Prompt: I'm afraid of ending.

"I'm afraid," I wheezed into the dark room, barely louder than the machines tirelessly pumping air and blood and medicines to keep me alive.

She turned her head, resting her cheek on the sheet next to my hip. She couldn't hold my hand or lie next to me anymore. The slightest pressure tore tissue and broke bones. I pushed my hand closer to her head and slipped my fingers into her hair. That didn't hurt. Much. 

"I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of ending. Being dead. Confined in a box and buried in the earth. Or burned." I shuddered.

She nodded silently, rubbing her head gently against my fingers. 

"I don't know what's going to happen next. I hope my spirit or consciousness will stick around to haunt you, baby girl."

She smiled, a slight twist of the lips that once laughed so freely.

I huffed once and felt the choking threaten deep in my chest. I stilled and focused on even breaths so I wouldn't tear my lungs up any further. 

"But I promise you, whatever I might be after this body dies, I will never. Ever. Want to be in it again."

She did laugh then. And cried. She nestled her head against my hip and closed her eyes, humming the lullabies I used to sing to her every night. 

"Come away with me in the night..."

I closed me eyes and felt her voice on my skin, sliding down my ears. 

I would miss this. Living. 

#

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And so, with a loving heart, I offer you

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s my favorite:

The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes

the light of the universe that shines within you.

#

Prompt: Cloning, temporal discontinuity, and geographical affinity

I’m journaling tonight, but I challenge you to use one or more of these as prompts.

“She’s your clone!” I’ve heard it for the past fourteen years. Daughter looks more than a little bit like me. Behaves more than a little bit like me. Shares more than a few of the same interests and passions. But make no mistake, she is not me. She is entirely her own person. Sometimes we get along great together. Sometimes not. I did mention she is fourteen?

Story idea:
It seems obvious to me. The clone who struggles to find her own identity. Calling into question pre-determination, nature vs nurture, and the very fundamental question of Self. These are the questions explored so beautifully by the non-human characters in various Star Trek incarnations, notably Spock in TOS, the Doctor in Voyager, and Data in TNG.

We went to New York this past weekend. This was a Very Big Deal for many reasons. But a few things struck me as we walked around Times Square and the Theater District, hiked down 9^th Ave before midnight and back up 8^th after. I suffer from temporal discontinuity. I see things with the memory of my younger self, my college self, running around these streets day and night with my best friends, seeking out museums, photo opps, bars and clubs. I see Daughter’s wide-eyed wonder (which she plays oh-so-cool and close to the vest – more McGraw even than I), drinking in every sight, smell and sound, every step of the way. And I see the city with the guarded, tense concern of a protective mother walking with her beautiful child. Not such a child any more, but growing into a beautiful young woman who is beginning to attract attention. Look away, look away, before I have to hurt you, growls the mother tiger.

Story idea:
Time travel within one’s own life. So many directions to go with that. Can you effect change? What happens to your future? I found that when Daughter was born, so much regret simply disappeared, because every step of my life led to her. Since then, there may be a few regrets. What would I change if I could. Personal, or larger scale? Could I make the world a better place? At what cost? I’m reminded of an excellent Voyager episode where they are caught in temporal loops that turn out to be the doing of a man simply trying to get back to a reality in which his family still lives.

Ah, geographical affinity. Love of place. Daughter experienced it in New York. All weekend, she proclaimed she would be leaving a little piece of her heart behind when we boarded the plane for home. She is already talking about going to college, living and working in the Big Apple. And she claims she will never feel this way about another city. To which I say I hope not, because the world’s a mighty big place, with lots of wonderful cities, towns, open spaces and more to fall in love with. In City of Joy, a privileged Miami doctor goes to the worst slum in Calcutta and finds the place he belongs. My niece is in her second year serving in the Peace Corps in Africa, and despite many challenges, deprivations, and dangers, is considering a third year. Her mother wants her “safe” at home.

