see and then amused at herself for considering anything else.  But when she faced forward, her world had changed.  The girl still stood waiting for her, but no longer was she standing in a city alley with office buildings on either side of her; in front of her lay something from a storybook – rolling hills of green, trees off to one side, and a castle in the distance.  A frantic look back revealed the city Lizzie knew, and she reached backward for the gate.  The cold metal in her hand was reassuring, but as she opened it, she felt an almost overwhelming sense of loss.  She allowed the gate to close again which dulled the sensation significantly, but her fingers turned white with the intensity of the grip she kept.

“What…?  Where…?” usually articulate, she found herself unable to formulate a question that would address the situation she found herself in.

A bird calling in the distance was the only answer she received.  It was not a city bird she heard. 

Lizzie’s feet felt rooted in cement.  She could not go forward if she wished, but nor was she inclined to tolerate the intense misery of the gate.  The other girl’s hands were interlaced in front of her while she stood quietly.  Her eyes shone of wisdom and experience well beyond what her age should allow.

“Who are you?” Lizzie’s words came out barely more than a whisper.

“I was once as you are now.  I made my choice; now you must make yours.”  Her melodic voice had a hypnotic tone to it that suited the look in her eyes but not her youth.

“How did that work out for you?”

The girl’s eyes crinkled as she let out a short laugh that instantly set Lizzie at ease.   The woman-girl paused for a moment, looking away from Lizzie before answering.

“My choice had consequences,” she spoke slowly, as though considering each word.  “Some were very hard,” she gave a gentle laugh, making Lizzie wonder how much time had passed that such hard results could now have happy memories.   Lizzie waited for her to continue, but the girl had her lips pressed tightly together.

She phrased her next question carefully.  

“If you were to do it again, knowing what you know now, would you make the same choice you did?”

The girl gave the smallest of nods before speaking, “Yes I would, but realize I did not face the same choice you have in front of you.  Your choice is your own, but if you wait much longer to decide, you’re going to be late for work.”

The reality check startled Lizzie.  What was she doing?  She had to get to work.  She needed that job.  She opened the gate and felt the sense of loss wash over her.  Her feet were still unwilling to move.  Reaching into her purse she smiled; she never missed a day so nobody would care as long as she called in – and given that she was seeing fantasy countries in a dead-end alley, she was clearly in need of a mental health day.

Her relief at the simple solution disappeared instantly when she discovered she had no service.

“Really?” her guide rolled her eyes, suddenly seeming entirely like the teenager she appeared to be.

So go to work like a responsible adult or play hooky for a little while?  That was the decision Lizzie tried to rationalize, but she knew in the part of her soul that’s reserved only for truth, that the choice she had to make would be immeasurably more significant than that.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, thought about everybody important in her life, and realized that every one of them would understand that she needed to make the choice they never would.

So with fear and excitement warring for control over her emotions, she let go of the gate and walked towards her next adventure.

#FridayFlash 66: Glitter and Tears

Star light, start bright, first star I see tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have the wish, I wish tonight

A child’s rhyme, uttered by a lonely, slightly intoxicated, barely-adult woman.  It had never occurred to me that the magic of childhood didn’t actually end at age 18, and that my starlight wish just might have the power to come true.   What did I wish for?  Money?  Health?  Love?   No, those would’ve been useful.  I, I wished for a fairy.  You know – fictional fluttery creature that farts glitter?  Yeah, that’s what I wished for.

Now before you get all judgemental on me, let’s insert a moment of realism here.  Starlight wishes don’t come true and fairies don’t exist.  So there is no way in which I should be held accountable for what happened next.

Absolutely nothing.  

At least, that’s what I now wish had happened.  Alas life, I have learned, is not, in-fact, always fair. Because ever since that day, I have had the questionable privilege of having my own fairy.  I kid you not.  Instead of a cat or a dog, I share my life with a magical, winged, glittery creature who can be seen by others only if she wants to – which I’ll give you a hint, never happens.

Okay, I could live with the questionable sanity – I never claimed to be normal to begin with.  But the problem is, my fairy is unbearably, well… Fair.   In every sense of the word.  She spends nights primping while I sleep and is physically ill whenever she sees someone she deems less than fair.  So no, I don’t have an obsession with glitter.  It’s fairy vomit.  Ugh.

