ATOLL

ATOLL
copyright AUG 2006
Wordcount: 2393
This story was written for my husband.


Sky and wind were all around him, reeling and arcing with his every movement. The late evening sun seemed reluctant to release its hold on the sky, and showered his back with painted golden warmth. Beneath him, the frothing blue depths hid their wonders. He tasted salt on his lips and spray fanned against his ruffled wings, calling him onward, though he had already flown farther than any of his kind had ever tried. He raced ahead of the growling thunderheads, ignoring their ominous insults, paying no heed to the surging warnings of his fickle love, the wind. Lost in his joy, he immersed himself in the spinning glory of flight. He was free, he was magnificent…, he was completely in his element…, and then his element betrayed him.

The wind tore into him, ripping and clawing at him like a crazed jungle cat. His right wing wrenched violently at the shoulder, but he barely had time to register that red-white pain before his body crashed into the rabid, black waters below. His glorious wings quickly became his doom as they gulped in the angry black foam, and began to pull him down. He had known sunlight on silvered wings, and he had known only how to soar, but the ravenous waves introduced him to a new world…one that was cold, and dark. As the waters covered his head and the awful silence took hold, he wished only that he had not been so alone….

* * * * *

There was a reluctant glinting of scales in the lower currents…dull and apologetic, like the gleam of a fishing lure. She moved warily through the waters, her pale skin covered with yellowed bruises and ragged cuts, her eyes haunted, barely seeing. She drifted through the darkness, seemingly unaware of the occasional scales fell that from her lower body…or that her tail fluke fluttered in tatters as she shivered through the depths. The sharks had done their damage. She did not know if they remained behind her, or followed in her wake, but she did know that she could not go back. She tried not to focus on her all too recent past. She even briefly entertained thoughts of allowing the currents do their worst…but she simply could not convince her body to cease its instinctual movement.

When the currents shifted suddenly, and she found herself trapped in a weighted net of feathers, she panicked, thinking initially that the sharks had some how added this to their vicious arsenal. Then she saw his face, and felt the jolting touch of his cold hand against her skin, and the fear left her, to be replaced by a certain wry calm. She could not very well sink into watery oblivion when his life was in her hands. With a sigh of bubbles, she wrapped her sore arms beneath his, and slowly dragged his unresisting body to the surface, leaving eddies of phosphorescence in her wake.

After the storm’s tantrum, the swells, though still large, began to calm. At the surface, he coughed badly, but did not awaken. She looked at the strange being in her arms, watching as the movement of the waves fanned his wings out around them, and considered her next move. Her nearest and only option lay miles away in the deepest ocean. There, the sheer, skeletal remains of a collapsed volcano had given birth to an abundance of life that did not exist elsewhere. If she was lucky, and if he survived, that circular paradise might just prove to be the haven they both needed to heal. For now…

* * * * *

He awoke on a large, flat rock in the center of the atoll, just above the clear, lapping water. He could see down to the white, sandy reef below. The cliffs that nearly encircled the whole cove rose above him, fierce and gray yet crowned with green mist, and the scent of earth and flowers drifted down to him. His entire body had been covered with a blanket of sun-dried seaweed, and his injured wing had been bound in kelp and driftwood. She watched him with great curiosity as she bobbed gently in the current, holding onto the rock with her fingertips, her hair mixing with the foam. Shyly, she reached out to him, offering what food she could find…shellfish and some coconuts that had fallen from the cliffs. He stretched out his hand at the same time, and at his accidental touch, she felt the same jolt as before. His eyes widened in surprise and he caught his breath…he had felt it too. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out again, this time catching her hand firmly in his own, holding onto her as if he would never let her go.

It was as though the turbulence of the earlier storm now existed within every cell of her body. She felt as though she were caught in an amazing and powerful undertow that left her spinning and falling and singing and glowing all at once. She suddenly had no memory of her past --perhaps it never really existed after all. It was as though she had always known the warmth of his hand, and the quiet fierce look of his eyes…and the slow, cautious smile that caught her up and literally threw her into such an absolute wonder of happiness that her heart wheeled and soared in her chest. Her entire sense of self felt completely out of control, and from the dazed and mystified look in his eyes, she knew he felt it too. They held each other’s shaking hands with a fierce desperation, eyes locked and smiling, and rode out the gales within their souls, as the sun glittered gently on the waves.

