Posted in Blogging 101, Challenges, Writing

Should Have Called Ahead

“I’m telling you Emma, it doesn’t look as if anyone works here. It probably went out of business when my grandfather died.” Carrianne went behind the desk and started looking through some papers. “There doesn’t seem to be any guests booked in at all for the last year.”

“That’s because you’re looking at the wrong books. Everything is on computer now.” A brown-haired girl pulled out the top drawer of the desk, revealing a laptop. “And why are you going through the paperwork? Normally people call ahead if they want to stay here.”

“Well, this wasn’t really planned and I didn’t have the number. Mum just told me to come here and speak with the council.” Carrianne said with a shrug. “Besides, I was told that I inherited the Flowering Rose from my grandfather. I thought that it had gone out of business since I had no idea it existed until now.”

“It didn’t go out of business. We took care of it since you were too busy.” The brunette shook her head. “Goddess, you think you are so much better than us don’t you? Why are you even here? We don’t need you. The Rose got on fine without you.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t even know about this place until Mom got sick. She told me that my grandfather gave me the Flowering Rose in his will. I thought that I should at least come and check the place out.”

“Oh please, you and your mom think you’re too good for Winterwood. You come here to get what you want and leave as soon as it gets tough. You own the Rose but you’ve never done anything for it. You never even come to visit. So why are you here now?”

“I told you. I didn’t know about the Flowering Rose until Mom got sick.” Carrianne enunciated each word to a painful degree. “If it was up to me, I would sell it to someone who would take care of it. But I have no control over who owns it right now.”

The girl shook her head. “Yeah right, tell me another tale while you’re at it. You own the place. You have all the control.”

“The deed is in trust with the council. I need to meet with them before I get control. And Mom warned me that I may need to complete some other things as well before they will give me the deed.” Carrianne folded her arms and leaned against the desk. “I wish I had control but I don’t. So, do you mind telling me who you are and if there is a free room my friend and I can stay in while we get this sorted?”

“I’m Marny and I don’t think there are any rooms. You should have called ahead like everyone else.”

 


 

 

Blogging 101 asked us to make a prompt our own. The prompt I chose was today’s writing prompt from The Daily Post: “Shoulda Woulda Coulda.”

Posted in Writing

Marny’s Dream

Trigger Warning: Character Death, Suicide

 

Marny tossed in her bed; her eyes fluttering in the REM cycle. Her arm landed on her stomach as a gasp made its way out of her mouth.

She could hear their laughter. They were laughing at her. They thought she was oblivious.

And she had been.

She had thought that they were her friends. She had believed the girls to be the sisters her parents couldn’t give her.

Until she heard them talking to David about courting.

And David. Her David. She had thought him to be her soul mate. She had thought they would spend their lives together.

Until she heard him asking her friend to marry him.

Continue reading “Marny’s Dream”

Posted in World Building, Writing

Book of Faces

The book was made of a very thin leather that almost seemed fragile. Every few pages the leather would change; whether in quality or colour; and with it, the story would also change.

If one were to take the time to translate all the languages in the book they would find a history of the cult. The first few stories, written in the most ancient language, told the stories of the first generation.

There weren’t many in the first generation, only about ten or so, but they were close. They hid from the rest of the world as they worshipped in the dark. They married and had children to whom they taught their religion.

The religion grew and ten followers soon became twenty which became fifty then over one hundred. But the book didn’t hold all of their stories. After the first ten stories, the only stories which were written into the book were the stories of priests and priestesses who had made a difference to the cult.

Researchers who dared to ask the right questions and complete the right tests may find out more than they wished to. If the researcher tested the material of the book, they would have a most gruesome discovery. For the leather that makes up the paper is comprised of human skin.

To be more specific, the leather is made up of skin from the faces of the people the stories are about.

To the members of the cult, becoming a part of the book is a rite of honour. Many members have pledged their lives to the protecting of this sacred book while others have pledged their lives to becoming a part of the book.

For all the history and sacredness of the book, its name is quite simple and will give clues to the book’s composition. The title, if translated properly, is “The Book of Faces”.

