Archives for posts with tag: fantasy

timemanagementtipsThe smoke rose like wispy serpents, fiery tongues licked the ground. Buildings burned and a barbecue smell waft through the air. Somewhere amid the charcoal rubble an amber eye popped open. Then a leg in tattered slacks wiggled beneath a board. An arm shot through the rubble. After a few minutes she was free.  Tiny sparks danced on her corduroy sleeve, her midnight curls matted with blood and sweat. She was cut and bruised, but she would soon heal. She hobbled among the destruction, a twisted unicycle here, an engulfed vehicle there. She stopped and covered her nose with the collar of her shirt.  She stared at the gutted frame of the wheel of time. It no longer spun. Panic began to drum inside her chest. She stepped backwards. Since the beginning of time the wheel has spun around and around. “Hello,” she called out. She squinted her eyes, scanning the smoke filled horizon. Where were all the people?  A patch of blue fell from above.

“Oh my stars.”  Another piece of blue fell near her shoe. Time was unraveling.  “No. No.” She raked her hands across her damp curls. “This isn’t good.” She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. A faint ticking sound reached her ears. She pulled up the sleeve of her jacket. The timepiece, it was ticking. Albeit a half second too slow. “There’s still time.” A smile broke like a rule across her face.  She started to run, her legs moving with a sense of purpose. She needed to find the time capsule.

She was on a desolate street with abandoned cars with flung open car doors. She looked around. She took a step, something squeaked beneath her foot. A faded rubber duck. She wondered about the child it belonged to. She picked it up. There in the distance was the time capsule protruding from the side of a building. She couldn’t recall how she got so far away. As she made her way toward the time capsule, a figure swaddled in black stood between her and the time capsule. The hood pulled back, revealing the cherub face of a boy who had not reached puberty. “Well that’s a clever costume.” Tesla clenched her fist.

“For the time being,” the boy replied. “I don’t want to fight you. We are the same, you and I. Two sides of a coin.” The boy grinned but the smile didn’t reach his steel gray eyes.

Tesla spat on the ground. “I’m nothing like you. You want to destroy all the world. There are people here.”

“The world was once destroyed by a flood. And yet there are still people here. I think it’s time to start anew again.” The boy pulled out a gold gleaming pocket watch. It swung like a pendulum.

“Where did you get that?” The boy laughed, emitting a metallic sound. With a swish of his cloak he headed toward the time capsule. Tesla sprang forward grabbing for the trailing cloak. The boy spun around and elbowed Tesla in the face. She recovered but not quick enough. The boy was already in the time capsule, a triumphant grin on his face. He disappeared in a blink.

Tesla’s hand balled into a fist, she opened it. And there was the pocket watch. Now the ends of her cut mouth curved upward. There was still time to save everything and everyone.



Thistle must die.

            Die he must.

            Be gone.

            No more.

            Bridget tossed. She buried her head under her pillow but still she heard them. Voices. Whispers in the night. Raspy and cold.

            When shall it be done?

            Right away.


            During the solstice.

            That is best

            Best it is.

            Bridget opened her eyes. The voices were right outside her window. Slowly she rose from her bed. She approached the window with trepidation and a racing heart. The moon was full. Full and bright. Right below her window the moon spilled light on a cluster of toadstools.

            How shall it be done?

            Poisoned boysenberries.

            That is best.

            Best it is.

            Bridget gasped. The voices were tiny beings. Tiny beings with wings. “Fairies.”

            The fairies looked up with orange glowing eyes.

            Bridget froze. She heard stories about these creatures. There were two kinds: light and dark. Seelie and Unseelie. These fairies were shades of midnight, violet and charcoal with spider-webbed wings. “They’re dark ones.” Bridget knew this couldn’t bode well. She quickly shut the window. But the fairies were quick as flies (three of the four made it inside her room).


            The fairies glanced back at the shut out fairy. Hemlock hit his twiggy fist on the window, until an owl scooped down and carried him away.


            He is gone.

            Gone is he.

            “Sorry about Hemlock.” Bridget had backed into the edge of her bed.

            The fairies tore their attention from the window and back on Bridget.

            Silence child.

            Don’t speak child.

            The fairies hovered inches from her face. She could clearly see that two of the fairies were male.

            She has the Sight. This came from the lone female. She was of violet hue with gossamer curls.

            She heard our plans.

            Our plans she heard.

            “I’m not going to tell anyone. Who would I tell?” She glanced at the door, it seemed so far away.

            Probably a spy for Thistle.

            Spy for Thistle. The male fairies chimed. Their angular midnight faces were too close to her nose.

