Today I am Fervor

On By TheQuilledSisterIn Uncategorized

The Story

“She’s come under some kind of fever!”

Yarrow

“I don’t know what happened! We were talking and I came into the kitchen and she was bent over, soaked in sweat.”

Queen Anne’s Lace

“Is the baby going to be okay?”

Ginseng

“No she was feeling well all day! I think. She didn’t say anything about feeling bad.”

Black, no, blue Cohosh

“Is she going to-“

“Shut up and get. Out.”

The man sputtered to a stop, his mouth open still trying to form his next word. He almost tripped into the sink in an attempt to halt his pacing.

“But, but she needs me…” he tried, his eyebrows furrowing into an astonished trench of wrinkles.

“No,” the woman spat, “she needs me, that’s why you brought her here. And I cannot do a thing with you mucking up the energy of my house. Amber?! See this man gets some fresh air!”

A smaller woman with sparkling blond hair reappeared in the doorway, her eyes commanding but her hand outstretched gently, and ushered the man into the dusk-covered garden.

Meanwhile the slightly older woman finally took a deep breath, stretching her back and straightening her long blue dress with calloused hands. She pulled a peppermint from one of its many pockets and popped it in her mouth. Then she sighed once more.

“Alright, love,” She grabbed a well worked rag from a tall shelf, each row filled to the brim with odds and ends and jars and bowls and dried something or another. This rag’s faded dyes whispered of a long forgotten university homecoming, but its life now was a cooling cloth as she dipped it into a glass bowl of water with lavender buds swimming through it.

She dabbed the rag on the young woman’s brow, and a breath of relief escaped from her parched mouth.

Lavera was rather relieved as well. This was the first sign the woman may actually live since sweet Amber had led the husband in here and he had rather unceremoniously dropped the woman in the kitchen cot before dropping himself to his knees and begging Lavera to save his wife.

“There you go, now have a bit too there,” she dipped the rag again and held it to the woman’s lips, “hydrate or diedrate, you know.”

The young woman’s closed eyes creased a bit, and Lavera took this as her weary attempt to smile.

“Worry not, love, we’ll get you sorted. But you did get yourself into something nasty, didn’t you?”

Lavera took a few more rags from the shelf, dipped them into the water, and placed them on each of the gal’s wrists and ankles, as well as across the chest and forehead. She dabbed gently at a short but deep scratch right at the woman’s hairline. She then returned to the mortar and pestle, where she had been attempting to gather her wits and herbs while that man had been nearly driving her mad.

From the glass bowl she poured a bit of the lavender water and began a paste.

“Trying to rid ourselves of him before the baby came, were we?”

She didn’t have to turn to hear the small but affirmative “mmm” from the cot.

“And what did we do, forget our task and lick the spoon? Not open a window while we were mincing the belladonna?”

There was another “mmm” from behind her. It didn’t answer the question, but it did confirm that she was in the correct realm of guesses.

Lavera nodded her head, too knowingly.

She continued to press the herbs together, distracting a part of herself as she turned and asked a little quieter, “Cheater? …or is he too stupid, ran y’all down?”

No noise from the woman.

Lavera stopped her pestle, “Is he… mean, rough?”

“Mmm.”

“Mmhmm,” Lavera nodded again, turning back to the counter, “It’s always the nice ones, ain’t it? They make it hard for people to believe you.”

She passed her fingers over the smaller jars, searching for the powdered turmeric. She found it by feel, the dent on the left edge of the top, while she eyed the rosemary bush outside.

“Be right back,” she cooed softly.

She walked barefoot and silently through the back garden. Amber’s comforting words to the husband carried on the soft breeze with the gentle scent of tomato leaves and fresh dirt. Lavera whispered encouragement to the plants as she walked, touching them gently as she went. Sweet nothings to the echinacea, tickling tales to the thyme, compliments to the calendula, catching a few leaves here and a couple petals there as she did. When she reached the rosemary, she offered her thanks as she snipped three short sprigs from the bush, and hurried back inside.

She shed the rosemary into the mortar and let it settle for a bit while she set the kettle on the stove. Tea would be a good idea for the whole ordeal.

When the healing paste was finally ready, she turned to her patient, who was still sweating. This was actually a good sign, but she was still too pale for Lavera’s liking.

“To business then,” she said as much to herself as to the woman on her cot.

Lavera gently peeled off each damp rag and replaced it with a healthy swipe of the thick paste. As she did, the room filled with the heady scent of sharp herb, honeyed flower, the very earth itself. The air shimmered with ancient knowledge as Lavera whispered again, this time not encouragement but appeasement and instruction.

She then took the rest of the paste and scooped it into a clay mug just as the kettle trilled the water was ready. She filled the mug, and while it cooled, she filled three more mugs and placed a selection of herbs in each one, as well as a few of the collected petals from her pocket.

When there was the sound of stirring behind her, she turned to see the young woman attempting to get out of the cot.

“Whoa whoa, there girl!” Lavera said with a small chuckle, “you’ve got some fight you in you, love, but let’s not use it all up, now.” She rearranged the pillows so the young woman was now partially sitting up.

“That a bit better…?”

“Marie,” the woman let out in a rasp.

“That a bit better, Marie?”

Marie nodded.

“Alright good, let’s get some of this tea in you then. You’ll still be quite weak for a few days, but you and the little one you’re cooking will be all right, you just gave your system a fright.”

She blew on the clay mug and stuck a finger in it to make sure it had cooled a bit, then held it out to Marie.

Both Lavera and Marie were very pleased to see Marie’s hands could hold the mug just fine. Strength was returning quickly.

“Thank you,” Marie whispered in between deep gulps.

“Of course, love,” Lavera poured water into the other three mugs, “we do what we can for each other, don’t we?”

She took the other mugs out to the front garden, gave the husband and Amber the good news.

“By the time we finish our tea, your wife will be well enough to walk back home. But she’ll still need to rest for several days. Do you have someone who can come look in on her while you’re working?”

The husband nodded over his steaming cup, “Yes, her sister is close and can come sit with her.”

“That’s perfect!” Chimed Amber.

“And did you figure out what happened?” the husband peered back to Lavera.

“Oh yes,” Lavera stared back into his dark eyes, “it was indeed a heavy fever, can come on at any time of year. I’ve seen it a few times, and thankfully we caught this one in time. Make sure when you get home, leave the kitchen be. Might have been something in there with the germ on it. Ask her sister to clean it when she comes, just in case. Can’t have mother and father sick this close to baby.”

The husband nodded appreciatively.

And in an hour or so when they left by moonlight, they seemed happy enough.

And they would be. For a few days.

Long enough for Marie’s sister to arrive. Long enough for witnesses to see Marie’s husband get back to work. Long enough for the petals Lavera had dropped in his tea to work all the way through his system. But not quite long enough for him to realize that the scratch at the back of his throat was no ordinary seasonal tingle, but the cold claws of someone else’s conscious coming for his very breath.