* * * * *

It took them weeks for their emotional Charybdis to calm, for the revelational feelings to soothe and relax enough to catch their breath…At night; they slept on the rock, his wings for a cloak, her tail wrapped around him, a perfect fit despite their different forms. Neither could believe in the reality and truth of what they had found, and as they held each other and dreamed, one would often awaken and be compelled to continuously touch the face, the hair, and the lips of the other, as if to assure that this love truly existed, and that it would not disappear.

In those weeks, his wing healed, and he soon began to test his strength again. His first impatient attempts at flight were a sputtering disaster…and there were many days when he would drag himself from the surf, glaring at the water as though it were conspiring against him. She would smile and soothe, and help him dry his wings in the sun, and he would close his eyes, and hold her close, breathing in the salt scent of her hair. Neither of them noticed the changes at first…but each brush of skin, and each kiss altered them somehow…She awoke one day to find a white pinfeather in her scales…Thinking that she had somehow caught the feather on herself as she slept, she tugged it free, only to cause herself a twinge of pain in the process. While he noticed a dull throb beneath the skin of his throat, he gave little thought to its cause. What did get his attention, however, was that one day he discovered that he had grown webbing between his fingers.

The atoll was a generous provider…and daily shared its bounty within its walls…Fruits and coconuts often floated within reach…but even with its wonders, and even with their great love, sadness began to take its toll…His wings had healed at last, and while he flew to the cliffs and brought back flowers for her hair, and told her of the strange and wondrous creatures on the heights above, she could not see them for herself…When she disappeared beneath the waves, he could not follow, for his wings were not suited. Even their brief times apart brought each such an onslaught of physical pain that separating for any reason was delayed as long as possible…each would watch the other enter their element with tears running down their cheeks and choked gasps. Each knew the seasonal squalls would return soon, and though they did not say it, they knew that even the atoll would be a dangerous place to stay when the weather turned again.

* * * * *

Little wonder that she had forgotten the other dangers her world had to offer…The simple enchantment of the sunlight, the gentle waves, and the warmth of his smile did much to lull her memories…but as the clouds began to darken again, she knew that the time had finally come to part. If he left now, he could find a safe refuge inland and she could ride out the winter storms in the depths. When the spring came, they could find each other again…

He was opposed to it, of course, and angry. He would not leave her, he could not live without her -- there simply had to be another way. He kissed her, and tried to get her to look at him, but she broke away. She was physically sick with grief, the idea that he would not be there, that he could not hold her, that she would not feel his breath upon her neck…it was too much to bear. Unable to say anything more, she half-fell, half-dove into the water…swimming to the bottom of the cove….letting her tears mingle with the ocean…she did not see the sharks enter the clear waters of their haven, their gray-black bodies sinuous blots above the white of the sand reef. She did not see the lazy, easy grace of their heads as they swung back and forth in the current…but there was no doubt that both of those eight-foot horrors had seen her…Her body radiated distress like heat, and the sharks moved toward her, mouths agape in ghastly grins of white and red. Her lips tingled and burned with the remembered contact of his kiss. The tingling began to run through her body in currents. Suddenly, her hair seemed to be defying logic, as it began to lengthen and move against the flow of the current, twisting and seething around her -- first brushing against her body, then wrapping itself around her, inhibiting her movement. She was so distracted that she was not aware of the sharks until they were nearly on her. Serrated teeth veered toward her face, and she only just managed to bring her tail up to crack the first shark in the head. The shark turned away, displeased and uneasy, but she had forgotten its companion. The teeth of the second shark connected with her right side, but the awful tearing of teeth never came…Her hair, not content with merely binding her entire body had begun to harden in layers around her. The second shark attempted to shake her, trying to tear something free, not understanding what had happened to its easy meal. It spat her out in disgust, trailing long strands of her hair from its maw. She began to sink, almost wholly encased in the black shell of her own hair. The first shark returned, at full charge just as the last wispy lock passed over her eyes. The last sight she saw was not the shark’s mouth coming directly for her face, but a strange shadow just beyond the ravenous creature…and then the lock of hair over her eyes solidified.