I felt a love for the city of Boston from the first time I visited, interviewing for a summer job during college. I *like* New York, but I *love* Boston. When I first went to San Francisco, years later, several people told me, “Oh, you like Boston, you’ll love San Fran – they’re a lot alike.” I *liked* San Fran just fine, but I didn’t love it. And that made me sad, because it made me question my love for Boston, having moved away several years earlier. I thought I remembered that instant love with rose-colored glasses, that it must have grown over time, as I walked all over the city and came to know it so well. Until I went to Seattle. And Portland. I felt that same sense of connection in both cities, and I was giddy with excitement, not only for the way I enjoyed them, but because it told me I hadn’t been wrong. I *had* felt that way about Boston, and that “love of place” was a very real thing.

And I just had an epiphany. I’m not living in a place I *love*. I *like* where I am, and I know it well, and it’s comfortable, and it has a lot to offer. But I have never felt that *love* I felt for Boston, or Seattle, or Portland, or a few other places. And I’m going to need to think about that. I might journal about it here. Later.

Story idea:

Someone who’s lost the place where they felt that geographical affinity, that “love of place” – due to war or disaster – and is searching for a new place where they feel that same connection. I’m thinking galactic nomad. Hmm….I might even know who that character is. I started writing her story awhile ago. I just didn’t know this about her. Oh, Siena….

So there you have it. Three ideas, three prompts, three themes. Cloning and time travel are classic tropes of science fiction, and yet there are still fresh, new stories being told, waiting to be told. Is one of them mine? Yours? Let me know if this sparks something for you, fellow writer!

#

And so, with a loving heart, I offer you

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love:
The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes
the light of the universe that shines within you.

Time writing	~75 minutes
August word count	6,525

Prompt: The Dreaming Tree

I still remember when Boa carried me to the dreaming tree for my first cutting. He tended his own rooted cutting every morning and every evening, pouring a handful of water around the long white roots , barely visible in the thick black soil that filled his pack. He showed me how the water drained through the soil and clung to the roots. “Too little and it will shrivel up; too much and it will drown and rot. You must find your cutting’s balance, see Tippa?”

Boa had tended his cutting for many years, and it stood taller than him when his pack rested on the ground. When the tribe daywalked, he carried it on his back, and those closest to him enjoyed the tree’s shade. On those rare occasions that the tribe nightwalked, Boa wrapped his sleeping blanket around the tree’s furled leaves. “We must protect them in their sleep, Tippa, or there will be no dreams for us later.”

I was three when Boa said it was time for my first cutting. Mya said I was too young to climb the dreaming tree to find the tender new growth that made best cuttings, but Boa scoffed and leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Run to that round-leaved tree, Tippa, and show your Mya how well you can climb.”

His fingers pointed to a round-leaved tree that shaded old Beeba’s tent. Beeba was one of our best dreamers; everyone showed her respect with gifts of food, water, and shade. I loved to curl up with Beeba and share her dreams. When she slept longer than me, I would lie next to her and watch the sunlight through the tree’s leaves, imagining what it would be like to have my own dreaming tree someday. As long as I could remember, Boa had told me that one day, I would have my very own cutting to tend, and I would guard the tribe’s next dreaming tree…

To be continued…

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing	~20 minutes
July word count	9,285

Prompt: Freedom Always Comes with a Price

Genra sat patiently while the brush stroked through her hair, deft hands braided and pinned, soft voice hummed a nameless tune, although it seemed familiar somehow.

“There you are, Missa Genra.”

“Thank you, Prime.” She tilted her head and smiled into the mirror. “Bernard will appreciate your efforts.”

Prime ducked her head and glanced away. Genra suspected she had a crush on Bernard. At least she was confident he had no interest in the clones.

“Mama! Mama! Let’s see you all dressed up!” Robby and Julia raced into the bedroom, leaping onto the bed with exuberant energy. Prime stepped aside, hands behind her back, until Genra was ready for her to take them out.

Genra stood and spun, admiring the swirl of her chiffon skirt and the sparkle along her draped sleeves. Julia clapped, and Robby blew kisses. Genra curtsied to them, then nodded to Prime.

Stepping forward, Prime waved the children toward her. “Come now. Let’s let your Mama finish getting ready in peace. Secca has dinner ready for us. I think I smelled peaches—”

Robby cried, “Peach cobbler! Let’s go!” He rolled off the bed and ran out the door. Prime waited for Julia, who climbed down the bed and walked over to stand next to Genra as she leaned toward the mirror, putting on a row of silver-chain-linked earrings. She smiled down at her daughter. “Have an extra bite of cobbler for me, okay, honey?” Julia hugged her around the waist, then ran past Prime.