And Lavera would be in her garden, watching several fat bees bumble past her to land on the marigolds as she spread the tea leaves and herb paste remnants through the mulch. This was one of her favorite parts of her work. The great exchange. Nature will always give if you will return in kind.

“Amber?” She called, knowing the young woman was most likely already right behind her.

“Yes?” came the chirping reply.

“What say we plot out that back corner for more room? Carrots, chamomile, and…”

“Foxglove? Pink ones?”

“That sounds lovely. Yes. It’s going to be a busy season, my dear. Let’s get going.”

The Word

Fervor (noun): Intense and passionate feeling

I can’t IMAGINE what made me decide to pull out this plot and draft it up this week… must be the weather.

The story of one of my favorite historic anti-heroines, Giulia Tofana is making the internet rounds again (again, this week? can’t imagine why, so random). And like many historic celebrities women people, the chances of the real Giulia Tofana being one person is actually very slim. I’ve heard numerous podcasts attribute her fame to different people, sometimes an Italian oligarch, sometimes that Italian oligarch’s maid, sometimes a mother-daughter pair, ALWAYS someone says a witch.

The guess that I throw my dollar bet on is that it was a group of women, and one of them had the best recipe, and her name was something LIKE Giulia- much like my family’s pound cake is Zenneth’s poundcake because it says “Zenneth” at the top of the recipe card, even though half of us were unsure Zenneth was a real person because for decades only Nanna had actually witnessed her in real life. So between our family tree and the people we shared it with, Zenneth’s poundcake may have traveled much farther than Zenneth herself.

My point being- I think the inner ring of women have been around for a long time, and kept secrets for a long time, and I have been thinking about that a lot this week, and how in the coming times, we’ll have to chose between fervor and fever, because the body is going to get this out one way or another.

Keep reading. Not just here. Read everything. Read all the things. Read the things they don’t want you to, especially.

Happy reading.

Herbs and flower meanings:

  • Yarrow: Flower means healing and love; reduces inflammation and stops bleeding
  • Queen Anne’s Lace: Flower means safety and refuge; used for skin ailments, blood disorders, natural birth control
  • Ginseng: Flower means stability; Boosts immune system and used as antioxidant
  • Blue Cohosh: Flower means protection, peace, serenity, and tranquility; used for sedative and gynecologic aid
  • Black Cohosh: Flower means resilience and understatement; treats hot flashes and sweats
  • Foxglove: Flower means resilience; treats heart failure and high blood pressure

Today I am Fatigue

On By TheQuilledSisterIn Uncategorized

The Story

Many of the shops along the main thoroughfare have changed throughout the years. They had changed signs, changed sales, changed paint colors. And when those didn’t work, they changed hands, changed trade, changed customers. The past decade had been particularly difficult on the half cobblestone half paved street, and several of the shops were now shuttered. Only lonely “Available for Rent or Purchase” signs gathering dust in their once vibrant windows gave any hint that there had once been life within.

The Grudgery had no such issues.

The Grudgery stood healthy and strong in the same building for nearly eight centuries. There had been a few improvements over the years, like the addition of a modern roof in the early 1800s (this had upset a few of the older regulars and many of the town rodents, but did pick up business during rainy season). There was also a rumor about a big fire that had attempted to take the whole street, let alone the whole town, a few years prior and that’s why one of the walls bellowed a bit inward. Though the size of the fire, when it was, and how many buildings it successfully scorched depended on who you asked and what time of day they answered.

The building had stood through so many historical battles, occasionally serving its citizens as hospital or hideout, and city reconstructions, always having just enough documentation to grandfather itself past new regulations, that some believed it may be the oldest building on the coast. Others would grunt and hum and frivolously claim that it must actually be a new building, just styled artistically to look so aged and worn to fool misguided tourists. But the only real change since its first founding were a few flakes of a putrid pink paint along the counter where an overly enthusiastic waitress had tried to “spruce up the place.” But both she and the color had been banned come the following morning.

For the most part though, The Grudery remained the very same since the moment Mrs. O’Harliot stopped her Gruders’ cart in front of the block on the blossoming boulevard, poured her bag of coins into the proprietor’s hands, and stated she would cart no further. Patrons would now come to her.

The large wooden door with its large iron handle led into a cooling stone floor- mismatched slabs pulled from the surrounding land and smoothed over by many feet and much time. Upon the stones rested several small tables, none of which matched either. Two were beautiful oak, carved with lacy leaves and intricate vines by a thankful carpenter. One was a wispy iron rescued when a tea shop went out of business. Three were just great lengths of the trunk of a proud oak that had once stood at the end of the street. When it was cut for town expansion, Mrs. O’Harliot told the workers they’d all be cursed to have felled such a beast, and then had her sons roll the trunk into her building before it could be turned into lumber. No one knew where the chairs came from, but there were always enough.

The counter was made from the same pine forests as the walls and door. Indents marked where many a man had leaned up to it, pretending to read the scrawly labeled bottles on the tall shelves behind it as they made up their minds. The burls were little tide pools of history, telling of customers’ circling fingers as they unburdened their wares.

And between the well worn wooden counter and the glass filled shelves was a young woman. Not young in the sense of today’s world and not young in the sense of yesterday’s world, for in both she should have probably been married off or shut up in her father’s attic by now. But young in the sense that she only had one singular strand of grey hair intertwined with her blond and had not yet seen the world.

She did however know her job and it was to carry on as Mrs. O’Harliot had wanted, and run The Grudgery. And she was old enough to know not to disappoint one’s ancestors, nor one’s customers.

The Grudgery had both its regulars and its new comers. The regulars were usually ushered in by a knowing family member or friend when the time was right, and brought into the tradition of having a refreshing draft at “the ol’ Grudge” before going about any important business. If they were regular enough, the resident O’Harliot would make a drink specifically for that family line to suit their tastes.

New comers sometimes fell onto the place, having trudged through the streets with a black cloud above their heads, or a worry about their shoulders, and their feet had decided that a stop at The Grudgery was needed. The unsuspecting patron would lean tiredly into the heavy door, and be pleasantly surprised by the peaceful air welcoming them into the large room. Even on the rare occasion when there was little company, there seemed to amiable murmurings of conversation floating about the space.

They’d cross the floor, each step feeling a bit lighter, and finally lean against the large counter, admiring the wall of swirling contents.

“Evening,” the young woman would chirp, no matter the time of day, “what can I do for you?”

And the customer would partake in a tradition of bars and bartenders that has been ongoing since the first wheat was fermented and poured from cup bearer to cup holder. Yet here it was done before a cork or tab or tap was even touched.

“I cannot stand my boss- always on egging me on like that!”

“We’ve been fighting like feral cats again, but I know she loves me.”