He had thrown himself into the water before he could think. His body was still reacting to their last contact, and pulsing shocks of energy coursed through him. As he went under, he felt the feathers in his wings flatten and merge into each other, and in moments, his wings had adapted into flukes. His throat ceased to throb underwater as four-gill slits appeared on either side of his neck, and he found that he could breathe. He launched himself at the first shark, winging through the water as he had flown through the clouds, and ripped at its gills. The monster began to bleed, and ceased its attack on her, allowing the black shell to settle onto the sands. The shark‘s companion, alerted to a far more interesting meal, closed in. As the sharks struck at each other, he grabbed for her carapace, and stretched out his wings.

Once more on the surface, he dragged her dark sarcophagus onto their rock, and fell down beside it. He called her name, and tried to dig her out with his hands, but to no avail. What had shielded her from the attacks kept him out too. At a loss, he knelt beside it, his hands and forehead on the dark shell, calling her, begging her not to leave him, to come back…

The sun came out, as it always did, beautiful and glittering, but he could only see a blinding brightness beyond his tears. Its warmth dripped unnoticed down his back, drying his water-borne wings, teasing at his hair and the back of his neck. As the light slanted onto him, his wings began change…feathers began to emerge once again from the sleek skin, and his gills smoothed back into his neck and disappeared. His hands slipped forward as the shell of his beloved abruptly caved inward. Sunlight danced over the shining darkness as her black chrysalis begin to soften and melt, trickling around her and into the water. She lay before him unharmed and safe, and changed. She unfurled herself, and then curled her tail beneath her hips so that she could sit up and look at him. She brought her fingers to her lips, where the last hints of his kiss still tingled. Delicately scaled butterfly wings arched from her shoulders, reflecting the light and the wonder in his eyes. They each smiled at the same moment and reached for each other, and for a long, long time, they held onto each other, feeling their synchronized hearts beating under the others’ skin. It no longer mattered what they had been before, it only mattered what they had become, together.

Then, he held out his hand, and she took a deep breath…and they opened their wings… and ascended to the waiting sky.

--Never the End --

SUBTLE SENSES - REMINISCENCE

SUBTLE SENSES -REMINISCENCE
copyright OCT 2007
Wordcount: 253
This time, we were to describe a Halloween moment using all of our senses, especially scent and hearing. This one was a bit free form.

The straw was prickly, hair-sticking, jabby. The night was clear and cold. Leaves fell methodically into piles or flared and melted as we tossed them by the handful into the waiting flames, lacy skeletons stuck to hands dripping with marshmallow s'mores. Distant echoes: running footsteps, giggles, whoops and soft glowing lights. Shoving my brother when he yells, "Smell my feet!" --giggling as I do so. The truth is that I wanted to be the one to yell it first, instead I pretend I am far too mature this year, since he has already beaten me to the punch.

Hot dogs are sacrificed to vengeful fire gods -- thin, drooping, exploding bodies falling from their impalement into the red-gray ash below. Peanut crumbs and home-made chocolate smeared around our mouths -- accepted from the one little old lady we were always allowed to accept home-made candy from. Her house always smelled of dust and medicine and something peculiar and undefinable.

A gentle porch light casting shadows in the nooks and crannies...the gentle clomp-clomp of my feet under my sheet...the way my sister's Pipi-Longstocking-hair glowed in the street lamp...leaves shushing around our ankles with every step...Knotted, green apples plucked from trees, puckering our lips.

Flashing red lights, and a mournful siren, and the brigands go home at last, dragging their plunder behind them, eyes alight for the final great stash...Poor Mom, alone, waited warm and comforting with three bowls of candy, pristine...untouched...for our home was one full block from the main stretch of Halloween Road.

Friends for Dinner

FRIENDS FOR DINNER
copyright NOV 2007
Wordcount: 401
It's safe to assume certain liberties were taken with this story, after all, I had to have been all of four or so when it happened...and I probably didn't even have Keds at that point in my life. Still having format issues...sorry about the color scheme.

