Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2017/04/23

I paused when I saw the feather on the ground, propped up by the rocks. “Daddy? Is Momma OK?” I brushed the hair from my eyes, and looked at the clouds. “She’s safe up there, isn’t she?”

Daddy knelt beside me, “Yes, Abbey. Momma’s safe.” He picked up the feather.

“Is it from an Angel, Daddy?”

“I don’t know, Abbey. I can’t tell.” He held the feather out, stared at it, and then looked at two seagulls as they flew by, right along the beach. “But I don’t think so.” He pointed at the gulls. “I think it’s from a seagull.”

I nodded, slowly. “Is Momma in the fight, Daddy? Do you know?”

Daddy smiled. “I don’t know. I’m sure she’d let us know if she was.”

I took the feather from him. It was soft, like my shirt, but softer. And so smooth. I couldn’t feel any bumps on it. And I’d never realized how light feathers were. I ran my fingers across its length, “But how do Angels talk to us?”

He nodded, and watched the ocean waves a moment, as if searching for something he’d lost. “They can talk, you know.” Daddy took my hand, “Just like we do.”

“Angels can talk?”

“Oh, yes. They can. They talk among themselves all the time.” With me still holding the feather, we resumed our walk along the ocean. “But they don’t talk to people so much.”

I squeezed my Daddy’s hand, “How can you tell if you’ve heard an Angel?”

He didn’t answer for a while, as we walked along, and all I heard was the ocean, and the seagulls. Until I answered for him. “Is that what that small voice is?”

“Small voice?”

“Yes, Daddy. That small voice. The one that’s always right.”

Even his eyes smiled. “Yes, I do think it is.”

“That small voice no one listens to. You know. The one that tells you to do your homework, or put the dishes in the sink, or make your bed. That one.”

He nodded, “The same one that tells me, turn here, instead of going straight when I’m driving?”

I bounced up and down, “Yes, Daddy! Yes! That voice.”

Daddy picked me up, and carried me as we walked. “Yes, Abbey. That voice.”

I held the feather out. “So, Momma talks to me every day, doesn’t she?”

Daddy nodded, and I promised to listen more to Momma. She was, after all, an Angel. And they know how to stay out of trouble really well, don’t they.

420 Words
@mysoulstears


Miranda Kate‘s weekly short fiction challenge is in it’s 7th week. You can read about the challenge here. I’ve enjoyed writing for it every week so far. I never know what’s going to happen when I start to write. I just have to get out of my way, and let the story happen. Please, go read her short tale this week, and any others that show up.

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#ThursThreads Week 178 : Lost To The War; Lost To The Peace.

We made our way across the grass to the house. The kid looked nervous as hell, and I couldn’t blame him. “Deep breaths, kid.” I tapped his shoulder, “Deep breaths.” At the door, I dialed my density back, and slipped through the wood. The kid followed suit. We made our way through the human house. “You know the drill.”

We floated up the stairs to the bedrooms. The newborn was nursing with its mother. The daughter was asleep in her room, hugging a toy unicorn. The boy was playing video games on his tablet computer, tanks shooting at each other, totally oblivious to everything.

“Now, we find the problem.”

We found the father in the garage, loading rounds into a handgun. His eyes were dead, empty, lost. The kid froze, “My God.”

I scanned the room, searched the shadows. “There.” I fired into the shadows under the workbench. The demon beneath the table died. “You know what to do, kid.”

The kid whispered in the man’s ear, “Do not become lost. Lost to the war; lost to the peace. Listen to your heart. To the words it whispers to you.” The man dropped the gun on the workbench. He cried, then wiped his tears, left the garage, walked to the baby’s room, and sat beside his wife. We’d won that night.

We hauled the demon’s carcass to the rose bushes outside. It would decay in the light of the dawn.

“Welcome to the war, kid.”

245 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 178. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#MidweekMusings 1×05 : Fire

Flora paid for the drinks, then left the bar. She spoke with the grass, dirt, flowers, trees. “Where has Pahana gone?” A trail of white only Flora could see formed along the ground. She followed it.

Pahana stood before the remains of his house. Fauna felt the heartbreak in his veins, the aching of his heart, the tears of his soul. “Pahana?”

He turned as he wiped away his tears. “Flora?”