“I have to see my father-in-law and he owes me still, but I can’t upset my grandma by bringing it up.”

“They’re my child, and I want them happy, but if I hear ‘it’s my dream!’ after the last fourteen dreams? I may throw myself out the window.”

The young woman would nod, knowingly, just as her mother had nodded before her, and her’s before that, and her’s before that, all the way back to the great nodding of Mrs. O’Harilot with her traveling cart.

“I see, that sounds like a lot to carry,” or some variation of a comfort, “why don’t you take a seat and one of our waitresses will bring you something in just a moment?”

Then the youngest Miss O’Harliot would turn to the shelf and pull a few bottles, think for a moment, put a bottle back and pull a box of herbs or a jar of dried produce. She carefully measured each of her chosen ingredients into either a shaker or a teapot or a mug, and then blend or steep or froth as necessary. She would call for a waitress from the backrooms to deliver the drink to the customer’s table so that she could help the next. Because there was frequently a steady steam at her counter.

The waitress would set the drink down with a smile, perhaps a “careful dear, it’s hot” or an “enjoy, love!” The patron, still not entirely sure how they found this tranquil place, would take a hesitant taste and find themselves indulging in a combination of complex flavors, none of which they could ever later recall. Had it been quite earthy, like a matcha? They thought perhaps. But also a bit sweet, with a drop of fruity cordial maybe. On second thought, it had been delightfully warm and spicy. Or, was it bright and tangy? No matter. It had charmed the spirits, and the next time they felt so down, they would go to that nice little hole in the wall again.

Because they weren’t so irritated with their boss anymore, were they? They understood her perspective and would be more fair next time they spoke.

Or wasn’t there always two sides to an argument with a partner? Better to make up or break up rather than this round-and-round mess.

And can’t be upsetting Grandma, we’ll just forgive father-in-law the favor, but not forget if it’s asked again.

And so what if a child dreams more than a thousand times? This time we’ll support, just with a little more caution.

The weight fell away with each satisfying swallow, allowing the deeper emotions beneath to surface and take their rightful place. As each unburned traveler savored their last sip and took their leave, the waitress would appear again, clearing the empty cup as well as the coins or bills or gems or keepsakes which were left in payment.

“You have a good evening, sweetie! Come back and see us anytime!” And they often did.

It was rare, but there was the occasional unsatisfied customer. They would storm back in days or weeks later, angry and flustered. Stating they had lost their ability to indulge, to converse, and wasn’t this the last place they were before it happened!

Miss O’Harilot’s mother had turned these types away, trying to save them from themselves. The younger was more like her ancestor and did not bother herself with such things. She simply poured the flustered individual a glass of tap water from the old copper spigot, threw in a kernel that looked suspiciously liked an acorn, and slid it across the bar. As the un-customer downed it, she had a waitress bring them their refund, and pointed firmly at the door.

The other unique kind of customer was the type Miss O’Harilot refused to take payment from. She had been taught to see the difference in the weight of their shoulders, of the dark circles under their eyes. These she would take to a quiet corner table herself, with a large teapot of plain chamomile tea, and say “Dear, you must hold on to this one for a while, for your own good. You’ll come back again, when it’s time to let it go.” She would have a waitress sit with them until they were ready to leave, and make sure they knew the way back. She was always very pleased to see these customers a second time.

For The Grudgery was a place for all kinds, and all kinds for a place. It was why it had lasted so long, and had served both king and commoner, tops of family trees as well as the very roots of them.

You are welcome at The Grudgery, as well. Perhaps you wondered down this street looking for that bookshop a local spoke about, or a spot for lunch before your next meeting. Instead you’re enticed by the swinging sign with an old cart and donkey carved deep into its grain. The wooden walls of the place have groaned through countless storms and yet the door does not creak to announce your entrance. The weather outside has been as cloudy as your mind and you flinch at the idea of making a mess, but the mud caking your boots does not seem to mar the stone floors as you make your way in. Several seated patrons smile up at you, some lifting their mugs in greeting. A larger group points to unoccupied chair at their table without stilling their conversation, offering that you join their party if you’d like. You nod in thanks but settle into one of the wooden barstools.

“Evening,” chirps the young woman at the bar. Her eyes are as shining as the hundreds of colorful bottles behind her, “what can I do for you?”

The Word

Fatigue: (noun) 1. Extreme tiredness resulting from mental or physical exertion or illness. 2. Weakness in materials, especially metal, caused by repeated variations of stress. (verb) 1. Cause someone to feel tired or exhausted. 2. Weaken a material, especially metal, by repeated variations of stress.

I was thinking how nice it would be to just, set a grudge down for a bit, because it’s very tiring to carry around. I know I’m supposed to be a mature adult and like, let gooooo of a grudge or deal with it. But you know, in the meantime before I’m ready to do that work, it’d be nice to set it down for a bit. I feel like my Grudgery drink would probably be pina’ colada flavored. That seems grudge-deleting to me.

Anyway. I also really liked the idea of a building being the main character rather than a person, and I wanted to play with that idea. The O’Harilot line certainly comes in and is a secondary-main but I feel The Grudgery is alive enough on its own, or at least that’s my goal here. But I found it kinda hard to finish. Buildings can’t exactly ride into the sunset, you know? So this ending may change or I might give it another go, we’ll see.

Thanks for being here, reader! Happy reading!

P.S. Liked this story? There’s now a Companion Story!

Today I am Hectic

On By TheQuilledSisterIn Uncategorized

The Story

Honestly, the apocalypse had been dreadful.

Not just dreadful with the multiple mutating viruses and the earthquakes and dead crops and the fire tornados and the crazy bunker people and the evolved rats with the revengeful pigeons and of course the new volcanos. And then the bunker people being driven out of said bunkers by the evolved rats and then the revengeful pigeons taking taking out said vengeance on the emerging populace and what not…

But also because it had become dreadfully boring.

At least for Todd.

Todd didn’t have any women or children to save. He’d been checking the grievous ‘Single’ box on his taxes for nearly three decades now. He wasn’t near any of the fault lines, so the earthquakes hadn’t been too much of a bother, except the losing of thousands of his fellow man, supposedly. Similar with the other terrible ‘natural occurrences’. The pigeons were mostly a New York issue, but the news made it sound like it was world-wide, because it was New York. The screaming was a bummer; he had been awfully sensitive to loud noises ever since his cousin let off a firework next to his ear in their teens.

Todd was a finance lawyer for a large import firm, and the import/export business was actually a pretty good tell for the temperature of the world at large. When things started slowing down this season (between the third Jamaican ice storm and the second great migration of mammals into the sea), the rich CEOs had chosen to quietly fly off to their tertiary vacation houses in the Alps instead of spitting expletives at their secretaries and VPs.

