Forgotten at Castle Point

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 As I writer I sometimes harbor guilt over unfinished stories, this is one take on what happens to them...

I wake up slowly. The sound of dripping water is echoing in a room farther down the corridor from my own. I can still smell the room's previous occupant. Their fear mixed with the coppery-sweet scent of blood; all underlying the castle's own distinct odor of dank moist earth and rotting lichen. The combination tickles my gag reflex back to life. I have been locked in Castle Point for... well I'm not entirely sure anymore. Perhaps three weeks, perhaps more, time does not flow the same way here as it does in the rest of the world. It would seem that I have been left to my own devices. There have been no changes, nothing new, no people, nothing at all for several days now.

My whole body aches. I have no wish to open my eyes to face the new day but some things are beyond what we would wish. Sitting up with as much care as possible, I am confronted once again by my dismal situation. I am in one of the castle's corner towers; brought here against my will, as are all the castle's guests. The room around me is sparsely furnished, waterlogged bits that have come in on the tide from the unfortunate ships that have strayed too near the point's rocky shore. The walls are black, not only in my room but throughout the entire keep. A black so deep it appears to absorb all available light. It used to be a brilliant, shining white, I do not know where this knowledge comes from, perhaps the walls spoke of it. But I do know the evil that has taken over here has permeated every stone; staining each one until it shares a closer resemblance to its own true imaginings; creeping and stealing even the magic bestowed upon me by my heritage; leaving me weak and vulnerable.

Nothing But Time

I have lived many lifetimes and always my nemesis came in a form easily recognizable. Always an older man but not too old, always with a job that let him be mobile and accepted everywhere; a bard, a tinker, a ring master with the circus, his work chosen so he might find me more easily.

He has altered his appearance with each new life, using a combination of magic and illusion. So many times have we played out this game that I no longer recall his original features but I always know when he is near.

My heart begins to beat faster, I feel a blush rise to color my cheeks, my stomach comes fluttering to life and my skin becomes tortuously sensitive, completely aware of the lightest touch. Ultimately, the only way that I have ever been certain of his identity is by the star shaped birth mark located just behind his left ear.

That beautiful never changing star, how boring the centuries would have been without its presence weaving its way in and out of my life. So many times I would ask myself, 'Is the man I am leading to my bed to be my mortal lover or my eternal foe come to test our magical powers in battle once more?'

Forgotten Dreams

Its bittersweet sometimes thinking of childhood dreams, remembering the games of imagination played as a child...

The Dragon, the Unicorn and the Oak all stood waiting patiently in Charlotte's field. The trio was becoming worried, Charlotte had not come to the past three meetings and their strength was beginning to wane.

The Dragon's large whimsically coloured wings expanded, while his chest filled with air. He extended his long pale-purple scaled neck and attempted to breathe fire. A noise filled the air, sounding like nothing more than a plump balloon being released.

"Do you see?" The Dragon lamented. "No more fire, my wings will not take me up into the beautiful skies, my once sharp claws are brittle, and look at the color of my wings - they're pastel. No more vivid oranges, yellows, greens and blues, my colors are fading. What are we going to do, my friends?" His mighty head lowered in great sadness, shaking from side to side as he contemplated their dismal future.

Crazy Feeling

The stranger jumped off the bus.  He’d been watching the girl for several stops and when he was sure no one was meeting her he quickly exited through the rear doors.  He waited.  Watching her walk briskly down the busy street checking for other pedestrians. 

The teenager bopped down the sidewalk to her own internal rhythm, a small smile playing at the corners of her full lips, oblivious to the danger that followed so near.  It was a little after ten and although the sun had retreated for the day its lingering warmth still hung in the air.  She was going home after finishing her volunteer work at the nearby leisure centre.  Happy because the boy she had a crush on had finally noticed her this evening and had stopped to chat for several minutes.  Her feet were light with the joy particular to new love.  Her thoughts tumbling, imagining, making plans, and playing with all the possible what if scenarios this small encounter could lead to.

She always loved to dance

She always loved to dance.  Amy would drag me out to the Community Center every Friday and Saturday night. Me complainin' and her knowin' it was all fer show. I loved dancin' as much as she did, least I did when she partnered me. Two-step, boot scoot, black Cadillac line dancin', the style never mattered much to her, not even the words, just the base line.  That deep thumpin' rhythm, anything that got her feet tappin' or her hips swayin' was all the encouragement Amy needed to get out on that floor, pullin' me by the hand. 