            She must be silenced, Safflower.

            Lentil, Flaxseed, I can’t harm a child.

            She mustn’t tell what she heard.

            What she heard.

            “Mom,” Bridget screamed.

            Safflower’s wings moved furiously and she squeezed her right hand into a fist.

            Bridget felt her throat tighten; her scream grew faint and stayed on her tongue. Tears swam in her eyes.

            Bridget’s mom called her name through the door.    

            Safflower unclenched her fist.

            “Honey are you alright?” The knob turned.

            Lentil and Flaxseed exchanged frantic glances. Then Lentil spoke in a voice that was all too familiar to Bridget. I am okay mother. Bad dream, all is well.

            Bridget’s mouth dropped. That was her voice.

            “Do you want some warm milk?” her mom asked. The knob stop turning.

            No thanks. I am already asleep.

            “Okay honey.”

            “Don’t leave mom.” Bridget’s voice was just a whisper in her ear. “My voice give it back.” She glared at Safflower.

            No voice.

            No tell.

            Bridget clenched her jaw. She glanced around her room for something to use against the fairies. There was her unzipped messenger bag in the corner. Today’s discarded clothes draped over a chair. On the dresser next to her bed was her art project. A bunch of feathers, strings and beads. A poorly made dream catcher. “Fairy catcher,” she said in a whispery tone. Keeping her eyes on the fairies, she deftly reached for the dream catcher. Before the fairies could twitch a wing, they were caught in the fairy catcher.

            Bridget stepped back, arms folded, watching the fairies futile attempts at escaping. Lentil’s lower wing became dog-eared.

            This is devilment.

            Devilment this is.

            Let us out. Safflower glowered at Bridget through a fringe of feathers.

            Bridget pointed to her throat. “My voice,” she rasped. “Give it back.”

            Lentil and Flaxseed shook their heads.

            Bridget flopped on the edge of her bed. She watched with a smirk on her face as the fairies continued to struggle. Lentil now had two dog-eared wings.

            Okay. Safflower has one hand free. She opened her fisted hand slowly like a budding flower.

            Bridget felt a cool tingling in the back of her throat. Then like a swelling sea her voice rose. “That’s better.”

            Free us.

            Bridget grabbed a pair of scissors out of her pencil bag. Snip. Snip. The fairies were free. They flew toward the window, Lentil not as high on the count of his folded wings. The window was closed.

            Let us out.

            “Gladly.” Bridget raised the window a sliver. The fairies slipped out. The three glared at her one more time before darting into the night. Bridget couldn’t shake the feeling that those fairies would try to get back at her somehow. But she was the fairy catcher and with that thought she went to bed.


            Bridget awoke to sun sparkles on her window. Tap. Tap. She blinked. The sun sparkles were tapping on her window. Bridget slid from under her covers. And sat on the edge of the bed.

            Bridget, it is Thistle.

            Plus Clover.  A female chimed in.

            Relief washed over Bridget. She opened the window. There standing on her windowsill were two members of the Seelie court. Thistle was shades of sunlight and transparent wings. Clover was blue as morning sky with bits of clovers in her French braid.

            What have you learn?

            “They plan to kill you with poison boysenberries.” Bridget felt her heart rushing toward her throat.

            Is there proof. Clover’s face was etched with skepticism. She might have the Sight but can she be trusted.

            “I have proof.” Bridget took a pocket recorder from behind her window curtain.  She pushed play.

            Thistle must die.

            Die he must.

            Be gone.

            No more.

            Bridget pushed the stop button. “I hope that is proof enough.” She placed the recorder in between the fairies.

            Clover looked white as a cloud. That is disturbing.

            Thistle bowed before Bridget. Many thanks. Vital information. You’ve stopped war among the fey clan. Need anything?

            Bridget thought for a moment about Lentil, Flaxseed and Safflower and how they could harm her, maybe she should ask for protection. She smiled. “I don’t need anything, just doing my part for all of human and fairy kind.”

            We wish you well.

            Well we wish you. The fairies flew away with the recorder. Bridget waited until they were gone before she began working on her fairy catchers. She might have stopped one war, but if word got out that she was an informant for the Seelie court, she would have dark fairies swarming her window. She smiled as she finished one fairy catcher. She wasn’t afraid she was the fairy catcher after all.






Magnolia’s Most Fantastic Journey through the Seasonal Terrain – Something Like Amber/It all started out so ordinary


When Magnolia unleashes the Winter King. She must travel through the Seasonal Terrain to get her mother back.