So Todd checked his spreadsheets. Nope, no laundering. He did a swift kitchen-gossip round, nothing shifty there. The protest up North was getting loud again, and Martha-in-Marketing was on her third affair partner, but that’s all the busy bodies were talking about.

Still, something was rumbling deep in his chest, and it wasn’t the extra large gyro he’d scarfed for lunch. He knew this feeling: time to bug out.

He’d gotten this feeling a few times before. When he was a young heart throb, long before the salt started to take over the pepper in his goatee, there was a traditional rootin’ tootin’ bonfire down by the creek back in his home town. His old pack was celebrating before they all took off for college, or trade school, or the Navy- and the hormones were loose that summer night, along with all the cheap alcohol they could find. About halfway through a second Coor’s and midway down a redhead’s sweaty neck, that feeling hit Todd. He tried to ignore it. But it wouldn’t go away. He set the beer down, hopped on his bike, and made sure ol’ man Fuller waved back as he passed the gas station. Todd even made it in time to have dessert with his parents, and get yelled at by his father for smelling like beer. But it was well worth the price of several witnesses saying he was home when the fight by the creek broke out. Two boys had been killed- one with a gun nobody knew about and the other when he slipped into the water, too drunk to crawl back out.

Another instance was the eve of his sister Leia’s wedding. Todd had never been a big fan of fiancé Gus, but had done his best to welcome him in to the family. Still there Todd was, holding one end of a table runner off the ground so his mother could iron the other side at midnight, and the feeling came. He dropped that runner and left the room at a sprint, his mother screeching behind him. Todd found Leia in the master suite of the house, petting her veil as if it was a nervous panther.

I’ll drive. Go anywhere you like, just let’s go.

I can’t. She whispered back. It’s far too late.

Less than a year later, Gus wrapped his little sportscar around an Oak, with Leia in the passenger seat. Todd never told his parents that the coroner noted Leia almost three months pregnant.

So Todd listened to his gut when it spoke.

He slipped his laptop and phone into the backpack stashed behind his office door. After a short thought, he grabbed the coffee canteen off his desk.

Since Leia’s passing, he always had a go-bag on hand. There was one in his office, one in his car, and one tucked in the coat closet of his townhouse. He always drove a car that could off-road well, and kept it up to date in maintenance. He refused to have any type of pet because he didn’t want to worry about the hassle of traveling with one, and he didn’t really know what would go into their go-bag. Although he couldn’t help but dote on the office mascots, two sparkling goldfish named Bela and Victoria. He snuck them extra food each Monday morning and slyly left the room whenever the front desk assistant joked how fat they were.

Todd gave them another treat this day, on his way out, knowing in that same gut-place that he would never be back.

He also stopped by the kitchen, with the illusion of filling up his coffee, to try and drop a few hints to the water-cooler gossip.

“Tensions really rising out there, aren’t they?” He said, a bit awkwardly to the room.

“What’s that, Todd?” Kimmy, the sweet new Numbers Analyst, kept typing on her phone, but angled towards him slightly.

“Just a bit odd. I saw that the Execs have all taken off, but I’ve got nothing on my calendar.”

“Really now?” Nathanial, a bright youth, and one of Todd’s favorites in the Engineering department, was thankfully taking lunch. “I thought you had the pulse of those guys in your little legality black book!” He and the surrounding blurred faces chuckled a bit.

“I normally do!” Todd turned to them, trying to remain calm by putting too much cream in his thermos and too much light in his voice, “But they’ve flown the coop! Just a bit odd with everything going on up North, don’t you think?”

The scattered room gave approving sounds and nods. Nathanial spoke for the group again, “What doya think is happening?”

“I don’t know, kid, but I tell ya- I’m going to work from my place for a few days. Catch some fresh air and be out of office, ya know?” He gave Nathanial an overly obvious conspiratorial wink.

Nathanial laughed, “Not a bad idea! Whatever the big boys are up to, might not wanna be here when they get back. I may do the same!”

Todd felt like he did what he could do. At least, without sounding like a crazy person.

He punched his Jeep down the carport, reaching again for his computer bag in the passenger seat, and the go-bag in the back seat for reassurance. As he turned onto the highway out of town, he thanked Whoever Was Up There that his parents had passed from age rather than having to deal with the way the world was now. And for the inheritance they’d left that had allowed him to buy a nice little cabin out in mountains, where he took his vacations and now, would wait out whatever was happening.

He would get there, recount the stashes he’d secured in the storage over the past several years for just such occurrences. Settle in, settle down. It would be just like all the other insane things going on right now, just another one, and it would be dealt with and done with.

Over the next several months, Todd did well. Relatively.

67% of Earths population, beginning with major cities and spreading outwards, succumbed to the virus within a matter of 74 days. This was due to mostly close proximity, disbelief, and unpreparedness. Saliva and blood are very difficult to avoid when the virus causes the host to sneeze, cough, and lust after the flesh of the living.

By day 108, it was 84%, partially because the survivors were tired and outnumbered.

Todd made it to day 216. One of his last completely living thoughts was that he was quite proud of himself. The second to last thought was if he did return as a zombie instead of just dying, he hoped he still liked coffee. And the very last living thought he had was how very awkward the feeling of being eaten was and that perhaps he should apologize to affair-having, vegan-preaching Martha-in-Marketing, for thinking her lunches so strange.

… … …

He opened his eyes. The world was very black. He must have died. So much for into the big light.

Death was black, uncomfortably stabby, and sounded very much like the squawking of birds. Which afterlife-philosopher did that prove right? he wondered. Probably some Greek.

Or, Todd re-concluded, he had a committee of vultures on his face.

His first impulse was to flail wildly- get these flesh eaters to scatter far away from him. But his bones ached in a strange way and fatigue riddled his every molecule. So he flailed the only part of him he could, which was a couple toes. This did not have much effect on the gathered fowl.

Rasping barks seemed to be emerging from the black fog around him. Great, the vultures are fighting over my dead flesh.

Pressure deepened on his chest and on instinct he tried to suck in air to relieve himself, but it didn’t help. You’re dead now, you idiot. He thought, your lungs don’t hurt, it’s your literal ribs.

He opened his hesitant squint a little wider to fully adjust to the world around him, and saw the pressure was a very large vulture attempting to assert dominance over his corpse.

Well, it was nice to be appreciated.

The creature hissed and grunted and squorked until the smaller vultures awkwardly hopped off to a safer distance of several feet. Then it turned to take a pick at the soft flesh of Todd’s collar.

“Well that’s a smart boy, the softest meat on a biped is often the pectoral.”

The bird stiffened at its feast making sound. It fluffed a bit, flapped its wings, hovered up, landed beside Todd. It bobbed its head back and forth, inspecting. When the flock dared to do the same, it hissed them back again into the distance.

“Ope- spooked ya, sorry. Good boy- girl? Good vulture,” Todd coughed.