I never was really sure who was doing the leadin' and who the followin' - both on the floor and off.  A real firecracker, my Amy, always teachin' me as much as I was teachin' her. Never mattered no how, long as I kept a steady quick, quick, slow  goin' she would spin and twirl to her heart's content. Me smilin' like a dang idjit at how happy she was, tryin' to make sure she didn't bump nobody or stumble and get hurt.

I'm dancin' with her again, a waltz this time. My little girl's all grown up now.  I walked her down the aisle today and gave her to another man. It'll be his job now to see she's happy, and to lead her through life's next dance.

I hope you enjoyed this,

Rain

Emily Jane - Loose Lessons

Emily Jane Scrimshaw was your typical teenager, or so she liked to believe. At the start of her final year of high school, as she sat across from the Phys-Ed teacher, Mr. Hawthorn, Emily smiled. Not a friendly smile, or a contagious smile but one stemming from satisfaction. The burly man before her stared at her schedule as though his scrutiny might reward him with some kind of explanation. There were only four classes listed for the entire year. His blue eyes lifted from the bright yellow stationary.

“You’re sure this is right?”

Emily nodded in a self-satisfied manner and tried to explain to him once more why she had so few classes listed.

“I didn’t take any spares for the past two years; I opted to fill those time slots with classes. I also didn’t bother with my optional classes. The first option I took was French and the second one I filled in with Biology.”

“But it says here you have finished both Biology and Chemistry 30, yet you only have Math 20. Students are not allowed to take the 30 level science classes without having completed at least Math 20 first.”

She shrugged and repeated the question she started with when she first sat down. “So, will I be able to put all four of these classes in the first semester and then just come back for graduation in June?”

“I’m sorry, Emily. Clearly you have worked very hard for the past two years, I assume your goal was to finish high school in two and a half years?” At her nod he continued. “That was an admirable goal but you should have perhaps spoken to someone before embarking on such a huge task.”

Emily’s stomach did a slow roll when Mr. Hawthorn broke eye contact with her, his eyes darting

Circle the Moon

The fog cloaked everything in new garb; even the most innocent sapling turned dark and sinister. She was waiting for John. He was late and she was getting worried. A small crease formed between Sara's eyes as she strained to see beyond the thickening mist. John had chosen this night for the two of them to meet because of the full moon. Its glow would help them get to their special clearing without flashlights.

She glanced skyward and shifted her position slightly on the tree she was resting against, trying to gain a better view of the unusual moon. The fog had softened its edges; muting its light and making her feel as though she was seeing a reflection on water. Surrounding its outer rim, a thin white ring tinged with red and humped like a ripple gave more emphasis to the watery illusion.

Almond Cookies

There are hundreds of ways to die. You can die while your heart still beats and the world continues to spin on around you. That happened to me. My husband had an affair.

The private detective I hired informed me Harold has been carrying on with this girl for a little over a year. Can you picture that? A fifty-six year old, bald-headed, pot-bellied, saggy-sacked, semi-retired chemistry teacher and a perky, barely legal, red-headed, twenty-three year old college student - we have kids older than she is.

Lost Love - Challenge

Quite some time ago, a friend and fellow author (Hi Naughty ;) started a contest. The goal of it was to write a story, 500 - 700 words long, on werewolves. Sounds simple enough, right? It is, until you find out you may not use the word werewolf in any way, shape or form. No shapeshifter, no Latin or other languages. The goal is to have the reader know exactly what your story is about, without telling them directly. This is a fantastic exercise on a couple levels, 1)teaches you to trim the fat and get rid of all your excess words, 2)forces you to show, rather than tell.

So, with this in mind, I'd like to challenge you all to try this. Let your imaginations soar.

I am searching for my husband, Jhonas. He disappeared with the scientists who wish to learn the secret of our longevity and strength. They use horrible inhumane methods. So far I have found nothing but whispers; it seems our race is reduced to campfire stories told by children.

I am high in the hills above the city where Jhonas and I watched the first film about our kind in 1935, brought here by rumours circulating about a test facility in this area and the hope that I might find my lost love alive.

One of Those Nights

It was one of those nights. The kind of night that brings the wild out of some and makes the rest tuck into their beds with the lights still burning. Just over six months ago, I hired on as muscle for a sweet little number named Queenie Delgado. She’s tough, claims she’s walked the worst streets of London, LA, Rome and now, New York. Who knows, maybe she even has. She’s a PI, and she’s got a well earned reputation for being one of the best.

