the dark haired man

She stood quietly, hidden behind the door frame, listening. Her heart pounded so loudly that she had to strain to hear what her father and the dark haired man were saying.
“It is time, Max,” the stranger said once again, his voice rising in frustration.
“How can it be? We have not seen any of the signs? The sky has not darkened, the sea…”
“Look!” The man desperately shrieked, pulling his left sleeve up over his forearm.
The following silence was almost deafening, taunting the girl. She inched her eyes carefully around the doorframe and peeked into the small darkened room. The lighted candle sitting atop the bookshelf flickered softly across the two men. Her father stood in shock, starring at the other man’s arm which had some sort of a snake tattoo writhing and wiggling beneath his skin.
The girl instinctly covered her mouth to stifle her own shock. Her fear of snakes seemed to wrap tightly around her throat.
“It… it can’t be!” Her father finally spoke. His voice was now rough and almost in a whisper. “She is only twelve, she’s only twelve!”
The girl quickly slinked behind the doorframe once again, her eyes bulging in shock. She was only twelve. Her fingers tightened around her mouth as she felt a scream brewing within.
“I know, but it is time,” the stranger confirmed, pulling his sleeve back down over his marked arm. “It has not happened as we thought, but the time has come nonetheless. We must take action now.” Max nodded.
“Willowfred!” Max called without moving. “Please come here!”
Willowfred froze against the wall, unable to move. Terrible thoughts began filtering through her mind as she quietly stood, unseen.
“Willowfred, dear, I know you are standing just outside of the door, please come in,” her father ordered.
Willowfred lowered her hand, took a deep breath and cautiously entered the room. She didn’t know what to expect, but the worst danced along the corners of her mind.
“Why are you spying?” Her father calmly asked. Willowfred stood quietly, just a couple of feet from the stranger, shrugging her shoulders. She kept her eyes on the floor, afraid to make eye contact.
“I hope this little charade has frightened you into minding your own business,” her father scolded.
Willowfred’s eyes darted up to meet her father’s, filled with shock. “What?”
“You heard me.” A smile crept across his face as he motioned to his company. “He helped concoct this brilliant trick to help teach you to stop spying on me.” A small chuckle escaped his mouth, causing his short whiskers to vibrate in strange patterns.
“But what about his arm?” Willowfred questioned.
“His arm? What about it?” Her father asked confused.
“His arm, that thing…” Willofred exclaimed as she pointed towards the man’s covered arm, her finger slightly shaking.
“Oh that,” her father chuckled once again. “I thought it would be funny to entice you to peek in. Wasn’t that brilliant? To pull up his sleeve like there was something for you to see?” Her fathered laughed again a little harder.
“What? But the snake?” Willowfred questioned again, this time her eyes bored into the stranger for an explanation.
“I don’t know what you are going on about Willowfred, but I hope you will now stay clear of eavesdropping around my study. Go get yourself to bed.”
Willofred walked towards the doorway as her father and the stranger began to pour over a map on the desk before them. She paused, confused. She glanced back at the two men just as the stranger was pushing up both of his sleeves, revealing a writhing snake on each of his forearms. Her eyes widened as fear prickled on the back of her neck. She looked to the man’s face, making eye contact with the stranger that felt like she was gazing into an endless dark well. One corner of his mouth rose into a smirk as he turned back to her father.

Be careful eavesdropping on others, you may discover something you wish you didn’t….

Written by K, Copyright 2015

The Whistle and the Timepiece

     Once upon a time, when the Earth began, the Creator bestowed special gifts upon the world. He wanted the Mother to create the landscape with beauty and sustenance, so He gave her a whistle to create the much needed movement upon the winds and the waters. He wanted the Father to keep watch over time, to cradle the precious moments in his hands, so He gave him a timepiece to cherish all that passes.