Published on 2014-02-21

Something Like Amber/It all started out so ordinary (edit)
Chapter 1   —   Updated Feb 21, 2014   —   4,885 characters

Something like Amber

The Autumn Queen slumped against the wooden wall, her heart beating triple time. The leaves of her dress were crinkled and her nutmeg tresses were clumped together like damp grass. She held a globe in her hand. It was something like amber. Inside was a face contorted with rage. The Winter King beat his frosty fists against the glass.
“Thwarted once again, dear brother.” The Autumn Queen started to place the globe into a velvet pouch when a rock hit her on the center of the head.
The globe fell on the ground. Slowly it started to roll with the aid of a squirrel, white as fresh snow.
The Autumn Queen narrowed her eyes. Snow squirrels. She started to pursue the squirrel but an even larger rock hit her on the head, knocking her out cold.

Magnolia’s Most Fantastic Journey through the Seasonal Terrain

Chapter 1
It all Started out so Ordinary

Magnolia Carlyle was in the same situation daily: school, principal’s office, detention, home. She hated the principal’s office with its monochrome colors and those chairs that made unflattering noises when you sit down.
“Well, Miss Carlyle here we are again. I think I see you more than I see my own daughter,” Principal Meyers said. The woman looked at her from under her eyes.
Magnolia cringed. She hated that look. Sonja Meyers gave her that look everyday in the hallway between classes. Worst than Sonja’s stares was her voice. She hated how Sonja said her name. “MAGnolia PETal.”
“It’s Tuesday what brings you to my office today?” Principal Meyers’ French tips danced on top of the desk.
“Your pickle head daughter started it.” The words rushed forward before she could clamp her mouth shut.
One hour ago
Magnolia dampened her fingers to smooth the edges of her hair. But it was no use. The curls still sprung up like follicle jack-in-the-boxes.
The bathroom door swung open and the devil’s princess walked in. “Oh look, MAGnolia PETal grooms in the girls’ bathroom.” Sonja Meyers stood hands upon her hips in between two girls Magnolia did not know. “She’s poor.”
“I’m not poor,” Magnolia shot back.
“Her mom makes pastries,” the tallest girl said. She is baking my sister’s wedding cake.”
Sonja smirked. “Don’t you know there’s nasty stuff inside her mama’s cakes?”
“No there isn’t.” Magnolia squeezed her hands into fists.
“You’re dad took one bite and saw one of your kinky hairs, and fell dead.”
Magnolia’s vision turned crimson. “That’s not how my daddy died.”
“That’s why I pushed her; she talked about my dead daddy.” Magnolia crossed her arms. It still felt like it happened yesterday, even though it was nearly three years ago. It was a Tuesday. The rain fell like liquid sheets from the sky. Her mom forgot to roll the windows of the car up. Her dad went outside and that is when the lightning struck. “He was struck down my lightning not a cupcake.” Magnolia hated Tuesdays.
Principal Meyers did not bat a false lash. She picked up the phone and started dialing. “It seems we need to have a sit down with your mother.”
“You can’t. She is working.” Magnolia jumped out of her seat.
“I’ll leave a message.”
Isobel Carlyle was squeezing butter cream tulips along the base of a three-tier cake when her phone buzzed like a hidden bee in her apron pocket. She slipped one hand into her pocket. “Great the school.” Isobel’s heart sank like a cake that has been touched before it cooled. “It must be Tuesday. What did Magnolia do now,” she said as she touched the answer button.
The dismissal bell pealed through the hallway. It was time for detention. Magnolia decided to ditch detention. She moved along with the sea of book bags and jackets, silently praying Ms. Bangles, the hawk eyed detention teacher would not notice her.
“Magnolia. Magnolia.”
Out the corner of her eye, Magnolia saw him. Aaron Tamson. He was always staring at her in class with his beady eyes. Magnolia quickened her pace. The detention door swung open. She could see the hem of Ms. Bangles’ multicolored skirt. Magnolia darted into the girls’ restroom. It was empty. The warning bell rang. “For whom the bell tolls. It tolls for me.” Magnolia tapped her chin. Should she hide in one of the stalls? Or shimmy out the window. Clink. Clink. Magnolia’s body stiffened. Ms. Bangles wore at least seven silver bracelets on her left arm. They produced musical clinks whenever she moved. Like now. Magnolia made her decision.
Plink went Magnolia’s messenger bag as it hit the ground. Luckily, all six-grade classes were on the first floor. Magnolia landed on her feet. Almost, her ankles turned to jelly just as she touched the grass. “Oomph.” She rubbed her ankle. Something was scurrying through the bushes. Magnolia blinked. “Is that a white squirrel rolling a snow globe?”