Flora’s fingers touched his cheek, his tears. “Show me where they rest, please.”

Pahana led Flora to a mass gravesite at the edge of town. A dozen fresh graves were there, unmarked. He stopped before three of the graves. “My daughter. My son. My wife.” He slowly sank to his knees. He didn’t cry. Flora knew he’d run out of tears in that place. All he could do was kneel before the graves, and pray someday he could feel anything other than empty.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you.” She spoke with the ground, the grass, the trees, the flowers. Pahana watched as green grass sprouted around the graves. At the head of each, a rose-bush grew. Deep red for his wife, peach for his daughter, yellow for his son.

Pahana stood. “Thank you.”

Flora smiled, touched his cheek once more. “Tell me, my friend, are there still angels here?”

He nodded.

“Tell me where they are.”

He took her hand, and guided her through the town, to the home of the mayor. “They took over everything.”

She smiled, touched his cheek once more, “Go someplace safe. Tell everyone you can to hide someplace safe.”

“What are you going to do?”

Flora said nothing. Pahana looked at her, into her eyes. He saw fire. Burning, white-hot fire.

“Be safe, Flora. Please.” Pahana left, running from house to house, telling people the fairy Flora was here to save them from the angels. “Get somewhere safe!”

Flora called on the wild magic. She knew it was the machines of her world, of Cylinders. The ubiquitous machines flowing in the blood of everyone, in the air, the water, the trees. She still called it the wild magic. She couldn’t begin to understand the machines, their sciences, their technology. But she could understand wild magic. Especially her wild magic.

Vines grew, came alive, gathered around her. A vine crossed the ground to the door of the house. It grew between the door, and frame, unlocked the door. The door swung open, silently. Flora entered the house, the vines surrounded her, protected her.

She moved room to room, searching for the angels. They’d gathered the beds of the house, the chairs, the tables, in one room. They slept there, draped across everything. They had no guards. They were angels. No one would attack them.

Flora spoke to the wild magic. The vines spread rapidly through the room, twisting around each angel, binding hands, feet and wings. No angle was free. The vines trapped them all. She spoke to the wild magic again.

The vines erupted in flames.

The angels burned.

Flora watched them die. “For Pahana. For his family.” She walked among the dead angels. “For my sister.”

She walked from the home, still surrounded by vines. Outside, the vines spread until the house was no longer visible. She heard the sound of wooden beams splintering. The vines crushed the house, consumed it, turned it, and everything in it, back to dirt.

The fire in her eyes never wavered, never faded. “The angels want a war.” She spread her wings, “Then they shall have a war.” Her wings tore into the air as she took flight. She used the wild magic to guide her as she headed toward her mother’s side.

It was time to stop the angels.

Time to stop the madness.

“There must be no more families like Pahana’s.”

639 words
@LurchMunster


For week 1×05 of #MidweekMusings, another flash fiction adventure hosted by #FlashMobWrites (Ruth Long and Cara Michaels). Please, go read all the stories for this week’s prompt.

#FlashMobWrites 1×12 : Breathe You In My Dreams

Merlin flexed his wings as he soared through the black sky, a black dragon on a black sky. He knew he was nearly invisible. Beneath him was the Kingdom of the Fairies, ruled by Queen Eyela, and King Stephan.

The kingdom was under siege, surrounded by Angels. Angels bent on destroying wild magic. Bent on destroying the fairies, and their magic, the dragons, and their magic. Bent on ridding the world of magic. Magic that brought wars, and death.

The fairies, though skilled fliers, and well-trained warriors, were no physical match for the Angels. The Angels were faster and stronger. They could fly higher, turn tighter. Angels were masters of the skies. And masters of war.

Merlin knew something the Angels didn’t. The magic didn’t exist. It was technology, a gift from the children of the human race. The intelligent machines.

Merlin was a dragon. Genetically, he was a modified human, created by the machines. He could use the machines, they did his bidding. On his world, the world named Cylinders, the machines were everywhere. In the air, the dirt, the water, the food. They flowed in his blood.

He waited for the darkest part of night. When the moon sank beneath the horizon, and only the stars were left. When that time came, he would deal with the Angels.

“Are you ready, machines?”

“We have always been ready.”

He almost laughed. “I breathe you in. I breathe you out. I imagine what I want. And you give it to me.”