     The Mother and Father graciously accepted these gifts and their respective responsibilities. The Mother tied back her long tendrils, careful not to disturb the leaves and sticks nestled within, to attend her duties. She took up the whistle and blew across the mouthpiece sending the winds in motion. Seeds flew from her mouth and out the end of the whistle to be caught in the wind and whisked to all corners of the Earth. Soon the lands were covered in trees, bushes, berries, flowers, fruits, nuts, grasses, and all that cloaks the world with beauty. Once the Mother was pleased with her creation, she turned to the oceans and again blew into the mouthpiece of her whistle across the surface of waters. She was in awe as she watched the wind slide across the waters, pulling it to and fro, into a calm rhythmic motion. The water slinked up the shore and curled around her ankles, leaving her feet a blue iridescent shade as the waters rolled back to the ocean. The Mother wiggled her toes, pleased to see what she had done.

     “What a splendid beauty, Mother,” the Father spoke as he caressed his long white beard over and over again. He rotated the timepiece in his palm, looking over all the intricate details etched upon the metal.

The Thanksgiving Mouse

Ms. Fizz stood before the counter chopping up carrots and celery. Her knife moved fast over the cutting board as tiny pieces of veggies flew out around her. She blew a long gray curl from her face as she heard the faintest pitter-patter in the distance. She paused, tilted her head to be sure, then continued preparing her Thanksgiving meal.

           Ms. Fizz dragged the large cutting knife against the cutting board, brushing all of the beautiful vibrant colors into a pan and placed it on the stove top. The pattering of little tiny feet grew closer and closer, until she knew that he was right behind her. Knife still in hand the old woman leaped around in a circle displaying the craziest eyes she could fathom, scaring off the intruder.
          A muffled squeak blurted from the small mouse as it darted from the kitchen and into its mouse hole near the dining room table. Ms. Fizz smiled at her accomplishment and returned to the stove. She placed the knife on the counter as she took up an oven mitt and opened the oven to baste the turkey once again. The smell of the delicious plump turkey wafted through the house as the heat of the oven warmed her cheeks.
          Then came the tiny feet once again, pattering softly against the wooden floors.
          Ms. Fizz sighed deeply, hovering over the opened oven, waiting. She listened as the mouse moved closer and closer, until he was once again directly behind her, hoping to get some scraps. Ms. Fizz grinned the scariest grin she could imagine and slammed the oven door closed as she twirled around waving her hands out the side of her face like tentacles.
          The mouse squeaked louder than before and dashed off to the safety of his mouse hole.
          Ms. Fizz continued to cook. She glazed her carrots and baked some rolls. As she was mashing her potatoes she heard the mouse for the third time, sneaking his way back into the kitchen. She was sure he was going to try to steal some food this time! So, Ms. Fizz dipped her finger into the mashed potatoes and lathered it across her mouth and down her chin. She half closed her eyes and swirled around chanting “brains” to appear as though she had turned into a zombie.
          Ms. Fizz giggled a deep belly giggle as the mouse squealed several times and darted out of the kitchen to hide in his mouse hole. She was sure he didn’t want to become a zombie.
          Once all of Ms. Fizz’s Thanksgiving fixings were complete, she removed two plates from her cupboard. She piled potatoes and gravy as high as the plates would hold and nestled glazed carrots and celery right beside. She placed large slices of turkey on the plates, followed by several warm and buttered rolls. Ms. Fizz then carried one of the plates carefully to her dining room table and placed it on the end. She could see two tiny eyeballs watching her from within the dark mouse hole. She pretended not to notice and refrained from smiling at the persistent little mouse.
          Ms. Fizz returned to the kitchen and grabbed the second plate filled with delicious food and carried it back into the dining room. The mouse watched her carefully, afraid to be startled by her again. Ms. Fizz took the plate directly to the mouse hole and placed it on the floor for her guest.
          Once in her seat, Ms. Fizz began to enjoy the fruits of her labor as the tiny timid mouse came out of his mouse hole to feast upon a meal he had only dreamed of.