Posted in Writer's Hub, Writing, Writing Exercises

In Remembrance

Jade M. asked “Do two lines make a poem?” and Whisper2Scream replied with a poem. I encourage everyone to check out both Jade M’s and Whisper2Scream’s sites and read their poems. Both of these fabulous writers have inspired me to write my own two-line poem.

Trigger Warning: The poem is a reflection of my grief from my father-in-law’s passing. If you cannot deal with death please don’t read.

Continue reading “In Remembrance”

Posted in Writing, Writing 101, Writing Exercises

Writing 101: The Witch of North End Road

This post was written in response to Writing 101: Hone Your Point of View.

All the kids call Mrs. Pauley the witch of North End Road. I don’t know if she is a witch. She’s old enough to be one. She’s been here since before Mom was a kid.

Some of the kids say that she cursed her husband and turned him into a frog. I don’t believe in curses like that. Those things are for kids. But he has been gone for a while.

Sara said that the witch killed Mr. Pauley and that’s why he’s not around. She thinks that the witch had to drink his blood to stay young. I don’t think she drank his blood. That’s vampires not witches. Besides if she drank his blood to stay young why does she have all those wrinkles?

I wouldn’t blame her if she did kill him. He was always yelling at me to be quiet. He popped my pool when I was a kid. Said it was on his yard so it was his.

Mom always took his side. Told me to stop bothering them because they were nice.

Yeah right. If they were nice then I’d be able to have my pool under their tree. It’s the only tree near our building. And if they were nice they’d give out good candy on Halloween instead of those nasty molasses vomit things.

I wasn’t surprised when the cops came. Someone probably narked on her or something. It was crazy. There were police and Mr Scott, the landlord, he was there too.

I seen them when I was sitting on the steps. I was waiting for Jazz to get there so we could go do something. She’s always late.

I don’t know if the cops arrested her because they were quiet. I think if they’re arresting someone they have to have the sirens on. It’s a law or something.

I wanted to ask the cops what was going on but Mom said I had to stay by our steps. She told me not to get in the way.

I heard from Charlie, whose Dad is a cop, that she was being kicked out. He said that Mr Scott found out that she was a witch and didn’t want her there no more. I don’t blame him witches are scary evil.

Mom says we should feel sorry for the witch. She says the witch is just a poor widow whose family abandoned her.

I think I even heard Mom and Dad talking about letting her stay here. They said something about talking to the witch’s kids but I know that’s not true. Everyone knows that witches can’t have kids.

I don’t know what’s going to happen but if the witch stays here I’m moving in with Jazz.

 

Posted in A.P. Roberts, Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Anxiety and Me

This was written in response to Writing 101: Your Personality on the Page. The prompt was to right about one of your worst fears in a different style than you normally use.

Trigger Warning: This post deals with anxiety. If you are easily triggered by talk of anxious thoughts please stop reading. If you are reading this for the sole purpose to help your own anxiety, please seek help from a mental health professional.

Continue reading “Writing 101: Anxiety and Me”

Posted in Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Serially Lost 5

This was written in response to Writing 101: Third Time’s the Charm. This part is linked to Serially Lost, Serially Lost 2, Serially Lost 3 and Serially Lost 4.

**Hopefully the underlining works but if not, all of the post titles above are links. I occasionally forget that my theme doesn’t highlight links. Thank you Priceless Joy for pointing that out to me. 🙂

 

The oven lay cold as Wolf lost himself to thoughts of the past. Normally he would be getting the ingredients ready to make fresh bread for the boys’ suppers. Today he was remembering their last conversation.

He lied when he told Mouse that they fell apart due to her marrying another. In truth they fell apart because of his own naïve actions.

Wolf could still remember his surprise when the baker asked him for a private conversation.

**

The baker seemed like a giant in comparison to the table he sat at. “Michael, I don’t like you. I don’t pretend to like you.”

Michael shifted in his seat. “Sir?”

