Prompt: You invite 3 of your friends who’ve never met, but you don’t show up

Hat/tip to WritingPrompt.com

It’s been far too long! Come and join me for a girls’ weekend. July 17-19, 2017 Iberostar Grand Bavaro Hotel Playa Bavaro, Bavaro, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic Reservations on my account

Cheri waited for the driver to open her door and hold out his gloved hand for her. She tucked the card back in her purse, the words long memorized, and let him draw her from the limousine. Ever since she’d landed in the Punta Cana airport, she’d had the increasing feeling she was caught in a dream.

She’d spied the driver holding her name on a placard as she descended the escalator toward the baggage claim area. He’d already pulled her bags – how had he known? – and gestured toward the long row of glass doors. She wished she’d picked up a few more Spanish phrases on the way down, but once he had her settled in the limousine, he was content to listen to salsa music as the drove through the beautiful countryside.

By the time they reached the hotel, Cheri was feeling used to the heat and the beauty, but not the grandeur of the Iberostar. She hadn’t stayed any place like this since the last time she saw her parents. Clutching her purse, she waited as the driver snapped his fingers for a valet to pick up her bags. Another valet bowed, greeting her in impeccable French. “Welcome, Mademoiselle. Please follow me. Your rooms are ready for you now.”

Rooms? Oh my…

#

Stephanie sat on a shaded chaise lounge by the pool, paging through the medical journal she’d optimistically brought to read on the plane. The young man who’d brought her two drinks already walked over with a third in his hand, his walk more like a dance to music she couldn’t hear. He leaned over and set the drink on her table, flashing a bright smile. “That’s not the kind of thing people usually bring to read here. There’s not a conference this weekend. Are you here for work or play?”

Stephanie arched a brow and told herself he was not flirting with her. “I’m here for play. I’m always working,” she said with a straight face. He laughed, throwing his head back, and she ducked her attention away from his dark hair and brown skin to the dry text she couldn’t concentrate enough to finish.

Standing and wrapping a sheer scarf around her waist, she nodded to the young man and picked up the fresh drink. Carrying it toward the hotel lobby, she spied a newcomer and changed course to cross her path.

Holding out the drink, she smiled. “I’m guessing you’re one of Margaret’s friends. I’m Steph.”

The other woman stopped short and looked around in surprise. With a skeptical expression, she accepted the drink. “I’m Cheri. Have you seen Margaret yet?”

“No. I arrived late last night. Breakfast in bed and a trip to the pool is all I’ve managed so far. Have you seen your rooms yet?”

Cheri laughed and sipped her drink. “Oh, yes.”

#

The two women chatted as they walked around the hotel grounds. Returning to the lobby, they decided on a poolside lunch. Steph’s flirtatious young host seated them where they could see the broad staircase from the lobby, as they kept an eye out for their mutual friend.

As they finished their flan and sipped coffee, they saw a petite woman with waist-length hair pause at the top of the stairs before descending. She walked in a diagonal down the steps until she reached the left  bannister, then turned and continued down on her diagonal path.

“That must be one of Margaret’s friends,” Steph and Cheri said at the same time. When they burst out laughing, the woman looked up, tripping on the bottom step and recovering with a spin onto the patio.

“Definitely!” Cheri said. They waved her over…

Note: Too slow? On a second pass, I’d like to present the mystery sooner. But if the three women arrive separately and don’t know each other, how best to handle their introductions – to the reader and to each other? Or can even more description of the beautiful environment be sufficient to keep the reader engaged for a long slow opening? What do you think?

#

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: Who does the sentinel guard? Take 2

Thanks to SergeyMusin for permission to use his powerful “Deadly Shadow At Necropolis”!

Note: I started this story from one of the young "dorlen" boy's POV a few days ago, but it wasn't really working for me. I decided to let this one percolate for a bit, and thought I'd try writing from the sentinel's POV instead. What do you think? 

My steps were the only sound echoing off the moonlit walls as I followed my endless path through the city’s streets. When I reached the square, I would stand sentinel in the moonlight and recharge the jooln that ran red through my channels and fed my my central power source. I felt no fatigue in this body, but my sensors reported power was below optimal, and the full moon would provide plenty of light.