As Prime turned to follow the children, Genra said, “Prime? Don’t let Secca give them too much. You know Robby will have a stomachache.”

Prime ducked her head again, nodding, and left silently. Genra leaned her hands on the dressing table and stared at the reflection if the empty doorway, wondering about the anger she’d sensed from her first clone.

To be continued?

Dogs in house:	Houdini, Brindle
Music	Mumford & Sons - I Will Wait”
Time writing	~15 minutes
July word count	4,048

Prompt: Love for You

Thanks to Katarina Zirine for permission to use her beautiful "Love for You"!

Seriana swept her outstretched fingers over the tall golden-red grass as she walked across the field under the brilliant sunset colors of the clouded skies. Her shoulders twitched as her gossamer wings fluttered behind her. Slender and clear, they would not carry her for many moons, until she had chosen her life’s purpose. By then, they would have stretched and grown thick and strong, bold and jewel-toned like her mother’s, or delicately tinted like her sister’s.

“Why don’t males have wings?” she had asked as a child. Her mother had laughed out loud, and her sister had giggled behind her hands, but they didn’t have an answer that made any sense to Seriana.

With no males in the House, Seriana could only watch them from a distance. Her sister seemed incurious, but she was about most things except their mother’s power. Seriana had no heart for political games. She wanted to explore the world. She wanted to understand. Everything.

Her childhood wings had withered and fallen off two winters past. She had buried them and danced with her crèche-mates under the next full moon, before she returned home to her mother’s House for the first time. She missed her friends, their laughter, their play, their touch.

Her mother only touched her to spin her around after supper and examine her budding crystal wings. “Hmm,” she would mutter, or a casual “Good” as she patted Seriana’s back, then turned away. Seriana had dreamed of her mother’s love for as long as she could remember. Now she cried herself to sleep at night and pined for her crèche.

A tall stalk of grass seed tucked between her thumb and finger, jolting her from her reverie. She stripped the seeds from the stalk in a smooth pull and held them in her palm. Looking up at the moon, already glowing in the darkening sky, she made her first choice toward her life’s purpose.

Sweeping aside her long golden curls, she bent her lips closer. “I have love for you. Find me.” She blew the delicate red seeds, and they fluttered into the air, opening into tiny hearts as they drifted away. Unseen behind her, the edges of her clear wings faded to a delicate ink, and then purple…

Dogs in House	Houdini
Music	Sting, “St Agnes and the Burning Train” and “Fragile”
Time writing	~35 minutes
May word count	9,796

Prompt: someone cleans out their closet only to find something extremely unusual

“Davey, go pull everything out of the closet in your room. I want to wash the walls down before we put your stuff in there.”

Davey groaned. “But Mom!” She just gave him That Look and pointed upstairs. Davey stomped toward the stairs. When he hit the first step, his mother said, “Thanks, Davey. I really appreciate your help. Get the closet cleared out, and you can take a break and go look around the block for other kids, okay?” Davey refused to look at her, but he nodded and then continued upstairs.

He didn’t remember the house, but Cassie said they had come to visit their grandparents when Davey was two, before Daddy went to Afghanistan. She remembered a Christmas tree in the living room, and the pass-through window from the kitchen to the dining room. That was eight years ago. Daddy was gone, and now his parents, too. He didn’t understand why they had to come live in this stupid big old house.

There were four bedrooms on the second floor. Davey and Cassie were in the back two. She shared a bathroom with Mom, which meant Davey got the second bathroom all to himself. That was pretty cool, he guessed. He had a big walk-in closet, too. But it was filled with his grandparents’ junk, like the rest of the house. They were trying to go through everything. Mom called it organizing. It felt more like moving stuff from one room to another. But Davey knew better than to argue when she was slinging That Look.

They’d already gone through all the clothes, so Davey turned on the closet light and started pulling things off the shelves that lined the wall opposite the door. None of it was very interesting to him, as he carried armload after armload out into his room and spread it on the floor. When he got to the top two shelves, he pulled in his desk chair to climb up.

