July Writing Prompt

She wore her scars as her best attire.
A stunning dress made of hellfire.
Phoenix wings decorated her soul,
Spreading out as chaos unfolds.
Waltzing through the brimstone and pain,
She smiled and welcomed her old friend.
Like a dream, a reverie, she dances
Past those who would not pass her second glances.
For now, they suffer, entombed by the pain,
She looks at her scars, for they were not in vain.
Born in chaos, she learned and battled to grow,
Unlike those who are consumed, for that is all they know.
In life, each strike, another layer to her armor
Tears shed and blood bled, her soul became darker.
But one day she lifted her head and smiled,
Her strength was no longer frail and mild.
Battle ensued inside and around her fire,
She passed through, untouched by the pyre.
Ashes fell and she was reborn,
A hellfire dress, a gift, was adorned.

A poem for you this month! I deeply apologize for the absence again. As usual, I’ve been juggling a lot and haven’t had much time to post on here. I’m waiting on the book cover for Preservation to be completed and then I will be adjusting the format and publish it soon! I hope everyone is as excited as I am! I can’t wait for you to read it!

WordPress is Back, and So Am I

Four years ago to the date. I remember where I was that day. I think we all do. There are just certain events that you can just immediately recall who you were with and what you were doing. June 2nd was one of those days.

I woke up and hopped out of bed, a few minutes behind, as usual. Snooze is the best and worst invention in the world. Needless to say, I was probably going to be late for work again. My cat, Einstein, was meowing in the kitchen as I threw on a clean outfit and rushed to feed him. Food spilled all over the floor and that little turd of a cat tried scarfing it down as fast as he could while I tried to clean it up. Now he’s not going to eat dinner for as much as he ate for breakfast. I’m already stressed at this point and now the clock says 7:47. I have thirteen minutes to get to work. THIRTEEN. Usually, if there isn’t any traffic, it takes me twenty minutes to get to work.

But I would never make it to work that day. Everyone was standing outside as I was rushing to the car. I nearly made it to the highway before I noticed that the sky had darkened. Complete daylight had vanished. Everyone on the road had stopped dead in their tracks, exited their vehicles, and turned their heads to the sky. I did the same. My palms started sweating and my heart was racing so fast that it felt like I had just run a marathon. And I wasn’t even sure what I was looking at.

It was so large that it had completely eclipsed the sky. Well, at least the city. As far as we could tell. But once it ‘landed’ it just hovered there. I could feel the people around me, waiting for what would come next. For the next hour, we all just watched. No one moved or said a word. A few whispers and the radio talk shows talking about this thing buzzed over the crowd. Slowly, people began to return to their homes, the traffic died down, and I went back to my cat. Work, obviously, wasn’t going to say anything about my absence. Not with this ship or whateverthehellitis in the sky.

Around 9:00PM was when things began to get weirder. The few family that I still had already called to make sure I was okay. They only saw the stories while I was living in this moment. It was right above my head. There were news outlets all around the city, asking rhetorical questions that no one knew the answer to. And then, the damn thing began to glow. But it didn’t come from lights. It pulsated like veins – scattering like lightning across the sky. This vessel was somehow alive. First it was an eerie red, and then green. I could hear the screams in the streets. Fear.

But, despite what I may or may not have told my family, I wasn’t afraid. I was more intrigued than anything. My neighbor and I just sat on our porch and watched the events unfold. Was this the end of the world? Maybe. But even if it was, we couldn’t stop it. So why worry?

An hour had passed before the middle of this thing opened and the otherworldly beings began to float down to Earth. These things, wherever they came from, were the most wild-looking things I had ever seen. They were human-like, but extremely tall and sheet white. Even their attire, which resembled robes, were the very same color. Some people in the streets called them angels, but that was doubtful. How do I know? One landed on my porch.

My neighbor ran inside. The more I thought about the possibility of an invasion, the more fearful I became. But this thing was so beautiful. It couldn’t be harmful, could it?

“You have been chosen,” it said in perfect English. This race must have learned our language before coming here. Or maybe I was just hearing it in my head. “You are a survivor. Your past pain will be rewarded. We have been watching.”