Once stationed in the square, I leaned against my staff and felt the thrum of power as it, too soaked in the moonlight. The jooln began to pulse throughout my body, and I almost remembered sensations of long ago, when I was alive. In my mind, I reached out for the memories, but they disappeared like smoke before the barrel of my forearm.

A scuff, then silence. I didn’t need to move to expand my senses, seeking the intruder. Likely some desert kaptil had wandered too far afield, and an auditory shrill would send it scurrying on six legs back into the silent sands. I scanned the area with night vision and found three dorlens crouching on the steps of the far building, hiding behind a line of power cells. I frowned. Did the fools think they would be safe there?

As I started toward them, clouds filled the sky, dimming the moonlight. I heard the first sounds of movement and knew I had little time. I raced toward the hidden trio and leaped up the steps, just as I sensed the others approaching. Sweeping my staff in an arc before them, I pulled up long-forgotten speech. “You dare? Noone enters the Necropolis. You know the penalty?”

The tallest dorlen moved in front of the other two. My sensors showed his fear, but he stood tall, reaching his empty hands toward me. “Please…please let my brothers go. I will pay the penalty—”

“Jarron, no!” one of the other dorlens shouted.

I frowned. Brothers? Memories…

I straightened and struck the step with my staff. Turning from them, I ground out, “Stay. Close. I lead. Out.” They did not follow when I started down the steps, and I stopped, turning back to them. I felt the smile on my face, but I knew it did not look like it once did. Speech came faster now. “Do you think I guard those who live here? Sentinels protect the living. Come.”

I turned and continued down the steps. It was up to them to follow me, or die…

To be continued?

#

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.

#

Dogs in House	Houdini
Time writing	~45 minutes
October word count	1,328

Prompt: Who does the sentinel guard? Take 1

Thanks to SergeyMusin for permission to use his powerful “Deadly Shadow At Necropolis”!

It took a full moon’s journey to reach the Necropolis, even riding our bildoons in shifts. One rider stayed awake, astride the lead bildoon’s head, and the other two slept on their beasts’ broad back-plate saddles. It wasn’t comfortable, but we had to move fast.

I leaned back against the lead bildoon’s ear plates and looked up the sliver of remaining moon. We only had one more night to reach the city, or we’d miss our chance. Returning home empty-handed wasn’t an option. The Thieves Guild would throw us out on our ear if we had nothing to show for a full moon. Unguilded thieves didn’t survive long in Setaastin.

This whole thing was Jarron’s idea. I glanced back to where he and Boon were sleeping, while the bildoons plodded steadily toward the city. Bildoons might only have three brain cells to rub together, but they had perfect navigation. Jarron had stolen a Necropolis goblet from Master Toock, and once he let the bildoon’s sniff and drool all over it, we gave them free reign, and they set out on an unerring path to the city of the dead.

The day before the new moon was the only time the living could enter the city. Jarron convinced us that we could load up on Necropolis goods and return to Setaastin as heroes. Well, heroes among thieves, anyway. Which was the same thing to us, taken in by the guild when no one else would have us or help us.

Boon and I were brothers in every way that counted, except by blood. We teamed up with Jarron after our mother was killed in the Valken Purge. He’d already been living on the streets long enough to know all the safe sleeping spots, and cooks who might leave an extra loaf or bowl of stew to cool on their kitchen window ledge.  When the Night Guard caught us, the Thieves Guild paid our bail and took us in. We all took the brand the next full moon. I rubbed the crest on my forearm, remembering.

To be continued…
(with another "take" from a different POV)

                                                                                                            

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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	~30 minutes
September word count	8,306

Prompt: Suddenly, superpowers

It was just a dinner game! Liz and Jack host our old gang’s own “alumni weekend” at their Topsail Island beach house every year after the summer tourists clear out, but the water and the air are still warm. I wasn’t sure I’d make it this year, what with taking on a couple of big projects at work, and Andy starting high school. But we made it, and as always, I couldn’t believe I’d ever considered not coming. I love these people.