But worse than living with an insanely vain glitter ball is the realization just how unfair the world is. I’ve spent years trying to balance the scales – helping the homeless and under privileged, fighting social injustice.  It’s not because I’m a good person or socially motivated; it’s because since before I finished uni, I've lived my life with a little fairy who throws a tantrum every time she sees something unfair.  Because of her I have this reputation of being a much better person than I am.  I should appreciate it; I can certainly acknowledge the personal growth and social awareness she’s raised in me, but the reality is that even my closest friends look at me oddly now when I say or do things that the real me believes.

Most of my friends managed to outgrow their youthful errors in judgement, but it seemed mine was destined to influence my life forever.  Until one day, after yet another relationship was ruined by the brilliant combination of my obsessive commitment to ridding the world of inequality combined with my occasional “hallucinations”, I finally snapped.

“It’s not fair!” I glared at the bane of my existence, fingers balled into fists, ready to throw a toddler-level tantrum of my own.  “It’s not fair that I’m stuck with you!  I didn’t know fairies were real when I said that.  Why do I have to pay for that ignorance forever?”

Her eyes grew wide as her wings drooped and her ever present sparkled dimmed.  “You’re right,” she whispered as her eyes shifted down and away from me.

Before I could apologize, feeling instant soul-destroying regret for snapping at her, she was gone.  

And I learned how unfair life really is.

FridayFlash #65: Lost Opportunity

Writing challenge: in 8 minutes write a story that includes the following words with no alteration to tense/form/etc:  stern, insult, airsickness, blamed, downward, kilometer, juggle, mistreatment.

Here's my effort:

They said it was airsickness, but I'd been off the plane for hours and instead I blamed the insult to the clown for my momentary weakness.  The stern clown (seriously -- I've never seen such a thing!) saw me juggle, or attempt to anyways, and graciously tried to help.

Others watched as my skills actually spiraled downward and the mistreatment that poor clown received when he was only trying to help made me understand partially why he hadn't chosen a happy countenance.

People came from more than a kilometer away to see what was going on, but by they time they got there, my clown had disappeared along with my juggling dreams.

FridayFlash #64: The road less travelled

She stood only a few kilometers from the base of the mountain, its peak shrouded in an unnatural mist. It was a mountain she'd never had any interest in seeing from a distance, much less climbing, but now she had no choice. She looked around her, taking in the stunning views and the happily oblivious families playing on the beach. They had no idea of the power that lurked nearby; hopefully they never would.

She took a deep breath and left the beach, finding herself quickly in deep vegetation. She knew of people who could trek through deep forest without ever making a sound. Sadly, she was not one of them. And realistically she figured her presence would be known long before sound would have given her away. She rolled her eyes as another branch snapped and an angry bird cawed loudly.

Humans had so few natural predators, yet somehow still the thought of approaching one in its den triggered long dormant instincts; her legs felt like she was wearing lead shoes, and she could hear her own heartbeat. But she had no choice. It was her fault Callie had been taken. Taken. Not killed. Nobody believed her when she told them that, claiming stress and grief were manipulating her memories. But she knew what she had seen; the dragon had been too gentle, too determined. It hadn't killed her sister; it had kidnapped her.

She muttered under her breath as she ducked under a branch only to walk straight into a cob web. There was no trail; of course there was no trail -- most people had no idea what lived up there and those who did, actively avoided visiting. But somehow it wasn't horribly overgrown either -- as she walked, her feet seemed to find their own path.

All too quickly she reached the low mist. The air hung heavy and her clothes began to sag as they drank the moisture from the air. She paused to catch her breath and became aware of the utter silence surrounding her. The birds, monkeys, and various other woodland critters who had been narrating her hike, were now noticeably missing, as though they too knew better than to risk venturing into the mist.

Welcome Christina, she froze and her eyes widened at the words she felt rather than heard. We have been waiting for you.

She snorted and determinedly continued her hike. After all, realistically if they, whoever they were, wanted her dead, she would be. Only a few moments later, the mist cleared, her limp hair and damp clothing all that reminded her of the humidity that had been.

Christina didn’t know what she’d expected to find. If she’d put any consideration into it, it would have been an arid cavern of some sort – maybe something similar to a volcano. But that was not what she found.