***

And that was the last that I remember. From what the others have told me – the other survivors – they grabbed up a few of us and brought us onto the ship, adorned us with their clothing, and enslaved the rest. First, it was the state, and then the entire West Coast, then the United States, and slowly but surely, the world. Each time, they would descend and choose their survivors, and then the warriors would take over.

There are so few of us. Maybe a few thousand or so. We stand watch over our areas and act as messengers from these creatures. If we fail or retaliate, they kill us. So many have died and I once cried for them. But now, I just do as they say with little thought. At least they let me keep Einstein. He’s the only thing that keeps me company anymore.

Four years ago to the date. I remember where I was that day. I think we all did. Well, those of us who are still here.

***

I’m so so sorry for being gone for so long! I was having issues with WordPress not wanting to work on my computer, but I’ve figured it out! 🙂

Quick Update: I’m almost done with the final edits of Preservation so be on the lookout for the release!

The House of Storm and Stars

It sat atop a hill. Perched. Looming over the town with an ominous energy. Tales told of a young woman bearing a fog that remained each day. But she found beauty in the turmoil, speaking spells and brewing potions for the town. At first, they rejected her ways and shunned her wares, but she assured them that she was made of earth and wished to connect the humans with their roots once again.

“I have grown fond of all things green,” she would say. “We have broken our connection with the Spirit of all that lives. I once traveled across the continent, healing others with the very earth at their feet. But I have decided to settle here and allow those who seek healing find me.”

Perhaps it was her soft voice or her small figure, but the town gradually grew to like the young witch. By summer, she told them her name. “Camellia, like the flower.” Suddenly, Camellia flowers began to bloom in the quiet little town.

From far and wide, people came to Camellia for healing and peace. She not only mended their physical wounds, but their spiritual wounds as well. Whomever her magic touched, flowers would bloom. Each night, she would return to her home and more of the fog would drift away. The twilight would be clear above, twinkling with other universes. On full moon nights, you could see her on the highest balcony, staring up at the sky.

Throughout the years, many tried to win Camellia’s heart. But each time, she politely refused. “My heart belongs to the Earth. I cannot do the work I do if I were to give my heart to you.” To those who were close to her healing knew that with each rejection, she was strengthening herself and her craft.

Although her face stayed young with each passing year, her wisdom grew. The townspeople protected her and understood that she was not of this world. She was a gift. If anyone wronged her, they would stand at her side… but she never needed them to fight for her.

“Nature creates beauty,” she explained. “But sometimes beauty can be deadly when trifled with.” A handful of patrons would ever test Camellia’s kindness, only to end up on the bad end of a curse.

Soon, the witch decided to train others in her craft. Those who were willing to give themselves to nature began to train with Camellia in the town. When they had been anointed in the ancient art, they could decide to remain in the town or spread magic elsewhere. In mere years, over fifty people of all ages became one with the earth, just as Camellia had.

Decades passed and more flowers spread past the town’s borders. The fog at the house on the hill had completely vanished and Camellia was joyful. But one day, she did not come down from her home. The townspeople became worried as a dark cloud formed over the shack, bringing cascading rain and booming thunder.

But no one had ever ventured to her home and they were afraid. Some thought that she had perished and the earth was upset. Others feared that she had become evil. Three women braved the trek up to the gates and attempted to peer inside. Nothing. The candles had been extinguished and it did not appear that anyone was home. One of Camellia’s disciples took the initiative to open the door, the other two following close behind her.

The floor seemed vacant. A thin blanket of dust laid upon it. The women hesitantly spread out and searched the home. It was in her room that they found it. A letter. Scrawled in black ink and addressed to the town.

My time is over. Thank you for accepting me. Think of my tears when the rain falls. Think of my voice when the wind blows. Think of my eyes when the stars twinkle. But think of my legacy. It is in your hands now. I go back to nature to watch over you. Until next time. Camellia.

The town adopted the name of Camellia for the woman who showed them how beautiful nature could be. Those she had trained continued her work and trained others. Today; psychics, empaths, and healers are descendants of that woman. Trust in yourself, and trust in your gift.