So Sunday night, we’re enjoying the fruits of our efforts from clamming and fishing over the weekend. A storm had blown up the coast, and we had even talked about whether we should bug out and head back to the mainland before it hit. But no one wanted to sacrifice our last day. When the power went out, we just lit every one of Liz’s candles and opened more wine.

These dinners, after all the kids have gone to bed, are the best for me. Sitting around the table, it’s like time falls away, and we’re all in college again, our whole lives ahead of us, open to possibility. There is no way to predict the paths of conversation, into gigglefests of silliness, or serious debates about everything from the existence of God to the impacts of climate change.

Liz started it that night. Holding up a handful of paper slips, she said, “Let’s choose superpowers!” She threw them on the table upside down, and we drew them and read them aloud like fortune cookies, with the obligatory “in bed” after each one.

Which one would you choose? The ability to control the weather? Shapeshifting? Telekinesis? Teleportation? Invisibility? Super speed or strength? Mind reading? The ability to heal any injury or illness?

After we debated the relative merits of each power, we lifted out glasses for a final toast, just as a loud *crack* of thunder crashed over us, and a spear of lightning struck the beach right in front of the house. Jack jumped up and grabbed a flashlight, and we followed him out to look for fulgurites in the sand. We came back in and headed to bed, and I doubt anyone gave our conversation a second thought.

I wondered if anyone else was thinking about it now. “Dammit, Liz! This is all your fault!” I shouted, as I floated against the ceiling and listened to the chaotic chatter of my neighbors’ thoughts…

#

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.

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing	40 minutes
September word count	7,420

Prompt: Sacrifice, or The Elements of Life

Thanks to Elwira Pawlikowska for permission to use her darkly beautiful “Fantasy Pond”!

We’ve dreamed each other our whole lives.

Well, I think I’m real, and Heilewisa thinks she’s real.

We can’t both be, can we?

We better be.

I can’t save her if we’re not.

I begged her not to go to the Dark Temple. She’d whispered the legends to me at night just as her older brothers and sisters had whispered them to her, cuddled together under thin blankets, shivering in the cold with only moonlight through the tiny open window of their mud-and-thatch house.

No one made their way through the Deadwood to the long-abandoned temple with any hope of return. If they had hope at all, it was that their sacrifice would be payment enough for whatever they were driven to beg the angry, old gods.

Waking up each morning has been agony, abandoning her on her journey. Each night, I pushed myself to go to sleep as early as possible to find out how she had survived the day.

Last night, she had reached the Dark Temple and waited for me there. Together, we walked around the fetid moat, full of bone-white lotus flowers and the broken remains of statues and pillars that had once graced the temple’s entrances.

“Look.” Heilewisa pointed to the six statues that remained, as if guarding the temple steps. “They carry sacrifices.”

I peered across the still, black water. The pair of statues at the bottom of the steps held urns. The next pair beyond them held bowls. And the pair at the top of the steps held…lumps? My brows drew together and I turned to Heilewisa in confusion.

She laughed, a sound of sharp surprise with no joy, that rang across the water and bounced off the stones. “The elements of life. Water in the urns, grain in the bowls, earth in the hands.”

“Heilewisa, this is crazy. You can’t cross the water. It looks…wrong.”

She gazed at it in silence, then pointed to the floating lotus. “Look, they live. I’ll be all right. I have to.”

We hugged each other in desperation, and I felt the tug of morning pull me out of her tight embrace.

And now, look at her. Floating in the black water, small ripples flowing out from her body, as if there might still be some movement left in it. Some life. But the color has already leached from her skin, her hair, her lips. Her gown looks like it’s been eaten by moths, or acid. Will her skin look the same soon?

Hot tears burn down my cheeks. Heilewisa knew the risk. She thought she had no choice. I do. I can wake up. She’s just a dream. That’s what everyone would say. Anyone. But what if she’s not? What if I am? And what if I can save her?

Heilewisa’s last words had remained with me all day, running around and around in my mind. The elements of life. Water, food, earth. Something was missing.