Exerpt from Between the Lines, The Heart of Friendship

Max rushes in from the garage and drops her box of moving supplies on the kitchen table; her thoughts are not on the ringing phone and who might be on the other end, but on the sale of her house. Besides, she thinks, it’s probably just Amanda with more questions about her brother. The items in the box draw her attention again, each of them has been chosen to help with the yard sale she’s decide have to ‘downsize and de-clutter’ as her realtor suggested. What at first seemed scary and overwhelming was now feeling more like liberation from the parts of her past keeping her from moving forward. She has come to the conclusion that she may actually forgive Phillip, that he may have given her the greatest gift of their marriage by making her promise to sell the house.

The phone rings yet again and she mentally chastises herself for not turning on the answering machine. Max grabs at her unruly mop of curls and tries to shove it into the semblance of a pony-tale, mumbling under her breath. “I’m coming, keep your pants on.” She snatches the receiver from the wall.

“Hello, you’ve reached Madam Maxine’s house of wax and exotic flummery. How may I direct your call?” A smile is already forming on her face as she anticipates Amanda’s giggle. Instead there is a very confused woman on the other end of the line.

The Last Smile

She didn’t lock her door.


It was a deliberate choice on her part, a stand of sorts, leaving behind the memories and bad dreams. The move to a small town in the middle of nowhere was the first step, and now grabbing her courage with both hands, Mary Johnson formerly Mary-Ellen Kettering, took a second and possibly more significant step; she gave one last look at the upright deadbolt and walked away.

Cathy's Game

Cathy's Game is a short story about the different paths life can take sometimes, the ones that leave us wondering what if? Enjoy!

Rain

“Have we met before?”

A smile tugged at Amy’s lips. Was this guy for real? Pick-up lines like that were beyond cliché, they probably started being cheesy in the eighties and had since progressed to something beyond even the typical bar jargon. He was kind of cute though. All that glossy black hair and green eyes ... green eyes? Something tweaked at her memory.

Lost in the Forest - Short Romance

This story was a Starts and Stops contest winner on FanStory.com. The challenge was to choose two different lines from a list of twenty and start your story with one and end with the other. I love a challenge like this. It forces all of those creative juices to start flowing. I have always believed that the best relationships are based on the truest of friendships. I hope you enjoy this small slice of romance.

Rain

"You've got a piece of my heart on your face."


My wandering mind snapped back to the present. "What?"


"You've got a piece of my tart on your face, I can see it, so don't try your 'Miss Innocent' act with me." Justin's hazel eyes twinkled with delight at having caught me so completely unaware.


I flushed, both with guilt for having filched his tart and for having been caught daydreaming about him. We were best friends in high school, lost touch through the college years and had just met up again recently. Unfortunately, he seemed only interested in taking up our friendship where it left off. I, on the other hand, was having embarrassingly vivid fantasies involving the two of us: a deserted island with an amazingly well-stocked hotel room and a hammock strung between two palm trees.

Audrey's Love - A short story

When I wrote this, the challenge was to tell a complete story in 150 words or less. It was penned while I was letting ideas bubble away on the back-burner for the Christmas Romance Contest put on by FanStory.com and Breathless press, hence the Historical flavor to this one. The main character, Audrey, was my test subject. Did I want her or her Duke to be a part of a much larger story? Would the Duke go on to mend his lecherous ways? Find true love? I didn't end up using either of these characters but they still hold a place in the farthest corner of my heart. Maybe someday...

Enjoy,
Rain

Audrey stepped from the fountain's edge, still feeling the sting of her brother’s rage and the weight of her family’s disappointment. She had allowed Lord Rutherford, Duke of Ainslie, to breach the last barrier of her innocence. They did not understand that her heart would cease to sing without him.

She slipped through French doors into the library, inhaling the unique scent of paper, ink and bindings. Her fingers traced lovingly over the books. He had promised to teach her to read. Continuing into the manor, Audrey traveled upward.

She glanced at his sleeping figure before moving to the terrace overlooking the sea. Audrey knew he would put her out when she told him she was carrying his child. Noblemen did not marry help. Careful not to wake him, she climbed to stand on the balustrade. For one brief moment, the clouds left her mind. She screamed. The sandy beach below rushed upwards to greet her.