Prompt: Word wrangler

“Keep your net ready,” Father said, holding his two nets loosely in his left hand while he shifted her hand farther up the handle of her small net with his right. “You never know when one will fly right in front of you, and you don’t want to miss it, do you?” he asked seriously.

Emelia shook her head, her eyes wide as they had been ever since she entered the aerie with her net clutched tight in one hand and Father’s tunic in the other. He’d never allowed her to come up before, only to watch from the sandy floor below while he climbed the narrow balcony that wrapped in a steep spiral around the inner walls of the tall tower.

Every once in awhile, a word dropped down to the floor, and she would pick it up and cuddle it as gently as she did cook’s hearth kittens. But they were usually limp and lifeless. Emelia treasured every one, though, keeping them carefully pressed in a book of blank pages her mother had given her after she brought home her first word from the aerie floor two years ago.

She was five now, and Father had promised when she could read and write all her letters, she would be old enough to come with him up into the aerie to see the living words. She could hardly remember to breathe, she was so excited to see them all. They moved around too fast for her to read, mostly, though she could make out a few slow or small ones that fluttered by.

Father pointed to one fluttering just past the balcony railing. “Think you can reach that one, Emelia? Be careful. A gentle swing, just like you’ve practiced with the flutterbyes. That’s right, line it up. Don’t reach out too far.”

She held her breath and swung her net from right to left, catching the lone word right in the middle of the green gauze. She felt her grin stretch her lips so wide, she thought her face might split apart. She knew better than to jump up and down or squeal with the excitement building up inside her. Father disapproved of both activities. He had raised six boys, all grown. Emelia had been a surprise in more ways than one.

He nodded approval as she brought the gauze back under the railing and swept it straight to her chest, just like he had taught her. He helped her gently hold the word between her thumb and forefinger and peel back the gauze to see what it was. “You read it, Emelia.”

“P..pris…tin..e—”

“Remember the 'e' at the end—”

“Prist…tine?”

“Pris-teen. That’s a tricky one. You’re right. Sometimes the long I is ‘aye’ and sometimes it’s ‘ee’. Do you know what it means?”

Emelia furrowed her brow as she tried to remember. Had she ever heard the word before? Would Father be disappointed if she didn’t know it? Finally, her face fell and she shook her head slowly. Would he make her let it go?

“Well,” he said more gently than she had expected. “Then you better take it with you so you can ask your tutor to teach you.”

She drew in a deep breath and looked up with her eyes wide once more.

“I expect you to tell me about it at supper, all right?” He ruffled her hair once, then turned back to his nets. “Now, stay here and I’m going up to the top. Do you see that word in the far corner?”

Emelia peered into the gloomy turret and saw a word fluttering weakly against the brick wall. She nodded.

“It’s been stuck there for a couple of days, now. I’m going to go pull it down and we’ll see if it has any life left to it, or if it’s time…”

Emelia looked down at her word. Pristine. She cradled it against her tunic and watched Father climb higher. She was torn between wanting to see the other word, to learn what it was and what it meant, and wanting him to rescue it to fly freely around the aerie once more.

Dogs in house	Houdini
Time writing:	20 minutes
October word count:	6,870

Prompt: Let no profanity pass my lips

Thanks to Matthew Dellar’s 200 Fantasy Writing Prompts! The full prompt, for those inclined, is
"A religion or race that considers speaking profane and thinks mouths are only there for eating."

Milden had waited across the river until after the sleeping bell had tolled, then ridden the ferry across and settled in the meditation chamber for a night of blissful silence. It was hours before the ringing of voices finally faded from his ears and he thought he would not flinch to see mouths open to eat breakfast in the morning.

In the pre-dawn light, he walked out to the mandala garden to sign welcome to the rising sun. Standing tall, with his legs braced wide, he began the full signs of morning prayer. Each stroke of his arm and bend of his spine released the last of the tension he had held during his ministry out there. In the talking world.

He shuddered at the thought, and started at the hand on his shoulder. Turning, his eyes widened in gladness to see Brother Tomas. Tomas gestured to the sun, and Milden bowed and signed joining, bringing his thumbs and forefingers together in linked loops. They stood side by side and completed the morning prayer.

Tomas handed him a small towel when they were done, and he accepted it with two eyebrow lifts in thanks. Wiping their faces as they walked toward the refectory, Tomas signed, Welcome home.

Many thanks, brother. It is good to be home. More than you know.

I do know. I have been out there before.

Milden lifted his palms in surprise. Tomas shrugged. Who ever wants to discuss such things? It was a long time ago. But, it can be hard to leave behind. If you do want to discuss any of it…

Milden bowed a deeper thanks. I hope to leave it all behind from this sunrise. But if not, I will come to you, brother.