She knew she was staring and her teeth clicked as she consciously closed her mouth. What she saw defied all understanding she possessed. If front of her floated a stunning castle, whose edges shimmered like a mirage. To either side was what looked like giant garages, unfathomably large, and lit by crystals. The whole place oozed wealth and grandeur, but somehow also had a welcoming homey feel.

“Stein!” Christina’s eyes focused on the door as her little sister came tearing out toward her.

“Callie!” She swooped her sister up in a bear hug, “Are you okay?” But she could tell by the grin on her face and the strength in her hug that her sister was fine. “What happened? Actually no, never mind, you can tell me when we get home.”

Callie unwrapped herself and grabbed Christina’s hand, pulling toward the castle. “We can’t go yet. You have to meet Jory! And school is so much more fun here than at home.”

Christina, she held her breath as the powerful feeling overtook her again, Callie will complete her studies here. At which point she may return to your home if she desires. You too have sufficient power to stay and learn – although you are old to be so untrained. Alternately, you may leave unharmed. But know that once you cross the mist, you will have no memory of this place. Choose wisely.

Callie tugged on her hand, imploring her to come, but Christina paused, her mind spinning. She thought of her parents, and the grief they would feel at the apparent loss of another daughter; she thought of the life she would lead if she never knew what had happened to Callie; and then she looked at her sister’s excited face and knew there was no choice. Hoping it wasn’t all an elaborate ruse, she gave one last look through the mist before allowing her little sister to pull her toward the castle and her destiny.

FridayFlash #63: Daily Commute

I found this one very disturbing. Consider yourself forewarned.

-------

As she watched the train approach the station she wondered what it would be like to step in front of it. Her life was good, she had no reason or particular interest in ending it beyond curiosity. In her mind she could see it all play out. She could hear the screams of the bystanders, the shriek of the breaks being applied full force. She studied the train with an air of calculation. This one would be a good one to do it with. Different drivers approached the station at varying speeds. Most slowed down, some so much even a child could cross in front without any real risk of injury. But this driver was flying at a rate so fast the people crowded closest to the tracks would be forced backwards by the wind, even as they tried to remain blasé and unaffected.

She could do it. One long stride, well timed, and she’d be flying along the front of the train. That timing was important. She didn’t want to be standing on the tracks and be hit. Nor did she want to fall and be run over. Both of those would be a gory mess of pain. She wanted to fly. Like a figurehead on the front of a ship. A commuter’s banner. The unknown working woman, waiting on the tracks with all the other lemmings. Presumably once the train did slow to a halt, these commuters would be held up at least a few minutes. The driver would have to undergo paperwork and counselling – she wasn’t sure which was worse. Everybody else on the train would have a story to tell their friends and loved ones. “A woman jumped in front of my train at Barrie!” Her life would mean nothing, but her death would provide a few minutes of entertainment before being shrugged off as yesterday’s news. It was the people on the trains after her that would resent her. All the following trains would be late and their passengers would not have a good story to tell. But still, it’d be little more than a commuter’s grumble.

She could jump. Just to do it, break the rules and see what happened. But then there was the very real possibility she’d end up dead. Or worse – seriously hurt. And she had no interest in that. She had children she loved – Jamie, her youngest, had just started kindergarten. Her husband and her family would be upset, and it would haunt him forever that he couldn’t understand why. How could he, when there was no reason? No reason at all. No reason she had to be the one to give the commuters a story. Not when there were so many others who could do the same. She looked casually around the platform. There were no cameras. She watched the train approach. Calculating. And when she deemed the moment right, she jostled forwards abruptly -- as though she'd been shoved. Crashing hard into the unfortunate lemming in front of her.

The woman didn't fly. She didn't even scream. It was more of a crunch really as only the top half of her intercepted the train. There was moment of stunned silence before the chaos on the platform kicked in.

A few people rushed to the aid of the woman. She considered doing the same -- she had basic first aid training after all -- but really, how much could she do that they weren't already doing? She overheard a couple of people on the phone with 911. Some commuters simply waited in their spots for the doors to open, pointedly ignoring the chaos surrounding them. If they didn't participate, it wasn't happening. But the ones who really appalled her were the people who pulled out their cell phones -- what kind of person would take pictures of something like that?

A senseless death. The kind of tragedy that makes you remember to appreciate the important things in life. So with that in mind, she decided to take the day off and go pick up her children from school. Perhaps they'd take the dog to the playground. They'd love that. Commuting could wait till tomorrow.