The bird cocked its head and peered a deep brown eye at him. It seemed a long moment, to Todd. And he took it to admire the leathery face, like a pilot’s helmet. Rather novel, he thought, the way some creatures seemed to be built for the end of the world where others, such as his fleshy self and his fellow fragile humans, were absolutely freaking not.

“It’s okay, fella, I’ve got no use for it,” With a little bit of recovered energy, Todd lifted his left hand up towards the vulture. He noted it was awfully dehydrated, looked a bit too much like jerky. How long exactly had he been lying out in the sun?

The vulture took a cautious hop closer, pecked at his pinky skin. Then quickly pulled off a sliver a muscle and hopped backwards to swallow it.

Todd grimaced a bit, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. More like a paper cut than the knife wound it should have been. And no bleeding!

“That whole arm was really always there more for balance anyway,” he decided to give sitting up a try, and wondered if he actually had enough living faculties to be dizzy or if he just imagined himself so.

Now at 90 degrees, he saw the large bite marks on his knee.

Looking the several yards to the door of his cabin, there were three skeletons, already picked shiny clean. He imagined done by his new feathery visitors. He wondered why they’d gone after those first- did they like the aged flavor then, like a good red wine?

He tried to put the events together, though the memory itself was hazy: Three figures on his cabin’s monitoring camera. They didn’t look infected on the grainy screen but had walked through the electric fence without hesitation. They were swaying, shouting, and he shouted back through a speaker to go away. They dodged each of his yard-traps with ease or luck, and made it to the door. He’d finally shot two of them through a window, but the third he’d hesitated- was it Nathanial? Young Nathanial that he’d tried to warn? He opened the door to see better but no, just a young man with red around his eyes and now they’re going white and now he’s on top of Todd and he’s thrashing and biting and Todd feels the teeth sink into his knee before he gets a good shot off. He knows he’s done for, has watched people turn. Tries to crawl to a good view of his mountains to end himself before the turn happens and just barely gets into the sunshine before he passes out.

And now he’s here, with no blood flow, sitting up, staring at a very intrigued vulture.

“Well, what now, big guy?”

The vulture squorked.

“You would know better than me.” He returned to assessing the damage. He still had his good hiking boots on, though he noted the vultures had made a mess of his laces.

Todd stood shakily, noting that although his muscles continued to act strained, he didn’t feel much pain for it. Handy dandy.

He got up as straight as he could, which was a bit hunched since he was quite depleted of liquids and the flock or something else had taken a bite of his shoulder, the trapeze muscle? He tried to remember the picture from the medical books he kept in the cabin for first aid, just to see if his brain still worked. He supposed wondering about it proved it did, a bit.

“I think, therefore I am, I suppose.” He took a tentative step to see if he could be more than a thinking monument to dehydration.

His steps were a little sturdier than he expected, as he made his way back to the cabin door. His gait a bit like when he was a pre-teen and his parents had decided to do a ranch week for Spring Break. The whole family had walked bowlegged for several days following, and his father had vowed they’d go the traditional beach variety vacation from then on. Todd walked the same way now, and he decided to be resolute about this cowboy swagger rather than drag himself around like those poor creatures he’d seen in movies and through his cabin’s monitors.

Once inside, he shifted the items around on his desk. He saw the mug sitting next to his keyboard- the coffee he’d been sipping in his last human hour. It was undoubtedly cold, but he didn’t mind cold coffee. Not with the fancy beans he’d procured and rationed like it was insulin and he a diabetic. He lifted the mug and sipped. The liquid poured over his dry tongue with no effect. It tasted like nothing. Less-than-water-nothing. Damn disappointing. He’d really liked coffee.

Then he set to work: One last go-bag.

He did pick up his favorite pen and a fresh pad of paper. An empty water bottle as well as a full one, because who knew. His favorite camping knife that had fallen out of his pocket in the tussle. A couple other things he deemed possibly practical. He packed all this into the already-half-full backpack that had been hooked above the back door. Giving himself grace, he took the picture of his family at his college graduation off the bulletin board, and stuffed it in a pocket too, the only useless thing he’d allow. He unpacked most of the food, then after a moment, opened several of the tuna cans and set it out in the shade beneath the tree the vultures had settled in to watch his progress, no doubt disappointed he hadn’t just fallen back over.

And with that, he began to head down his mountain.

But not before he heard a large rustle behind him. He turned quickly, reaching for the rifle on his shoulder out of habit. And there was the big ol’ vulture that had scared the others off of him earlier, a small chunk of canned tuna stuck to its beak.

“Oh, just you,” Todd sighed and tucked the gun back on his shoulder.

The bird cocked its head to the side again, as if asking a question.

“Well my friend, I figure since I’m the danger now, there’s no point in hiding out any longer.”

It hopped closer, as if to say, Go on.

“So… I think I’ll see the world, right? See what’s left. I figure at least some of the world wonders must have made it. And if I’m already… might as well catch some fresh air rather than just sit around for someone to turn the lights out, right?”

The bird answered by rustling its feathers a bit, cleaning its beak, and starring at Todd without blinking.

Todd nodded back at it, and continued to walk. But with another rustling of feathers, there was a sudden added weight to his backpack. He looked up to a familiar shady sight of feathers and leathered face.

“Are you… you coming with me there, bud?”

The vulture’s only answer was to settle into the space between the top of the backpack and Todd’s shoulders and begin to preen itself like a royal dove.

“Well, alrighty then.” Todd clicked the backpack’s chest strap so his new companion was more secure, and started once more down to the valley.

Something loosened, deep in Todd’s chest.

The Word

Hectic (adjective): 1. Full of incessant or frantic activity. 2. Relating to, affected by, or denoting a regularly recurrent fever typically accompanying tuberculosis, with flushed cheeks and hot, dry skin.
(noun) A hectic fever or flush.

I’ve been thinking a lot about different versions to the end of our world as we know it because…

-gestures broadly to the world around us-

…and I’ll admit, I’m such a proud cat lady that my spoiled calico has her own go-bag. No way am I doing the apocalypse, be it zombie or alien or vengeful gnomes, without my right-hand feline. But it got me thinking if signing her up for that is fair, and those thoughts became Todd. And really, I’d love for Todd to have his own full story, and I think one day he will.

Also, I would be remiss if I did not mention the momma vulture that continues to raise her babies in the old barn of a family property, and that although no baby bird has ever been cute in the history of ever, especially not a baby vulture, my family is very protective of them. So good luck Todd and his new oddly loyal companion.

Thanks for reading, lovely readers 🙂 and if I see you out there in the end-of-days, I hope we don’t have to fight each other for the last canned tuna.