By K, Copyright 2013

the young girl

The young girl sat, kneeling in the center of the frozen lake. The bottoms of her naked feet exposed to the chilling air as her toes began to turn blue. Her eyes widened as her long brown hair flew out and away from her neck. She hovered closer to the ice as her hands reached to swipe the freshly fallen snow from the surface.
Her eyes watered as the light beneath grew brighter and brighter, revealing all that she came to see. Maidens danced amidst the flowing waters, their toes pointed like small ballerinas. Their naked skin, the color of water itself, seemed silky smooth and almost translucent. She watched the maidens and their graceful movements as her heart began to ache. Tears streamed down her face leaving trails of bitter cold against her cheeks, until they broke free and landed softly against the ice.
The moment her tears pattered against the lake's surface, the maidens stopped twirling and were instantly touching the frozen surface from beneath. Their tiny hands, slightly misshapen with not enough fingers to count, taunted the young girl. Her soul ached for a different life as she looked over her shoulders one last time. She quickly closed her eyes tightly to hold back her despair, and blindly placed her right hand against the top of the frozen lake. Within moments the young girl felt water rushing through her hair and over her skin as she pointed her toes in unison.

by K, Copyright 2013

Scorched Memories

by K, Copyright 2011

I stand silently, my eyes closed tight, remembering. This place was a safe haven, a dream. This place will forever be remembered for its powerful healing touch. I will remember how the rocks felt beneath my feet, how the grass swayed in the breeze. I will remember the nearby oak giving me shade to drink in my surroundings. I will remember the two birds that always seemed to twitter from deep within the branches, lost to my sight, but seen with my soul. But most of all, I will remember the pond...

I nestled myself upon the grass, feeling several stray blades tickling my belly button. I instantly felt the earth beneath cool me from the heat of the day. My barefeet took turns rising and falling back into the grass, my pigtails falling around my face as I lowered my chin into my hands. My brown eyes widened with delight as the water before my face began to brighten and shine from below. Small movements darted from here to there, until my eyes adjusted to the beauty, revealing the small mermaids. Their slim, slippery bodies were as agile as any fish I had seen, and no larger than a koi. Their tales glistened with intricate designs that seemed to glide upon their scales. Their long hair trailed behind them as they swam, some blue, some white, some red. I couldn't take my eyes off them. I was entranced everytime. One or two would slowly swim in circles until they were just beneath the water's surface, smiling in such a way that melted my heart. I could feel their magic radiating from them, rising from the water like steam from a cup of coffee. I knew they were magic, the sight of them made me forget all my troubles. They made me forget everything.
After my absence was noticed, my mother would call for me in the distance. Before leaving, I would skim the water with my fingertips, my attempt to communicate with these creatures, other than with my locked eyes. Once my fingers stroked the moving water, the ripples circled outward, causing the scene to disappear until my next visit.

Now here I am again, after many years away. Upon opening my eyes, I am battered once again with the scene before me that made me close them in the first place. I am no longer standing upon lush green grass. I look down to me feet, my boots planted firmly against dry cracked earth, blackened. My eyes wander, taking in the skeletons of trees, twisted and bent in unatural positions. Ash. Ash everywhere, leaving a layer of sooty history. No water in sight. The pond is now nothing, leftovers. This place holds sorrow and death, and endings. My heart aches for what it use to be, for that magic that I use to prance to, that touch that enfolded me in my younger days. I turn away from this scorched place, now foriegn to me. I try to shake the image from my mind, but it stays, leaking, contaminating my memories. My new unwanted companion.