Perfectly Imperfect

She was an angel craving chaos. He was a demon seeking peace. A Gemini of sorts, trapped in a perpetual mundane existence, searching for purpose. For it was this century that they would meet. In limbo they found one another’s gaze and felt the earth quake in their presence. The Universe tethered them together, no matter how many miles separated them, and returned them to the place where they met.

He was raised from hellfire, understanding the necessity of war. She, a pacifist who saw the flowers as they were. He, a critical and wary gaze upon others. Her, a warm and loving stare. He became closed off. She welcomed too much. Tired, he grew from constant anticipation of attack. Fatigued, she grew from being used and disposed of. But it was in their middle-ground that they truly grew. He slowly began to break down barriers while she created healthy boundaries. Together, they became unstoppable.

But it was her patient heart and his stubborn determination that enticed one another. His temper would burn the world ten times over until the moment her soft hand was placed upon his quaking chest. Suddenly, the flame would extinguish and be replaced with a white light of serenity. No matter the reason, she stood steadfast. He felt like he had reached Nirvana in her touch. Love before her was never enough as they allowed him to burn with rage until he was utterly spent. But not this time. He wondered whether fate had felt pity on him, or he genuinely deserved her. Feeling of inadequacy completely diminished when he stood upon her shoulders, bolstering him far above those around him. She forced him to see what he truly was, a perfectly imperfect being.

But it was his unpredictably that she wholly loved him for. For being a healer, expending every drop of energy on those she believed to love before left her feeling alone. He, unlike those before him, noticed her pain. The tears shed underneath the strength she showed to others. Countless people came to her for healing only she could give. However, in time, she grew weary. When his eyes noticed the bombardment she encountered, so he stood before her, wings encompassing her body. He alone protected her until she was ready to face the world once again. She felt safe, but not confined. Something she discovered in his inner turmoil calmed her. He understood her purpose and allowed her to be free, watching closely so she would never be taken for granted again.

For both of them struggled against their early days. Their haunted pasts. He, for recklessness. She, for servitude. But it was in their scars that they found strength, tossing their clothing upon the ground and showing their nakedness to one another. Vulnerable they embraced and raised one another on high. And as they stood above the earth, they cared not for the comments of others. They only heard themselves.

Many obstacles attempted to prevent them from their first embrace, their first kiss. They endured the endless storms. Battled alongside one another only fortified their bond. Patience was finally rewarded and they would forever be one. When the world witnessed the perfection in their love, they stopped and watched. Much to their surprise, the Universe and those within it agreed with their connection. Time would tell, but their emotions stood strong despite those who attempted to destroy their bliss. It was their very existence, so vastly different, that made them so similar.

She was an angel craving chaos. He was a demon seeking peace.

The Wild One

Pine and Fir trees conceal numerous stories that become myth. A light flickering through the treetops, people speak of witches and spirits lingering from history passed. Sometimes, hushed whispers and bone-chilling winds come up from the depths and scare the livestock and the people in town. Many travelers do not dare come this way. They stay along the main road and avert their gaze to the sign reading: Corpse Cove.

The name of the town itself should be daunting enough, but it’s people tend to keep away from the affairs of outsiders. Those who have read the newspapers coming from this lonely town flock in interest. And those who live in Corpse Cove happily oblige their deepest fantasies for a fee. Murder mysteries derived from true events and horseback tours of the recent fire that wiped out a third of the homes, the townspeople thrive on death. Perhaps they are obsessed with it, as it is all they know.

A quaint Inn sits nearest to the forest with the windows strategically built to view as much of the treeline as possible. The most expensive room sits atop a tower, up a winding staircase, and perched high enough to see for miles. Claims of mysterious glowing orbs dancing over the horizon just before nightfall and sounds of drums and singing are carried with the wind. All of these and so much more make Corpse Cove ripe for spirit activity.

But it wasn’t always named this way. When the town was first inhabited twenty years ago, a settler and his wife named the land Harristown. Maude and Earl Harris, along with a few of their close friends and relatives, began to build. When the town was christened, so were the Harris’. Maude was pregnant.

However, it wasn’t a joyous time for everyone in Harristown. Earl’s mother, an eccentric by the town’s standards, never cared much for Maude and believed that her grandchild would deface the ‘good Harris name’. So, she devised a plan. Late one night, a raven came to her windowsill, sat upon it, and beckoned for her. She followed it deep into the forest, black as pitch. Suddenly, she spotted a fire. No one was around except her and the raven, that, when she turned to look back at it, had transformed into a grey fox with a woman standing beside it. Both had silver eyes glinting against the flames.