*The VERY deep Easter egg: The very first zombie movie was Victor Halperin’s 1932 White Zombie, starring Bela Lugosi. That’s why the office goldfish are Victor and Bela 🙂

Today I am Tale

On By TheQuilledSisterIn Uncategorized

The Story

Once upon a time…

As there is always a time. And usually in such times there is a kingdom, and there is in this one too. A great kingdom, in this case, that had been won long ago, and only occasionally had to be kept secure through battle against foolish opponent or frenzied mystical beast (usually a dragon, but most recently a very ambitious pack of goblins).

And you wouldn’t be hearing about such a kingdom if the time discussed weren’t dissimilar from all the rest, as this one is. In this time upon, quite the affliction was spreading across the land.

Not a simple plague, sending doctors hither and thither with their noses stuffed with flowers. No, what started as reportedly short rainfall at the beginning of growing season, was now feared as a great Curse. Corn and wheat withered in the farmer’s hand. Shepherds wept at their fallen herds. Common markets and royal courts were equally marked with mourning black as the houses on the edges of the boarders were swallowed by the devastation.

Death was creeping across the kingdom, killing land, animal, and hope alike.

Many were lost in the search for answers: Scholars were sent to the boundary of wilted fields to not return, knights galloped with swords drawn into darkened forests without a trace. Others simply escaped to the green- following where the curse had not touched, abandoning the world they’d known to cross the great River Heks into uncharted lands where it seemed the curse had not yet reached. If there be more dragons or goblins or even a Minotaur there? Then so be it.

The kingdom began to echo with emptiness. Its people were either lost or leaving.

When the general of the royal army reported that more of the kingdom was lost than remained unscathed, the king ordered his younger son to take the queen, the royal guard, and their most faithful subjects of the royal city to the green for security while he stayed and bravely stood against the curse.

The young prince led his mother and the many others in a long train, down through the large city, across many fields, and up to the wide River Heks. While the company prepared to cross the river, he saw the subtle signs that would lead a desperate traveler in need of guidance to a sorcerer- a circled branch here, a miscolored bush there. Knowing these signs spoke to him, he signaled the company to camp a moment, and followed the signs into the shallow woods.

There he found a sunny clearing with a woman sitting at a clean wooden table. He wondered how he had not seen her from the road, but when he turned to look behind him, the road was gone and replaced with rows of jade and emerald ferns.

This was the sorceress.

“Would you sit and dine with me, my prince?”

“I thank you,” the prince bowed low to not offend the powerful woman, “but my people need me and I cannot stay long. There is a curse upon our lands and I am taking them to a safer shore.”

The woman smiled, and though her eyes crinkled he knew her to not be old or young.

“I know of the curse on your home. A great sacrifice of life will stop the growing death. I know the spell, I could do it now and save your people.”

The young prince wanted to be a hero, but he was afraid.

“I am only the second son, barely anything! My brother is the crown prince, I am but a spare. With a broken heart, I will send him to you.”

He had barely taken a breath when he found himself back on the road with his company. He sent a rider back to the castle, and waded into the river.

When the darkness could be seen from the royal turrets and the heritage oaks began to wilt, the king ordered the Crown Prince to take their Secret Guard and Highest Council to the green for security while he stayed and bravely stood against the curse.

The elder prince led the limited crowd down through the large city, across many fields, and up to the wide River Heks. While the company prepared to cross the river, he saw the subtle signs that his brother’s letter spoke of. Knowing these signs spoke to him, he signaled the company to camp a moment, and, drawing his sword, followed the signs into the shallow woods.

There he found a dim clearing with a woman sitting at a clean wooden table. He wondered how he had not seen her from the road, but pushed aside the matter.

“Would you sit and dine with me, my prince?”

“I cannot,” the prince nodded stiffly towards her, unable to tell if her hair was silver or gray and disturbed all the more for it, “my people need me and I cannot stay long. There is a curse upon our lands and I am to take my people to a safer shore. My brother told me you could help.”

The woman nodded, her eyes never leaving his.

“I know of the curse on your home. A great sacrifice of life will stop the growing death. I know the spell, I could do it now and save your people.”

The crown prince longed for his legacy, but he was afraid.

“I am only the crown prince, barely anything! My father is the king, I am but the heir. With a broken heart, I will send him to you.”

He had barely taken a breath when he found himself back on the road with his company. He sent a rider back to the castle, and waded into the river.

When the darkness had reached the royal grounds and the roses of the imperial greenhouse shriveled, the king ordered his own horse be fetched. The last of his people- his most knowledgeable scholars and his most loyal knights (as well as one blacksmith, one candle maker, and one scribe who had all been “honored to be chosen to stay behind with the king”), followed him through the large city, across many fields, and up to the wide River Heks. While the company prepared to cross the river, he saw the subtle signs that his sons’ letters spoke of. Knowing these signs spoke to him, he signaled the company to camp a moment, and, saying a prayer, followed the signs into the shallow woods.

There he found a darkened clearing with a woman sitting at a clean wooden table. While the road he left was still lit by an unwavering sun, he found only a pale strip of moonlight illuminating her shifting figure. He knew he had entered some unworldly place.

“Would you sit and dine with me, my king?”

“It would be my honor,” said the king, as he took a seat opposite the sorceress, seeing pleasure in the pale green of her eyes. “I cannot stay too long, however. My people need me. There is a curse upon our lands and I am to take the last of my people to a safer shore. My sons have told me you can help.”

The woman poured wine into crystal glasses that had previously not been there.

“I know of the curse on your home. A great sacrifice of life will stop the growing death. I know the spell, I could do it now and save your people.”

“Yes, do what needs to be done,” he answered. For the king was not afraid.

The sorceress began to whisper to the wind. It whirled around them, tugging at their clothes. She held her left hand out and bits of herbs ushered to her palm. Then she held out her right hand lightening struck it, not causing pain but setting fire to her finger tips. She let all of this fall into the king’s glass, stirring it into shimmering dust. She closed her eyes and gave thanks to the stars and the moonlight grew stronger and the air itself felt sweet and syrupy.

In a breath, the world again was still.

“Let us toast, my king, to death and to life.”

“To death and to life,” said the king. And though the sorceress politely sipped, he swallowed his wine in a single gulp. For the king was not afraid.

For the king had switched the glasses.

The sorceress twitched, her eyes bulging. Her hands flew to her throat.

When she finally fell still, the king knelt to her and whispered, “I thank you for my people.”

He returned to his company, and waded into the river.

With king and queen, sons, and country reunited, there was much celebration! They had escaped the curse! Their royal family had led them to safety! There was even rumor that the king himself had defeated an evil witch to stave the curse from spreading to their new home! The people gladly advanced into the pastures and hills of their new home, elated with safety.

When the new Capital City was complete, the king held a month long festival to celebrate the establishment of the new realm, and thank his people for their resilience. The queen offered him her own glass of wine, but he dared not partake. His sons begged him to join them in the celebratory hunt, but he dared not venture into the woods with them.

And when the winds blew across the freshly built turrets, he swore it sounded like laughter.