The baker narrowed his eyes. “I’ll get to the point as I don’t think you’ll understand otherwise. I don’t want you around my daughter.”

Michael swallowed back the anger. “Sir, I know you don’t want me around Aislinn. Why are you telling me this?”

“Aislinn believes that you will marry her. She always was fanciful but I cannot allow these ideas of hers to continue.” The baker shuddered. “I am prepared to offer you an apprenticeship if you stop your friendship with Aislinn.”

Michael opened his mouth to say no. He wanted to say no. He wanted to tell the baker that Aislinn was worth so much more to him. But the promise of a roof over his head and warm food to eat every day was too tempting. “I’ll do it.”

Posted in Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Your Voice Will Find You

Written in response to Writing 101: Your Voice Will Find You.

I found this difficult, not because of the twist but because I found little inspiration from the prompt. The twist was easy as I routinely read my posts aloud to my SO. I am still posting what I wrote but be warned that it is far from my best work. Read at your own peril.

Continue reading “Writing 101: Your Voice Will Find You”

Posted in Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Elevated

This post was written in response to Writing 101: To Whom It May Concern. My prompt, elevation, came from the book Westmark by Lloyd Alexander

Trigger Warning: This deals with several issues including depression and allusion to suicide. If you are triggered by any of these please do yourself a favour and don’t read this post.

If you do find yourself thinking about suicide please visit the International Suicide Prevention Wiki and find someone you can talk to. Suicide is a permanent reaction to a temporary situation. There is always hope and I urge you to find yours.

Continue reading “Writing 101: Elevated”

Posted in Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Serially Lost 4

This was written in response to Writing 101: Serially Found. This part is linked to Serially Lost, Serially Lost 2 and Serially Lost 3.

 

The cloak reminded him of of his childhood. He remembered the day she had given it to him. She made him promise to get off the streets.

Wolf shook his head to clear out to memories. The boys would be down soon to start their day. It wouldn’t do to have him lost in thoughts of the past.

He placed the cloak back onto Mouse’s hook. Besides, the cloak only looked like the one he had, it was not the same cloak.

The pounding of feet on the stairs pulled Wolf out of his thoughts. He had to get the boys their breakfast. They had a long day on the streets ahead of them and he didn’t want them to be hungry.

He placed fresh bread on the table and filled the empty jugs with milk. It wasn’t much but it would get the boys through until they came home.

Some of the older boys left for their apprenticeships without eating; preferring to leave the food for the younger ones. The other boys made sure the younger ones ate.

It warmed Wolf’s heart to be able to provide food and shelter for the little ones of the city. Not only was he giving them what he didn’t have but he was keeping the promise he made years ago.

“Wolf?” Mouse tugged at the bottom of Wolf’s shirt. “Can you help me find a lady?”

The older boys left in the kitchen laughed. “Looking for a date Mousey?” They asked him in jest.

Mouse frowned and shook his head. “No, I wants to give back the cloak. She said it was a gift but I don’t wants no charity.”

“Did she tell you her name?” Wolf asked, leaning down to look Mouse in the eyes.

“Nuh uh. She ain’t never said her name.”

“Do you remember what she looked like little one?”

Mouse scrunched up his face. “She was pretty. Made me think about your baker girl. But she was old like you.” Mouse thought for a moment. “And she said it was a return. Said the cloak was lost and coming home.”

“I’m not certain I can help you find her. But I will try.” Wolf stood up and walked over to the cloak. Picking it up, he looked over the fabric.

He stopped when he saw a small patch of fabric stitched with the name Michael. He hadn’t used that name in years. She was the only one who called him that and the only one who ever would.

“You need not worry about finding her, Mouse,” Wolf eventually said. “She was just returning the cloak I lost years ago.”

Wolf fitted the cloak around Mouse’s shoulders.

“It seems to fit you well, little one.” Wolf blinked back the tears threatening to form in his eyes. “It should keep you nice and warm in the winter weather.”

Standing up, Wolf looked around at the boys still in the kitchen. Some were giving him quizzical looks but he ignored them as he cleared the table.