I crouched in cobwebs, holding my breath. while I listened to the muffled voices beyond the walls of my hiding place. The air was hot, sticky, and every accidental movement on my part made me that much easier to find. I was alone in the dark...well, almost. Crouched beside me, in the farthest corner, was my new friend. He was better at holding his breath than I was... and he seemed to be completely unaffected by the stifling temperature. His skin was perfectly cool to the touch. He might be calm, but I wasn't, and I had vowed to protect him.

The voices grew closer, and I could hear the shuffle of metal pots on the counter... the drawers opening and closing. I could see the lights dimming and brightening under the door as each shadowy person walked past.

Shh!" I told my friend, though he hadn't actually said anything. I pulled back against him, cuddling in the dark, swinging my little red Keds back onto the shelf. The voices grew louder, as I had known they would. The eruption came from my uncle, as I had also known it would.

Well, where the hell is it?!"

It can't have gone far. It was just here."

And then, of course:

"Where's Kimberly?

The search was all too short... They didn't need blood hounds...They didn't need helicopters...They homed in on us as though the Pentagon had a hand in it. My struggle was equally brief, but fierce, and I succeeded in knocking down all of the suitcases and all of the coats and one ancient hairdryer, as well as completely tripping over eight pairs of mismatched shoes.

"NO! You can't have him! He's my friend!!!"

They didn't listen, and my friend was torn from my arms. The recriminations from my family were nothing. The scoffs and gasps of dismay rolled off me unnoticed. I had betrayed my friend.

As we sat down to our Thanksgiving feast, I couldn't bring myself to eat. The guilt was a knot in my throat, and I could only think of my friend. Inevitably, my mother said those fatal words:

"You have to eat three bites and you can get up from the table."

I took my fork and placed a bite in my mouth. The meat was tasted dry and reproachful...and it was with great effort that I swallowed the remains of my lost friend, Turkey.

Moment to Moment

MOMENT
copyright NOV 2007
Wordcount: 284
In this challenge, we each came up with a title and dropped them in a hat, then we wrote something on the title we picked. Sheila Rice gave this title to me.


He was learning about dandelions. It was my first lesson. I knelt beside him, and plucked a big fuzzy one. The thick stem severed with a lovely snap. I picked another and held one up before his face and one before mine. He smiled at me, all brightness and light, and promptly wrapped his lips around the flower's fluffy crown. His eyes widened in confusion, and he tried to spit it back out, but the dandelion seeds kept sticking to his lips and tongue. Every earnest PFT! PFT! noise only made me laugh harder. He tried to wipe out his mouth with the heels of his wide-spread little hands. I took a corner of my shirt and brushed off his tongue.

"It's okay." I told him, smiling into those oh-so-serious eyes. "Try it like this."

I placed held up my own dandelion, closed my eyes and gently exhaled. The seeded tufts danced off of the stalk and scattered into the air. he watched them in wonder, eyes wide.

"You breathe and make a wish." I said. He nodded solemnly. "Want to try again?" I held up another flower. He nodded again and took the dandelion from my hand.

Carefully, he closed his eyes and brought the flower to his lips. He blew, sending several drops of saliva among the dancing seeds.

I smiled at him, and he looked up all grins and joy. He came into my arms, and very seriously cupped his hands around both my ears. He leaned in, watching me intently, tilting his nose up to mine, and rubbed it gently against me in an Eskimo Nose Kiss. His breath was on my lips.


Breathe and make a wish. I am.

The Calm

I suppose it's high time to do the required bit of legal gunk. Edmond Hillary, when asked why he climbed Mt. Everest, responded: "Because it was there." This is why I write...because an idea gets stuck in my head and won't leave me alone unless I "exorcise the demon" by putting in on paper or computer screen. Should you ever get unhappy with my writing choices, please keep these things in mind. These are my thoughts. Blogger is only responsible for the initial weird paragraph-format, but Blogger et al. is not responsible for the content of the paragraphs. You don't have to like everything I write. I'm just fine with constructive criticism on grammar, story structure, fine tuning and tweaking, but I won't backpedal for every thought process that led me to my story. You can get downright riled and grumpy with what I write, but here's the deal. Skip a paragraph, skip the section, wait a bit and read the next installment. Or don't. That's your call.