A Love Song

by K, Copyright 2011

The wind bit her nose so roughly that she thought it might be blood drizzling down from her nostrils rather than a simple chill-induced runny nose. She reached up with her fingers, swiping just above her upper lip. She swiped again, unsure that she actually made contact. The numbness of her face prevented the feel of her cold, rough fingertips. Seeing nothing on her fingers satisfied her as she returned to her task at hand. Her grip around the handle slipped frequently as she continued to force the head of the shovel into the raw frozen earth. Cracking noises shattered the peaceful night as the moon hid silently behind a cloud. She shifted her feet, almost bringing herself to the ground. Her naked feet felt like blocks of ice, unwilling to move, unwilling to cooperate. She instinctively tossed the shovel aside and reached down, clawing at the tops of her feet, a scream rising in her throat with no escape. She fell to her knees and began frantically digging at the earth with her own fingers. The frustration of her slow progress tormented her mind. She dropped her hands out of exhaustion, raising her head up to the moon just as it exposed itself once again. Her festering pain continued to rise within, seeking desparately to be released. She opened her chapped mouth ready to succomb to the wailing and keening as a hand grabbed her shoulder. The light shake of this grasp froze her pain and sorrow, shaking it down into the depths, to resurface another day. She turned to see a familiar face, contorted in shock. She looked down to see her own nakedness, tinted blue for the sleeping world to see. A blanket was wrapped around her shoulders as she carefully rose to her feet. She took one last glimpse of the wooden cross that protruded from the earth like a pockmark upon a face. She slowly followed away from where she longed to be, noticing flesh and dirt caked beneath her finger nails, and the taste of blood upon her lips.

The Box

by K, Copyright 2011

She awoke, startled, sweat dripping from her forehead. She heard it again, calling. The winds whispered her name, calling her from the house. She got out of bed, her cold feet landing against the wooden planks. She grabbed her silk robe from the bedpost, wrapping it around her body. She promised herself tonight she would follow.
Soon she was standing before the wooded forest just beyond the neighboring houses. She could hear the whispers, she could feel a presence. The wind wisped through her hair, nipping her nose. She thought she could even smell it.
Her bare feet inched foreward, snapping twigs beneath them. She no longer could feel the pricks and pokes of nature’s debris beneath each step. Her mind was so fixated upon the whispers, the callings. Her heart pounded so loudly she almost had to strain to follow the noises, almost. She continue to walk through the forest. The darkness cloaked the night all around her, the tall trees blocking out the colors of the moon. She eventually found herself looking down upon a wooden box. It shook and rattled against the damp ground. She fell to her knees, knowing the calls that tormented her sleep were coming from within.
She ran her fingers over the beautifully carved box, feeling the grooves of a chiseled masterpiece. She wondered whose craft had created such a box. There were mermaids and griffins, and angels with lutes. She could hear the tinkling now from the magical fingertips against the lute strings. It soothed her racing heart. She touched the lutes carved upon the box, feeling the vibration of the strings, the movements of the tiny talented fingers. She closed her eyes, feeling as though the majestic nature of the box was entering her soul, and slightly tugging her closer.
She tugged on the metal latch, perplexed that it didn’t budge. She tugged again, and again. Nothing happened. The box would not open. She looked around her out of desperation. She had to get the box open.
As her eyes scanned her surrounding, she saw a small golden key on a red ribbon, dangling from a tree branch. She quickly got to her feet to retrieve it and was back on her knees to unlock the magic box. She found no key hole on the latch and cried out to the night in frustration. She tugged and tugged on the latch until the carvings on the lid of the box began to change and shift. Where there once had been a beautiful mermaid beneath a sea and charming angels in the sky, there was a dragon. His scales felt rough to the touch, and smoke rose from his nostrils into the air before her. She watched this dragon slither on the box, wiggling his long body as if trying to find comfort. Once it settled, the dragon’s face turned to stare, opening his large fearsome mouth. She could feel his breath, smell the stench from within his belly. The dragon’s long tongue rolled out of his mouth and remained frozen like a real wooden box should be.
She stared at this dragon’s tongue, frozen in time as if awaiting her action. She instinctively placed the golden key upon the tongue and jumped in surprised as the tongue rolled back up into the dragon’s mouth, key, ribbon, and all. The dragon blew steam and fire out of
his nostrils just before the lid of the wooden box flew open.