“You know how the technology works. You know how we work.

“And yet, you do nothing to stop the Angels.” Merlin knew the machines would not interfere. They would only act when he, and others with magic wished them to act. They would on do what those with magic wished them to do.

And the magic wasn’t really magic. It was communication with the machines. The ability to talk directly to them, in their language. “You know what I will do when the time comes.”

“Yes.”

When it was time, Merlin tucked his wings close to his body. He plunged from the sky, sword like claws fully extended. He sliced into the Angels outside the kingdom’s walls. He placed himself between the angels and the walls, then called on the machines. He hovered in the air. As he pushed his wings forward, toward the angels, the machines did as he asked. His wings spawned the wind. The wind grew into a storm. It howled. It blew everything in its path away.

The Angels were helpless before the storm, blown to the ground, blown into the trees, into the sky. Their wings broken, shattered, useless in the wind.

Merlin settled to the ground. He screamed, the wound of metal sheets being torn in half. He knew Mystica heard. He knew, soon the war with the Angels would be over. And he wondered if any of the Angels would survive.

490 Words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry into #FlashMobWrites 1×12, hosted by Ruth Long and Cara Michaels. Please, go read all the stories in for #FlashMobWrites 1×12. You might find something you like. But if you don’t try, how will you ever know?

Rose

Rose knew she could have asked Sword for protection in his kingdom under the ocean. It was a place the Angels couldn’t reach. Rose also knew she didn’t need protection from the Angels, the needed protection from her.

It had taken time for her to understand the world she lived in. The world called Cylinders. The world of humanity’s children, the machines. Nanotechnology, they called it. Microscopic machines, in the air, the water, the dirt, the trees, the flowers.

They were in her too. Thousands of them. Millions. Maybe trillions. She had no way to know. They’d created her. They’d created all the fairies on Cylinders. The dragons and Angels too. One dragon knew how the machines worked. Merlin. The 20,000 year old Black Magic master. He’d taught Mystica, the White Witch, and her daughters, the Wild Magic fairies, of the machines. The machines had done the rest, showing them the story of their world.

During the war with the invading human empire, Rose learned the extent her ability to talk with the machines, to interact with them. Her “magic”, which wasn’t really magic but an ability to talk with the machines, and work with them, let her manipulate the sky, the dirt, the water. She knew how to use the machines to move matter. To make it do what she wanted it to do. The machines used their technology to bring her actions to life.

Rose rested in her favorite rose garden. She’d started growing it when she was a child, when Mystica first adopted her, and gave her a home. She’d asked the wolves where a good place for a rose garden was. They’d brought her to this place, filled with wild roses. She’d loved. It was her place of peace. Where her soul, her heart, could rest. After Fauna’s death in the war, her garden had been where she’d healed her broken heart.

Today, the Angels would come. The Angels had declared war against Wild Magic. They were immune to magic, “As should be.” But Rose knew the truth. They were not immune to the machines. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to kill.” She asked the roses if there was another way to deal with the Angels. A way of stopping them without killing them.

The roses knew what to do. That meant the machines knew what to do.

Rose waited.

The Angels arrived in the hour before sunset. They flew above the trees, their feathered wings nearly silent. They held swords, shields, bows and arrows. Rose sat among the roses, and waited as the Angels surrounded her garden. Then, she waited as one Angel spoke, “The time has come to purge the world of magic!” The Angel drew an arrow, aimed at Rose.

Rose stood. “Do as you would, Angels.”

Dozens of arrows flew, directly at Rose. Roses from the garden intercepted them, as if they’d come to life. The Roses protected Rose. No arrow got through them. Seeing the failure of the arrows, the Angels drew their swords, and flew at Rose. The ground of her garden opened up, and swallowed her. The angels attacked the ground, cutting roses down, hacking them to bits.

The pieces of roses that fell to the swords moved on their own, severed limbs connected themselves, becoming whole, with no scars. Petals and blooms magically pulled themselves back together, returning to their full beauty.

“The magic of the machines, of nanotechnology, and quantum mechanics.” Rose knew how the roses healed. She knew the machines put the back together. It wasn’t magic at all. It was technology so advanced it appeared as magic.