Tomas paused before they reached the refectory door. With one warm hand on Milden’s shoulder, he signed with the other. Are you ready? Open mouths and pure silence. Only food shall pass these lips.

Milden pressed his fingers to his lips and drew his hands wide open. Blessed silence. Let no profanity pass these lips again.

It was as close to a confession as he would ever make.

Tomas pulled Milden closer and leaned forward to kiss his brow. It was as close to forgiveness as he could ever hope to receive.

Side by side, they went through the broad double doors to join their brothers in a blissfully silent rising repast.

Dogs in house	Houdini
Time writing:	~20 minutes interrupted
October word count:	5,630

 

Prompt: Finding the right point of view, part 3

Continued from Part 2

Through the fog, pain. Every part of my body feels like its on fire. My head is pounding, and I swear there’s a knife or an ice pick right behind my left ear. Lying down – stretched out. Last I remember, I think, I was flying through the air and crashed into a brick wall. I was tumbling down toward the ground…

Hospital. I recognize the smell, even past the thick smell of my own blood. There’s someone here. Not dangerous. She? Yes, maybe a nurse. I’m trying to open my eyes, but they are sealed shut. Sticky. Blood.

Glass breaking. Scream. Another. It’s here. Time to get up.

Move! I scream in my head. My body doesn’t want to listen. Or obey. Too busy bleeding. Sealing. Healing.

She’s leaning over me. Danger. She has to get out. Move! I scream at myself again. My hand reaches up, hits her, grabs on. My eyes finally open.

“Run.” It comes out as more of a whisper than the command I wanted her to hear. She ignores me. She hasn’t heard it yet. She will soon.

Time. To. Move.

“Honey, where do you think you’re going? You lie back down…”

Her hand on my chest gives me something to push against. The pressure fires my muscles, and I roll to the side, sitting up and swinging my legs off the bed. I grab her wrist with my own. Her eyes are wide, but her heart is steady. Good. Brave.

“You must run. Get out. It’s coming.”

She backs away now. Heart beats faster. I hear her pulse, smell her blood warming in her body. She’s watching me carefully. Thinks I’m crazy, no doubt. Ah, if only.

I slide down to the floor and press my hands on the bed to stand up, wavering. I hear noises above me. Crashing, breaking. Dying.

Glancing at the window, I see bushes. Good. We’re on the ground level. I look back at her once more. Try once more. “Go out the window. Get out of here.”

“Honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you really need to—”

Too late. She hears it now. Time. To. Move. I push away from the bed and sweep my hand over the instrument tray next to her, grabbing anything I might use as a weapon.

“What are you—”

I push past her and grab the door handle. If she won’t go now, there’s nothing more I can do for her. “Please. Run.”

I open the door and walk into Hell. The creature is rampaging down the long corridor. It smells my blood and whips its head up from the limp body it holds.

“You cannot stop me, Otherthing.” Its voice grates like screeching nails on chalkboard in my ear and across my mind.

“But I will,” I grind out, clenching a surgical knife that’s shorter than any of its venomous claws.

“Why?” It cocks its head, curious. I’ve never seen a monster stop to think before. It scares me more than anything I’ve ever seen. “They’re dying anyway?”

“Not today,” I spit and start moving forward. “Not by you, you sick demon.”

Its chuckle grinds like rocks breaking under pressure. I suddenly think of an old diamond commercial and the incongruity makes me smile.

“Good.” It drops the body, sliding off its claws to the floor. “Your bravery makes your fear all the sweeter.” It lumbers toward me, picking up speed. Soon it will have the momentum of a freight train. I have to get there first. “Run,” I tell myself.

Slow motion. Two steps, jump up to push of the right wall, dive to the left side, tuck and roll under its carapace, stab up with the small blade, drag it along the monster’s belly as I slide on my back across the floor. It stomps with its right foot and I roll to the left, grab onto the spiked tail as it whips up, swinging me onto the monsters back. I hear the blade clatter to the floor behind me. Great. Now what?

A plume of smoke covers us. Standing in front of this monster from hell is the nurse, spraying a fire extinguisher. What part of run did she not understand?

Dogs in house	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing:	~45 minutes, interrupted
October word count:	3,786

Prompt: Finding the right point of view, part 2

Continued from Part 1

Sarah glanced up from her last patient chart when the doors whooshed open. She dropped the chart with a clatter on the counter and ran towards Frank, carrying a bloody woman in his arms. “Gurney,” she shouted, pulling out her stethoscope and reaching Frank at the same time as the rolling bed. He stretched the woman out on it, and Sarah fell in step as they wheeled it into the first empty room. The woman had a thready pulse, and as Sarah’s eyes focused on her, she could see why.

