#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?

#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.

#ThursThreads Week 113 : You Would Not Listen

Billy stood on the sidewalk across the street, laughing, and pointing at the dead dog in the middle of the road. My dog, Sam. Billy had just run over him with the truck his parents got him.

I stood on the sidewalk, looking at Sam’s mangled remains. He had broken bones everywhere, and his guts were coming out his mouth.

Billy glared at me, as he sang, “He’s looking over his dead dog rover, laying on the black asphalt! One leg’s broken, another’s just gone. I ran over Rover with my big damn truck!”

Dad sent me inside, before I could do anything, or say anything. “We’ll let the lawyers handle this.”

Like hell we would.

The next morning, I watched Billy get in his truck to go to work.

I knew he would put the key in the ignition, then put his foot on the brake, and turn the key to start the engine. And I watched his truck catch fire when he did. I watched him try to get out of the truck, as the fire spread quickly. I knew he couldn’t.

Billy had wanted war. “I’m gonna take care of that damn dog of yours!” he’d screamed at me.

I looked across the street, as his truck burned, with him in it. Have I mentioned how useful the Internet is? Amazing, what you can find on it. “I warned you not to hurt Sam. You would not listen. You should have listened.”

245 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 113. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#RaceTheDate 12 : Outnumbered

“It’s time.” Sword knew the invaders outnumbered him, 1000 to 1. 1000 soldiers on each invading starship.

He’d fought them when they attacked a village. One fairy against an army. They knew he was there and gradually overwhelmed him, wore him down. Only the White Witch has saved him.

This time he’d take the fight to them. Keep it in a confined space. Inside their starship. He flexed his hands, and called forth his swords, feeling the density wave in the air, extending from his fingertips as the machines turned the air into invisible swords, capable of slicing through rock, wood and metal.

They wanted a war. He’d give them one. They’d learn what it meant to invade Cylinders.

He flexed his wings, and moved silently, flying between the trees, staying hidden. When he reached the starship, he accelerated, extending his arms, calling on the machines. He sliced through the open ground to the starship in before anyone realized he had arrived. His swords sliced into the side of the ship, carving an entrance through which he entered.

Inside the ship, his swords sliced through everything and everyone in his path. On the rare occasions an invader managed to shoot at him, Sword folded his arm, and deflected the shot with the shield the machines formed for him.

He worked through the ship. Room after room. Floor after floor. When he left the starship, nothing alive remained inside. He withdrew the way he’d arrived, flying through the trees. The invaders outside the ship didn’t follow him.

The battle over, he flexed his wings and rose above the trees, into the moonlight sky, where he roared the roar of a warrior born. A warning to the heavens.

If you come here. You will face me.

And you will die.

294 words
@LurchMunster


A little story I wrote for Cara Michaels‘s Race The Date flash fiction challenge. Hope you enjoy it. Please, go read the other entries in the challenge this week. I find it amazing the stories people can create in 300 words or less.

#ThursThreads Week #74 – Not Even A Little One?

Mars sat at the bar, Bacchus noted his mug was empty, and refilled it for the Mars day before the king and queen did not go well sixth time. Mars picked up his mug, and drained it. Bacchus sighed and shook his head, “Not even a little one?”

Mars frowned, looking at his empty mug, trying not to cry, “No. Not even a little one.”

Pluto approached Bacchus, “I need a drink.” He looked at Mars, “He’s getting me depressed.”

Bacchus put a mug before Pluto, and filled it with blood-red wine. “Ah, Pluto. You must forgive him. He’s had a bad day.”

Pluto looked at the calendar behind the bar. “Oh. This was his day before the court wasn’t it?”

Bacchus nodded. “He made his request of Jupiter and Juno this morning. It did not go well.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Mars asked for a war. Any war. Even a little one. Between two tribes in South America. Tribes known to hate each other.”

Pluto sighed. “Juno didn’t approve, did she.”

“No.” Bacchus looked at Mars, great sorrow in his eyes. “She didn’t even approve of his little war.”

Pluto put a brotherly arm around Mars shoulders, “Another drink for my friend, barkeep! On me!”

Pluto wished that bitch Juno would die, or find a deity to run away with. Since she’d married Jupiter, the old man had just become pussy whipped, and being a deity on Earth had become no fun at all.

246 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 74. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#NaNoWriMo 2012 – Week 4 Clip – Dragon Knight

[My father wrote to me, after reading the chapter this clip came from. “I like Scream best of all.” How can I argue with that? So, I’m sharing a little clip with Scream in it. The last clip I’ll put up from NaNoWriMo 2012. Enjoy it in all its unedited glory.]

Scream heard Merlin’s words. “It’s time.” He knew what Merlin meant. The dragons had spread the word of the fairy Fauna’s death. Every dragon knew what the invaders had done. Every dragon knew of the loss of one of the White Witch’s daughters. Every dragon knew the end of the war was approaching. The White Witch would soon strike.

Every dragon knew it was time. Dragons everywhere turned away from defending towns and villages. They turned, and attacked the invaders and their landing ships. Dragons would fall in battle. It was the way of war. No dragon would fall without honor.

Scream looked to the sky. He screamed. His scream echoed across the Southern Plains. Before the echo faded, Scream took to the sky. His wings fully spread. Every fairy in the kingdom saw him leave. Every fairy  knew where he was headed.

Straight at the enemy. A dark gray streak across the pale blue sky. Before Scream reached the horizon, the fairies of the Castle Guard all stood, as one. Took up their swords, shields, bows and arrows. And lifted to the sky. They followed after Scream.

Scream was the Dragon Knight. He was one of them. He would not face the enemy alone.