“I know what it is you request of the spirits of the forest,” she said in a low, melodic voice. “We require sacrifice as payment.”

The old lady swallowed the lump in her throat, but the first person to come to mind was Maude. No, that would be too obvious. “If I decide to sacrifice the child?”

“She will become us,” the spirit explained, though her mouth did not move. Her voice came and went with the wind. “If she has done no wrong, this will be the end of Harristown as you know it. Heed my warning or do not, that is your choice.”

But the old woman choose her own path. Clouded by hate for Maude, she allowed her son to raise the child for three years to keep suspicions at bay. On the evening of the child’s third birthday, the Spirit’s wolf awaited the old lady and the toddler at the forest’s edge. No tears were shed until dawn when Maude and Earl found that their daughter went missing. They believed that a thief stole her in the night, and they weren’t entirely wrong.

For months they searched surrounding lands, always returning to Harristown for comfort. On their final search destination, Earl’s mother decided to go alone.

“Perhaps she is in Ashville,” she offered. Still, only she knew where their precious daughter had disappeared that night. Earl begged to accompany her, but she refused.

Two days passed when the old lady returned down the dirt road to the wooden sign stamped with her last name. Something was different as she turned off the main road and began the mile ride to the town. It was the smell. She remembered it as fresh maple and wildflowers, but not this time. This time, it smelled like smoke.

“Help,” it was Maude’s voice coming from the bottom of the hill. “Please help us. Earl… the others.”

“If she has done no wrong, this will be the end of Harristown as you know it. Heed my warning or do not, that is your choice.” It echoed in the old woman’s mind.

The moment her carriage turned towards the hill, her eyes widened. Smoldering remains of over half the town came into view. Maude was slumped over next to the horses, crying hysterically. Her legs were badly burned.

“I’m so sorry, ma,” she wept. “I tried to save him, but he wouldn’t leave the house. He said he saw her, ma. He said he saw our daughter.”

“What?” The old woman’s heart started racing and her palms became sweaty. “That can’t be possible. It’s been months. She’s gone.”

Suddenly, the widow screamed and pointed to the forest. Her hands were shaking violently. “No.”

“That’s impossible,” the old woman said. But again, the Spirits warning repeated in the back of her mind.

The two women stood there, flabbergasted as a very young girl with fiery red hair wrapped in messy braids stood at the threshhold. Perched on her shoulder was a raven and just beside her was the fox. All three of them had bright silver eyes. But it was what the girl said that terrified them.

“I’m sorry mommy. I had to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. She left me here to die and now I must take you all with me.”

***

Although the town changed it’s name since that day, the stories did not die with Maude and Earl. Years have passed and it is still a bustling town with a dark past. But that is the charm. None of the spirits in the fire were laid to rest and their remains still haunt the town. Maude and Earl can be heard weeping in various places around town and seen on the full moon nights. Their specters glide through the streets, calling out to their lost child. Other townspeople can be heard screaming in pain from time to time. But the most noted ghost is that of Earl’s mother. They claim she is the most active because she was banished from the afterlife. Everyone who comes to Corpse Cove has seen her in one way or another. Mirrors reflecting her likeness, a shadow of a shuffling hunched woman through hallways and the streets. But on the anniversary of her grandchild’s birthday, she can be followed.

Her path? The very same she took all those years ago. From the home of her son to the treeline. Those brave enough to follow can find her weaving around trees that have since fallen over to a small clearing – a perfect circle. Some claim that the remnants of a fire still burns, but only the coals. The old woman’s spirit sways back and forth for an hour, dwelling on her choice and leaving to her home. Only to return with her grandchild and disappears again.

Tales say that the child still lives within the trees, raised by wolves and the Spirit who spoke to the old woman. Her red hair – a reminder of the havoc she caused her family and the town she should have grown up in. Even still, you can see her glowing persona just beyond the treeline, watching over Corpse Cove.

But those are just stories right?

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed and I would love to read your take on the 3 prompts above. 🙂