The woman was covered with bleeding wounds everywhere that Sarah could see - -her hands and wrists below the black leather jacket, her throat above the open collar, and her face and scalp all had deep scratches, cuts, or holes.

“GSW?” Sarah asked Frank. When he hesitated, she glanced up at him. He blushed, and her jaw dropped. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Frank! You didn’t assess at the scene? You moved her? What were you thinking?” He started to stammer and she waved him away. “Never mind. You’re off duty. Get out of here.” He took a step back and stopped. She glared. “I mean it, Frank. Out. Home. Now.” She returned to the patient and didn’t give Frank another thought.

Okay, assess, Sarah thought, staring down at the most beautiful face she’d ever seen. Dark tanned skin over high cheekbones. Not Hispanic. Too big for Indian. Exotic. Beautiful heavy mesh necklace and bracelet cuffs.  No wait, that’s not what I’m supposed to be assessing. What’s wrong with me? Lots of bleeding wounds, some need stitched, but none fatal, or she would already have bled out. No GSW visible through the jacket or black denim jeans. Have to get the jacket off at least for a better view of the torso. Could have a concussion.

“Honey, what happened to you,” Sarah muttered.

Sarah moved quickly over the body, running through her assessment with practiced efficiency once she snapped herself back into professional nurse mode. She strapped the EKG to the woman’s finger and flipped on the monitor switches. Then she unsnapped the heavy jacket and pulled it open. She was reaching behind the woman’s neck for the clasp of the necklace when the patient’s eyes snapped open. Sarah froze in her stare. Cold cat eyes. Sarah blinked. It wasn’t possible. The woman clutched her white jacket with a bloody hand.

She whispered, “Run.”

Continued in Part 3…

                                 

Dogs in house	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing:	~20 minutes
October word count:	3,056

Prompt: Finding the right point of view

Point of view, or the narrative “voice” is hard for me. I tend to jump from one character to another to the omniscient narrator at the drop of a participle. Often, the main character isn’t the one I start off thinking it is. Or I start off in a secondary character’s POV in purpose, so through them the reader can observe the main character, but then I want to include the main character’s thoughts or feelings.

One way I’ve found to address this is to write in first person. It really helps to keep me in the “head” of the narrator, without hopping or becoming omniscient. I may shift to 3^rd person in subsequent drafts, but it’s a useful tool.

Just for fun, over the next few days I’m going to share the 1^st three voices of a new story that I think I’m really going to enjoy working on. I hope you’ll enjoy it too.

Frank’s POV

I zip up my jacket as I walk out the side door at St. Joe’s. It’s already dark, and the wind has picked up – definitely fall weather. As I head toward the bus stop, a low moan stops me in my tracks. Did I imagine it? No, there it is again, in the alley. I look around – of course there’s no one out this time of night. I pull out my keyring and shine the little flashlight Jenny gave me last Christmas. Aww, man, there’s an arm. A bloody arm. I shoke my head and run in.

It’s a woman, and she’s a mess. I’m afraid to move her, but I don’t want to wait out here until an ambulance can make it over – what, three hundred yards? Who knows how long it would take them to get here? She’s barely conscious, rolling her head toward me as I kneel beside her.

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Can you move? You’re right outside the hospital. I can help you get up and carry you over there faster than if we wait for help.” I decide her head roll means a yes. She hasn’t opened her eyes, but I can tell she’s trying to sit up. I reach around her shoulder, and she stiffens. I pause.

“Hey, I’m just trying to help you. It’s gonna be okay.” I thought about my ambulance ride alongs and what they tell folks when they’re moving them – handling them. “Look, I’m putting my arm behind you to help you get up, okay?” She didn’t exactly relax, but she leaned forward a little, so I pushed and pulled and got her standing.

Jeez, if she could stand up straight, she’d be as tall as I am. I’ve got my arm under her shoulder and she’s leaning against me with all her weight. I’m wondering if this was such a good idea. That hospital entrance suddenly seems awfully far away. She takes a step and her leg buckles under her. I dunno what happens, but before I can think about it, I sweep my arm down behind her knees and lift her up.

Don’t get me wrong, I like to think I’m in pretty good shape, but I don’t lift weights or anything, and she’s no little thing. Adrenaline, I tell myself as I head for the door. She passes out and her head drops back against my arm. I glance down and almost stumble. I don’t know what shocks me more – how beautiful she is, or how many bleeding wounds I can see just on her face and throat.

Continued in Part 2…

Dogs in house	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing:	~25 minutes
October word count:	619