I generally try to play nice, even if it (kills me or ) costs me some really juicy blog stories, but when I write for myself, it's because the train of thought won't leave me alone. I get amused with a train of thought and want see where it will go. I post the stories I am the proudest of, and I don't expect you to think as I do. I do suggest, that if you have enjoyed my blog in the past, that you just keep an open mind...If these shadows have offended etc., etc. I may not always write something that you will enjoy tremendously, but I can say with absolute certainty that if you come along for the ride, sometimes I will.

****************************************************************************************************************

THE CALM
copyright August 2007
Wordcount: 773
Still working out formatting issues. Sorry.


A man stood in front of a small mirror and fidgeted with his clothes. His dark eyes were serious, strained and wincing slightly at the edges -- a sure sign of an impending migraine.
"Can I just say again what a really bad idea this is. I mean, you know what's going to happen." He tried to glare at his friend's reflection in the mirror, but it was pointless. His friend sat calmly on a nearby chair, as relaxed as the first man was agitated.

"Oh, I have a good idea." replied the second fellow.

"Do you? Do you realize what you're doing to me?" groaned the first man miserably, noting, and hating the slight whine that had crept into his voice."I've spent my entire life following the rules, just getting through the day. Hell, " And here, his migraine began to throb. "You were the first real act of rebellion. You know that if I go, it will all fall apart. The arguments won't stop...the guilt trips, the constant recriminations...Honestly, I don't think that I can take it."

The second man moved from his chair, and stood behind the first, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"I wouldn't have asked you if it weren't important." said the second, his warm eyes catching his friend's in the mirror.

"Well, couldn't you have asked one of the others to do this? I mean, Pete --"

"Pete," interrupted the second man. "Pete is a good guy...I'd go so far to say he could be one of the best...eventually...but he's also arrogant. He'd want to do this his way, and that means not doing it at all. And the others would just follow his lead."

"But why me?" asked the first man, trembling. "Surely Somebody's got to be more qualified for this type of ...thing." He trailed off.

"It isn't really the sort of thing that I can advertise." mused the second man. "Besides, of all of them, you've known me the longest. If I can't trust you, what's the point." The first man flinched.

"Trust me?" The first man retorted angrily to the mirror. "You throw all of this into my lap because you TRUST me?!!! You've got to be kidding me. I feel so honored."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." said the second man quietly. "I trust you, as you have always trusted me. I won't lie to you. This isn't going to be easy...it may...be very...hard...for you...perhaps hardest for you most of all."

"You think?!" replied the first man sourly. He turned abruptly, finally facing his companion. "You may think you know all of the angles, that you know how this will all turn out, but what happens if you're just kidding yourself. You know them. You know that they can't even sit down at a table without jockeying for position. No, they aren't really a bad lot, but you are the glue that holds this project together. Without the right direction, they will fall apart." The first man tugged at his collar to loosen it. He caught himself, and forced his hands hands to his sides...only to unconsciously tug at his belt. His eyes continued to throb. He took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was even and calm. "They won't be able to stop themselves. You've kept them focused, but how you've kept all of those plates spinning year after year...settling all of those endless, petty, pointless squabbles...It's beyond me."

"They're only human, little brother." murmured the second man. "And to be old and wise, they must first be young and foolish. Even if they break apart, they'll find their way in the end."

"Do you really believe that?" growled the first man.

"I have to believe in something. Man's better nature has helped us out of difficult times before."

"You say that, and yet you still plan to go through with this." whispered the first man, swallowing hard.

The second man took his hand in both of his own, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I've got to believe in other things too."

The first man shut his eyes, to ward off tears...and perhaps to keep from seeing the inevitable."I'll do it. You know I'll do it." His voice was soft. It hurt to say the words aloud. He opened his eyes, and tried to offer his brother a weak smile.

"Thank you." said the second man simply. "I'm sorry for all of this, but thank you."

They stood for several minutes in silence, before the second man shook himself and gave the other man a lopsided-grin.

"Come on, Judas. We wouldn't want to be late for dinner."