Reaching up to the top shelf, his hand knocked against something hard that scooted away – he followed it and clasped his fingers around a small box. Tugging it off the shelf, he carried it down and sat on his bed to open it. An old style cigar box, with pictures criss-crossed in a collage. Davey lifted the lid and peered inside. A handful of baseball cards, a few letters, a fishing lure, and a man’s ring with a tiger eye stone. Davey slid the ring on his finger and picked up the cards.

Cassie burst through his bedroom door. “Davey—”

She looked around in confusion. “Davey? Oh, Mom is going to kill you for sneaking out, you brat!” She backed out of the room and disappeared down the hall.

Davey pulled off the ring and stared at it. “Wow. What was that?”

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Music	Santana on youtube.com
Time writing	40 minutes, distracted
May word count	1,047

Prompt: Fire in the belly

Fiery pain lanced through Drezhna’s belly, and she groaned, twisting and stretching her scales against the cool cave walls to find a more comfortable position. Her eyes dilated wide, she could easily see in the darkness. She stretched her neck and snapped up a bone she had been gnawing, sucking out the marrow to appease her fast-growing baby.

Rest easy, little one, Drezhna thought, hoping to sense a connection. Shouldn’t she be able to by now? If she didn’t soon, would she survive?

The last few weeks were the most dangerous, when the baby’s fire lit within the womb. Usually the prime mother would burrow down with her daughter and seal them within a cave until the baby was safely born. But Drezhna’s mother had fallen prey to one of the great metal beasts that invaded from the southern skies. Drezhna had sensed her mother’s silence as she returned from the deep breeding waters. She had fallen out of the sky and floated on the choppy surface, not caring for a long while if a sea creature attacked her there. Until she sensed her baby for the first time.

Why couldn’t she connect? Drezhna remembered floating in her own mother’s womb. Her mother’s gravelly voice sounding even in her thoughts. Her mother’s prime mother easing her out into the dark cave and leading her to the surface with a blast of fire clearing their path, melting the rock and soil covering them into a smooth tunnel.

Who would lead her baby away from her, up to the surface? If she could not do it, the babe would begin to devour her in its newborn hunger….

TBC?

                          

Dogs in House	Houdini
Time writing	20 minutes, interrupted
April word count	5,258

Prompt: The Queens Of Gehrlia, Part 4

…Continued from Part 3

“My fierce battle companion,” Behnrel began. Isrehna and her handmaidens leaned forward intently. They all knew his code phrases for stories of Diehlen. “My fierce battle companion wielded her bow and arrow equally well in the hunt. Once we came to a village that was being terrorized by a rampaging wild boar. It had torn up most of their summer crops and attacked their mezzen in their pens.”

He eyed the girls, but they showed no fear, only fascination, hungry for tales of adventure beyond the stifling confines of their quarters, clothes, and lessons. He hid a smile and looked sternly from one to the other. “In the days before we arrived, three of their best hunters had gone after the boar, but it surprised them deep in the forest, goring one through the leg and another through the chest before the third injured it with a blow to its hindquarters and it ran away.”

“Were they,” Isrehna asked with wide eyes, “were they—”

“Isrehna!”

Behnrel jumped from the floor to stand at attention, chagrined he had not even heard the queen’s approach. The handmaidens knelt and bowed, but Isrehna held her head up high, looking straight at the queen. “Grammere,” she said calmly. Behnrel dared not smile at her bravery, but he knew there would be a price to pay for her insubordination.

“Isrehna,” the queen said in icy tones, “it’s time for your bath.” She pointed to the door, deliberately turning her hands so Behnrel would see her own tattoos. Proving, he thought bitterly, that queens are born, not made, no matter how they are marked.

Isrehna stood without a word, and her handmaidens meekly followed her out of the room. Behnrel kept his face carefully neutral as long as the queen regarded him and even after she had spun on her heel and followed the girls through the door. He closed his eyes and pictured Diehlen’s hands…

TBC

Dogs in House	Brindle, Houdini
Time writing	~45 minutes
March word count	7,789