I turned back to the Deadwood, keeping my eyes on Heilewisa as long as possible. I’ve never tried to bring anything with me in my dreams, but I’ve always had whatever I was wearing, or carrying in a pocket. Now I pulled the wool scarf from around my neck. It was only a few steps away from the water to find a long dead branch on the leaf-littered ground. I wrapped the scarf around the end of the branch and reached into my pocket for the lighter I’d swiped from my stepfather’s dresser. Rubbing my thumb across the top, I set the lighter to its strongest flame. Flick, I pressed down. Nothing. Flick. Nothing. My heart leaped into my throat. I had tried it at home. I knew it would work. It had to.

With the side of my thumb, I pressed against the top of the lighter one more. Flame shot up two inches, singing my thumb as I jerked it away. Holding it close to the wool, I ran the flame around and around, until the scarf caught fire and I held a torch above my head.

Now what? I eyed Heilewisa and the statues. How did I use the element of fire to save her? The reflections of the statues waved in the water, as if they were bending closer to the surface. Bringing their offerings closer. Water. Food. Earth.

Fire. I smiled, feeling the fierce grin stretch the skin tight across my face. Reaching out with the flaming torch, I lowered the torch to the black water. As it touched, it began to hiss and sizzle, but the flame didn’t go out. It leaped across the water, sweeping across the lotus, across Heilewisa, racing toward the statues bearing the other elements of life temple steps.

I threw the torch on the black water and waded in toward Heilewisa. She rolled over in the water and folded up, choking and coughing. I grabbed her around the chest and started pulling her away from the temple, back to the shore. The fire raged behind us. I dragged her out of the water and dropped to the ground, holding her tight. Her skin and hair remained bone-white, bleached of their color, but she was breathing, shuddering in my arms.

She opened her eyes and stared up at me, then across the water to the flame roaring over the Dark Temple. The statues’ arms were raised, their tributes, their sacrifices, pouring into the flames.

“Sweet Rhea, what have you done?”

#

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.

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing	1 hour, interrupted
September word count	4,206

Prompt: “When a monster stopped behaving like a monster, did it stop being a monster? Did it become something else?” ― Kristin Cashore, Graceling

Groolig sat on the riverbank with his feet in the water and his head in his hands. His curves claws tapped the tufted tips of his long ears, as he replayed the scene over and over in his head.

“Carve the skin, my pet,” Mistress crooned, fingertip tracing a hidden rune on his back. Groolig was her favorite instrument, and he’d never hesitated to do her bidding. She could as easily pick up a blade and use it on him as he could use his claws on bare skin. She had done so throughout his youth, carving the runes that covered his own flesh, now hidden by mottled, tangled fur. How many others had he sliced and torn open before their blood washed away his own, stained against his skin and fur and claws?

But Groolig didn’t want to hurt this one. He reached past her arms, suspended on the chains rattling above them, touching a claw to her cheek, where a single tear quivered. It splashed over his claw, and he remembered.

“Groolig! Catch me!” The girl cried as she leaped from the tree limb above, barely giving him time to reach up before she fell into his arms, laughing. He curled her slight body up to his chest, burying his face against her belly and blowing raspberries through her threadbare tunic. She giggled and wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. “You’re my best friend, Groolig. You’re not a monster! You’re not!”

“Don’t bore me, pet,” Mistress warned in a deep growl.

Groolig didn’t move the claw against the girl’s cheek. He didn’t turn his head in warning. He simply swung out behind him with his other long arm, claws outstretched, with unerring accuracy, and tore out Mistress’ throat. He never looked back as he swiped through the metal links of the chains and curled the falling girl into his arms once more. If Mistress lived, she would kill them both. But the sounds behind him told a different tale.

He carried the girl out of Mistress’ hold and into the deep forest where they once played. When he reached the river, he walked into the middle and upstream, pushing against the current without slowing his pace for hours. The girl remained still in his arms. Before the light faded, he found the hut they once built of fallen tree limbs and fresh rushes, long since dried into thatch. He lay the girl down on the thatch floor and went out to find fresh rushes to cover her while she slept.

Finally admitting he was tired, he sat on the riverbank, next to the hut, and cooled his torn feet in the rushing water. He’d spent most of his life in the stone confines of Mistress’ hold, except for rare adventure with the girl. Now Mistress was dead, and he had to take care of the girl. He didn’t know what to do. Burying his head in his hands, Groolig tried to think what she would need…

To be continued?