The Great Lie

THE GREAT LIE -- MY WRITERS' GROUP APRIL PROJECT
COPYRIGHT April 2007

Wordcount: 802
premise: begin with "You would not believe what happened to me." The next sentence must be truthful. The rest of the story must contain waves upon waves of complete brown stuff. End with "and that's why I didn't have anything written to bring in today."


You simply would not believe what happened to me...

It all began with the bumblebee that I found in my kitchen the other day. The bumblebee would have had my immediate attention, even if it were not three feet long, dressed in a tailored suit, and speaking to me in a New Jersey accent.
“I am deeply sorry to have to trouble youse.” began the Bumble. “But I am here on a matter of some importance.”
“Oh? How can I be of assistance?” I stammered, trying to remain calm. All the while, I tried to nonchalantly locate a plausible weapon in my peripheral vision. A run-of-the-mill flyswatter was not going to work on this boy…but it was just possible that I had left a shovel by the adjoining dining room door.
“Youse have a Honda, right? A red Honda?” I nodded as a sinking feeling in my stomach told me where this conversation was going. “On the day of April, ah,” He consulted a small notepad that he had pulled from his double-breasted pocket. “April first, in the year of two-thousand, seven…Youse were seen leaving the scene of an incident involving one Jimmy the Monarch.”
I recalled seeing the orange and black triangle reflected in the rear view mirror as it bounced on the pavement behind me, but that hardly seemed an appropriate conversational point.
“Jimmy the Monarch? But that was a complete and total accident. He came out of nowhere. He hit my windshield at top speed. I couldn’t stop.”
“Jimmy was prone to hitting the nectar hard, and he could be somewhat erroneous in his judgment after a fresh patch of clover.” mused the Bumble amicably. “But that’s neither here nor here. The Family has demanded restitution of youse. I am here to pull off five of your legs.”
“The Family? You mean to tell me there is actually a Butterfly Mafia?” I asked, not really registering his last statement.
“They prefer to be called the Honorable Order of the Lepidoptera.” stated the Bumble. “Now, about those legs, please.”
“Gee, buddy, I’m afraid that I’m gonna have to pass.” For all of his Goodfella bluster, the Bumble had seemed a fairly polite and straightforward bug, and I felt really bad that I could not be more cooperative. Of course, I did not feel nearly as bad as the Bumble did when my shovel sliced him cleanly in half. The blade snagged only briefly on his pressed, silk shirt before leaving him in a divided state of being.
“I shall convey your sentiments to the parties involved.” sighed the Bumble as the top eighteen inches of its body crawled out of the door. Its multi-faceted eyes bore no malice, only a look of tired resignation. The Bumble looked down at itself and shook its head sadly. “Damn, that was my favorite shirt.”

* * * * *

They must have come in from every state in the Union. For days, Moths and Butterflies of every size, shape and color besieged my house. My lawn looked like an elaborate Indian tapestry. They were no longer delicate little creatures flitting from flower to flower…no, no, no…palpable menace dripped from every fluttering wing. The air became yellow and hazy with dust created from those wings. I could take it no more; I walked to the door and stepped out onto my porch. Millions of eyes watched my house and waited. What happened next was inevitable…and it was their own damn fault.
The first sneeze that erupted from my nose cleared bugs for thirty feet. The rapid succession of blasts that followed rattled windows eight miles down the road. The dust began to clear, and all that remained of my improbable enemy were the remnants of torn antennae and the occasional thorax. One solitary, snot-covered wing floated gently down from the sky.

I slumped onto the porch, exhausted and wished vainly for a Kleenex.
It was over. I closed my eyes, allowing the throbbing in my head to eventually subside. When I opened them sometime later, I found a hawk sitting in front of me, rolling a cigarette around in its beak.
“I hate to trouble youse.” said the Hawk as it pulled out a small notebook from its Armani jacket. “However, in the course of recent events...” Here the Hawk gestured at my lawn with one wing, before going back to its notes. ”Jonny the Jay was knocked completely out of his place of residence, I.e. his nest, and every single one of his feathers has been blown off. As an additional sadness, he received a knock to the head, and he now believes himself to be Don Knotts. On behalf of the entire Corvidae Family, I am here to seek restitution…”

…and that is why I did not have anything written for today.