She remained safe, in the ground, protected from the Angels. She waited for them to stop fighting. It took a while, but eventually the Angels realized they were accomplishing nothing. After a time, they gave up and left. “We’ll try again, on another day, witch!”

When they were gone, the ground moved as it returned Rose to the surface.

“I know they will be back. Today was only the first day of this. Sooner, or later, I will have no choice. Sooner or later, I will have to fight back.”

She listened to the roses, “It is the way humans are.”

Rose wondered if her people, the human race, the makers of the machines, would ever learn, or if humans would always kill each other, in their senseless wars. As she wondered, she sat among the roses of her garden.

Rose cried.

She didn’t want to fight. “It’s like all we understand is violence and destruction.”

The roses surrounded her, “It’s why we came to Cylinders. To help our parents change.”

She smiled. “To help us break free of the cycle we’ve lived in for thousands of centuries.”

“Sleep now, friend. We will keep you safe.”

Rose laid on the ground, The ground shifted, became soft as any bed, grew a pillow beneath her head. The roses rearranged their limbs, formed a blanket to cover her.

“Sleep now, friend. We will keep you safe.”


It’s April 21st, the 17th day of the A to Z Challenge 2015. This is the 17th of 26 pieces I’m writing in April for the challenge. This one’s for the letter R. Tomorrow brings the letter S. I have no idea what I’ll write for that.

#ThursThreads Week 116 : We’ll See About That

Mystica watched the white flames play across the surface of the lake. She saw the Angels attack Merlin, and the dragons. She saw villages of fairies and humans burned to the ground. She spoke to the machines, “Are they coming here?”

“Yes.”

“Will you stop them?”

“No.”

“So, you will allow this war?”

“Yes.”

The flames shifted, showing her the Angels enter the Great Northern Forest. She knew they’d arrive any moment. She used white magic to float above the center of the lake, where she waited for the Angels to arrive.

She watched them float above the trees, surrounding the clearing, and the lake. A single Angel silently flew across the clearing, to the center of the lake. “Witch of white! For your use of magic, and protection of those cursed with wild magic, you shall die.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The Angel swung his arms, as if he had two swords, and was trying to cut Mystica to pieces. The white magic protected her. The Angel didn’t understand. “How are you still alive?”

She stared at him. “Burn.”

White fire leaped from the lake, grabbing the Angel’s ankles, yanking him from the sky, dragging him under the water. The trees around the lake and clearing launched their branches up, like spears, into the Angels by the lake.

That quickly, the Angels were gone.

Mystica shook her head. “The White Magic protects this world,” she declared, “And I am the White Magic.

242 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 116. It’s another little tale from the world of Cylinders. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#FinishThatThought 40 : A War Begins

Merlin stood in the cave entrance, unable to believe what he saw. Angels soared above the trees, up the mountainside, toward his home. He did not want to fight them, but they were leaving him no choice.

The Angels had taken up arms, hunting and killing fairies and dragons gifted with magic. They’d destroyed entire villages and towns to rid the world of magic.

Merlin was the Black Magic Dragon, The dragon of legend that nearly destroyed the fairies. The ancient dragon, from the Northern Ice. He’d known the Angels would come for him someday, but their audacity surprised him. He walked into the clearing outside his cave. “If they want a war, then they shall have one.”

Merlin screamed, filling the sky with the sound of sheets of metal being torn apart. He flexed his wings, and took to the sky, leaving his cave behind. Upon spotting him, the Angels left the mountain, heading into the sky, chasing him, exactly as he knew they would.

Merlin’s black magic was useless against the Angels, they were immune to it. But they were not immune to his talons and his teeth. He changed direction, racing toward the sun. The Angels followed. Merlin accelerated. He possessed speed the Angels could not match. He could have easily escaped them. But they would find him again. They’d given him no choice but to stop them.

He plunged toward the ground, directly at the Angels, with talons fully extended and teeth barred. He sliced through the Angels, his talons stronger than the finest steel, sharp enough to slice through rock, cleaving Angels in half. Dead Angels rained from the sky.

Merlin screamed, the sound of metal rent asunder echoed through the sky.

Thus began the war between the Dragons and the Angels.

296 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Week 40 of Alissa Leonard‘s Finish That Thought. Please, go read all the creatively shared stories in this week’s challenge.