That’s when he saw the roses begin to wilt.

The Word

Tale (noun): a fictitious or true narrative or story, especially one that is imaginatively recounted. (archaic) a number or total.

Yeah so hiiiiiiiii

I know, I know. I’ve been gone. And then I come back, and then I disappear again, and then I come back. One day when I’m a really big writer this will be quirky and distinctive not annoying and undedicated.

But I’m in another I CAN DO THIS phase, helped along by MasterClass*. And Neil Gaiman gave me homework. He said to take a fairytale, dissect it, and after doing so, see where else it can take you. Can anyone see where this one started??

(…….)

That’s right! Billy Goats Gruff!

He also said to try to imitate a voice, so that you can learn what yours is more like and not like, and I’ve been reading Tress and The Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson recently, so I tried to lean into that sort of playful but knowing narrator. I think I’ve got it started but then I kinda lose it when I get into the repetitive stuff. Something to work on.

So, is this Quilled Sister’s return? I hope so. Watch this space, my dear, dear reader 🙂

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Fun Fact: Heks means “witch” in Norwegian, and Billy Goats Gruff is originally a Norwegian fairytale. So, the River Heks…. yes if you haven’t caught on by now, I do in fact think I’m hilarious.

*Not a sponsorship, just the truth. As if a tiny mention at the end of a single blogpost might be a sponsorship but you never know these days.

Today I am Stone

On By TheQuilledSisterIn Uncategorized

The Story

Mm.

.

.

.

‘Hmm.’

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.

“Hmmm?”

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“Hrummph.”

.

.

“OOF!”

.

“He…hello?“

“WHO’S THAT THEN?”

“I’m… well, I’m… I’m not sure.”

“NOTSURE. TERRIBLE NAME.”

“No, I don’t think that’s my name.”

“THEN WHY’D YA SAY IT WAS YOUR NAME.”

“I didn’t.”

“YOU DID.”

“I did not.”

“YOU DID.”

“I did not mean to!”

“WELL WHAT’S YOUR NAME THEN?”

“I don’t really know.”

“HMPH.”

“…”

“…”

“…what’s your name?”

“I DO NOT HAVE ONE.”

“Well then why are you asking mine?!”

“WE NEED NAMES.”

“How do you know that?!”

“FEELS RIGHT.”

“Alright… alright then.”

“…”

“…”

“Bryn. I like Bryn.”

“WHY?”

“I don’t know! It sounds like the wind!”

“NICE. I LIKE IT.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“WHAT SHOULD MINE BE?”

“What?”

“WHAT SHOULD MY NAME BE?”

“I don’t know. You don’t want to pick it?”

“DON’T KNOW ANY GOOD NAMES.”

“Alright! Um. How about… Stig?”

“NO.”

“Okay. You like ‘Gerald’?”

“NO.”

“Um… Ulf?”

“NO.”

“Pick it yourself then!”

“NO.”

“Oh come on! Fine. You’re Roald! Because I wish you’d roll away!”

“I LIKE IT. ROALD.”

“STOP SHOUTING!”

“OH. Oh. Did not know I was shouting. Never used this before.”

“Me either.”

“Good then.”

“…where are we?”

“What are we.”

“I like you better when you’re not shouting, Roald.”

“You are a bunch a’ rocks.”

“Well I take it back, then! I don’t like you loud or quiet!”

“No, mean it. You are a pile a’ some rocks.”

“FUCK YOU, ROALD!”

“No Bryn. It is what you are. I am looking at your sound. You are a pile of rocks.”

“…what.”

“Telling ya. Two biguns, then a little ‘un, then another littler ‘un. With some tiny bits mashed up top.”

“Uff da.”

“What?”

“Uff da.”

“What?“

“I don’t know!”

“…”

“…”

“…What am I?”

“You are… also a pile of rocks.”

“Well.”

“A real big one here at the bottom, gray and round. Then two still rather big ones. Then a smaller one, and another small one- very blue, I’m very fond of the shade of it to be quite honest. Looks like some stuff mashed up there as well. I’m having to look up. You must be taller than me and mine.”

“What is the word you used before?”

“Uff da.”

“Uff da. I like it. Feels right. Uff da. Two big piles of rocks.”

“Have you, well, been here before, Roald?”

“No. Have you?”

“Nope… I don’t think I’ve… been before. But I also don’t feel all that new.”

“Mmmm. I understand.”

“Yeh.”

“You hear that?”

“Those crunches?”

“Shhhhh!”

Roald and Bryn observed, as their second observation ever, two sets of trousered and booted legs approach them.

The clothed legs stopped right before them, and began to speak.

“Look what I made ya, Bill! Two little stone trolls to guard your driveway! Ha! Aren’t they fun? Me and the missus saw ’em all over those scanda-whosawhatsit islands last summer, so when you said your new missus was Norwegian, I thought they’d be a hoot!”

“They’re great, Todd, thank you. She’ll adore them. Plus, that’s half a dozen stones I don’t have to clear out for the mower!”

The two men, as Bryn decided they must be men, moved back up the path they had come from, speaking about the trees and grass that they passed and how it must be changed in different ways.

“So Roald, we’re not piles of rock, we are piles of stone.”

“NO.”

“Roald!”

“We are stone trolls, Bryn. And we are to guard the way.”

—

Bryn and Roald took their task very seriously.

Partly because it seemed like a thing that should be taken seriously,

and partly because they weren’t all that sure what else to do.

“You there!” Roald shouted.

A young buck stopped in its tracks, velvet mouth barely open before a bush of wild blackberries.

“Are you an authorized member of this mountain’s herd, sir?” Bryn called out.

The buck dropped its head, shaking it confusedly.

“Well then move on, my boy,” Roald scolded, “these ‘ins for those that have gotten approval from Mrs. Folgrav!”

The buck hesitated.

“Now sir, you’ll need to-” Bryn started.

“GO ON! GET!” Roald shouted.

The buck sprinted away, scattering gravel in its wake.

“Lady WhiteTail? Your babes are welcome to munch again. The stranger has gone,” Bryn called.

A sandy-shaded doe and her twins came out from their secluded space behind a cluster of birch, along with a small family of quail, preparing for the fallen berries.

The doe nodded to the stones as she passed.

The mother quail tucked a bit of moss into each crevice of the stones before she left for the evening.

—

“Can you kneel down a bit, Sota?”

“MooOOOm! These are my new pants!”

“I didn’t say sit directly in the dirt, I said kneel down a bit- squat.”

“Fine!”

“There ya go!”

“Look, ma! How about this?!”

“Ha ha ha, look at you! Just like that, hold still a second! Sweetie, stand back there with your brother! Perfect!”

The chilling sound of stones scraping against one another bore against Roald. After what seemed like hours, he called to his friend.

“Bryn…. BRYN!”

A cough. A wheeeeeze. “I’m… fine. I’m fine.”