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Music Playing	iTunes walking playlist
Time writing	~30 minutes
July word count	11,334

Prompt: Wraith child

I’ve known Jesse since we were four. His family moved next door to mine, and I chased him under the moving truck while they unloaded. I’d never seen tires that big. He hid behind one and we went around and around until I turned back and ran smack into him and we fell down laughing. We’ve been best friends ever since. I knew he was afraid of the dark, but I never really understood why. Until tonight.

We had our first sleepover that first night, both in sleeping bags in my living room. By the time we were old enough that our parents said it wasn’t proper, we were old enough to stuff pillows in our beds and sneak in and out of windows like ninjas. Most nights, Jesse climbed in my window and we slept with our arms wrapped around each other. No matter how hot it was, Jesse always had to have at least a sheet over us, tucked around hands and feet. He would have preferred to keep our heads under the covers, too, but I can’t sleep with anything over my face, not even a light sheet.

I always thought it was for comfort. Jesse never talked about the nightmares that made him tremble and thrash in his sleep. I would just wrap my arms tighter around him and whisper in his ear until he calmed down. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here.”

#

“Cut,” yells the director. “From the top…”

#

Jesse’s been my best friend since we were four. Tonight he tried to kill me. Didn’t he? But then he saved my life. Ogodogodogod, did that really happen? Where is he now? He should be here…. No! Maybe I should go find him, try to help…Against what? What where they? What is he? Oh, Jesse, I don’t know…

“Jesse,” I moaned, dropping my forehead against my knees, pressing my back against the wall and tucking the sheet tight over my head as he always told me. How can this possibly protect me? Save me? But somehow, it always has. I just never knew the nightmares were real. Until tonight.

It’s all racing around and around in my brain, until I want to scream! I am so mad at Jesse—he lied to me! All these years? He knew…didn’t he? He had to have known. That he wasn’t …what? Say it, Annie.

“He’s not human,” I whispered, my lips brushing against my jeans. I clenched my arms tighter around my shins. And then the window rattled, and I tried to make myself even smaller under the sheet. Invisible to them as they were to us.

“Trust me,” I heard Jesse’s voice in my head, my memory. The first night he climbed in my bed and tucked the sheets around us. “We’re safe under here…”

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing	~1 hour, interrupted
July word count	8,959

Prompt: What price magic? Part 3

 …Continued from Part 2

I nodded and shook his hand, pressing into it a few of Suphora’s and my hard-earned coins from my honest work in the market.

I found Suphara surrounded by kind women, who dried her tears and brushed out her hair, braiding it into the long coils they once again wrapped around her delicate neck. I went to the baker and bought the rest of his day-old bread to share with them, to thank them for mothering her for a little while.

That night, we curled up together by the fire, and I held both her hands together in mine. “Suphara, why did you tell the medico you never breathed the poison smoke? You told me the first night we met about how the infidels burned your village and your parents died from breathing the smoke after they brought you here.”

She began to cry. “I didn’t want those memories, so I used them for my magic.” She sniffled and pulled a hand free to wipe her eyes and nose on her sleeve.

“I don’t understand,” I complained, thinking about her magic. “How do you use memories for your magic?”

She sat up and rested her hands on her knees. “There is always a price for magic,” she said. “Each time I use magic, it costs a memory.

“Every time? What do you mean, it costs a memory?”

“I don’t remember that memory anymore. That’s why I separate my memories every day, into those I want to keep, and those I want to use.”

I remembered her hands moving the first time we met, and suddenly it all fell into place. But… “Then you should not use so much! You'll use up all your memories!”

She dropped her head and said softly, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have that many good memories to keep. Better to use them for magic that helps make our lives better, don’t you think?”

Exhausted by the day, we lay down. She rested her head on my shoulder and fell asleep. I still held her hand and listened to her breathing. Before I fell asleep, I whispered, “It’s okay. I’ll remember them for you, then.”

To be continued?

Dogs in house:	Houdini
Time writing	~1 hour
June word count	9,012