“What happened?!”

“The young master Folgrav decided to stand upon me. It was alright. I just was not prepared, may have a few pebbles out of place.”

“Terrible, Bryn! I wish he’d chosen me!”

“Do not wish such a thing, my friend. I believe when he gets older and bigger, it may come true.”

—

“…I don’t like ’em.”

“You don’t like any one.”

“DO YOU THINK I AM WRONG?”

“No, Roald! No, I’m sorry. I agree with you.”

“Oh. You do?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, yes. I do not like them either.”

“Good. They make loud noises day and night.”

“They do. Their big trucks go up and down our road, stirring up the dust, disturbing our herds and all the Folgravs. The raccoons are coming out later and later, and you know it bothers Mr. Barred and his daughters to share dusk hours with them. It is messing up everything, even me, so I apologize for my shortness with you.”

“Yes. Yes, I see.”

“What do we do, Roald?”

“We guard. They do not come up our way, Bryn.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Bryn steadied himself, ruffled the beloved moss that had grown around him from the small patches once placed, “How are you always so sure?”

“Feels right.”

It was odd, Mr. Folgrav thought, that the construction company eating up the mountain had yet to darken his door, as they’d met with all his neighbors.

But the construction workers and their managers found it even odder that their trucks could never turn up the Folgrav drive, always having some sort of strange malfunction. Once, they even found acorns in the fuel tank! The workers had become suspicious and could not be convinced to work on that side of the mountain any longer.

—

Quick, small crunches.

“Here she comes.”

“Ah, late.”

The crunches grew nearer. As they did, another more hesitant set began a few feet in the trees across the drive.

“Ope, he’s here too.”

“Spotted him when he got here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Roald?”

“Like the game. I am winning.”

“Roald, sometimes I wish you would rust.”

Roald’s chuckle sounded like bounders rolling down hills.

The two crunches intersected, paused.

“Bryn, I do not like him.”

“You do not like anyone.”

“If Master and Mistress Falgrav do not like him and I do not like him, why does she like him?”

“Roald, in decades that was your longest thought.”

“WELL?!”

The crunches left down the drive together.

“I don’t know. But he’ll be gone soon. And we will keep her safe in the meantime, yes?”

“Yes.”

“…think she’ll be back on time, this time?”

“No.”

—

An unexpected rustle in the dark.

“…Roald?”

“Wasn’t me.”

Another movement across in the bushes.

“I know it wasn’t you.”

“Guard up, Bryn.”

The noise grew. From the undergrowth, a claw stretched out into the moonlight, casting a shadow across the graveled way.

“This is a guarded place!” Bryn called out, his voice wavering.

“COME OUT!” Roald roared.

A nervous porcupine plopped himself into the moonbeam, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

“Oooh-oooh!” Called the owl from his perch far above.

“Thank you for your input, Mr. Barred.”

“And you, friend?” Roald inquired of their spiked guest.

The porcupine looked around, recollected the scraps he’d been foraging, and scurried away.

—

The small fingers traced his eyes, then down his nose, and began to tickle his chin.

“Steady, now.”

“I will not hold much longer.”

“Yes, you will. You must!”

Green eyes stared into gray.

“Do. Not. Blink.”

“What is blink?”

“It is a thing you should not do.”

“You anger me.”

“Good emotional expression. I’m proud of you.”

“Uff da. Get this one OFF ME.”

“No. She’s having fun.”

The tiny fingers began to roam again. This time twirling themselves into dirt and moss. And then the whole being was swaying.

“What is it?!”

“It is a young mistress Folgrav.”

“Impossible. Mistress Folgrav has grown much larger.”

“No, Roald. You misunderstand me. This is young master Folgrav’s fawn.”

“Oh… oh my.”

The small fingers pulled at the small bunch at the top of the pile of stones.

“Oh dear! No, sweetie! No no!”

“MMMMMMMM!!!!!!”

“Oh dear! Young lady! Mistress! Damn it, YOUNG LADY!“

The small being tumbled onto her padded behind, bewildered. She stared up at the two stone stacks before her with amazement.

“…sowwy.” She whispered. But then she noticed her short fall had caused her hands to encounter the gravel, resulting in tiny scrapes across each palm.

“Oh no,” whispered the trees above the stones.

A great wail echoed through the mountains, and several madam and master Folgravs came scattering down the drive, cooing comfort and expressing bewilderment at the small one’s quick escape from the herd.

—

The hoots came fast and uncertain.

“Mr. Barred, we hear you- please define what you’re talking about.”

“He is just SCREECHING TO SCREECH!”

“Hush, Roald. Mr. Barred never talks without something to say.”

Mr. Barred hooted haughtily in agreement.

“Fine. FINE. Then what, WHAT is the great problem?”

A quiet hoot. Another. Several more.

“They’re leaving.”

“No.”

“Yes, they are.”

“When?”

Dawn broke across the top of the drive. Large tires pulled upon the gravel.

“Now.”

—

“Do not like this.”

“I don’t either.”

“They are messing it all up. Gettin’ silly clay-“

“-paint-“

“-everywhere. Have not seen the wood herds in too long.”

The moss around the top of Bryn ruffled in agreement, “You’re right. All the different people and their different sounds have frightened off our furry friends. But they may return.”

Roald did not answer.

“…Shall we stick around? See what happens next?”

“…”

“Roald?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Feels wrong.”

“You are right. Alright then. We’ll get going.”

“Mhmm.”

“…”

“…”

“How do you propose we get going, Roald?”

Roald was quiet a moment. Then another moment. Finally, Bryn heard a shift, then a small crunch. He turned his head just enough to see Roald’s bottom big stone moving a bit.

“Roald… what have you got going there?”

“Wait. Working hard.”

Tiny little pebbles were rolling up under Roald, like an unfelt breeze was blowing them just so. Bryn swore there was a drop of sweat across Roald’s mossy brow.

“How… are you…”

“Don’t know. Feels right.”

Bryn laughed, and it was the echo of a babbling brook bouncing off the trees. He reached his self out into the earth beneath him, until the small sticks and pebbles around him began to gather as well. He soon also had two nice little mound-feet to carry him wherever he needed to go.

“Where to?” Roald grumbled.

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.

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For many years now, there have been stories from hikers deep along the Appalachian mountains, of strange stone stacks, or cairns, that are there one moment, and gone the next. Always two, one tall and one small. They look like they almost have faces. It is said that if you see them, you’ll have an easy hike the next day on the trail, without storm or stumble, for they are guards of the way.

Or maybe it’s just a couple piles of rocks…

The Word

Stone (noun): 1. A hard solid nonmetallic mineral matter of which rock is made, especially as a building material. 2. A piece of stone shaped for a purpose, especially one of commemoration, ceremony, or demarcation; a gem or jewel. 3. A hard seed in a cherry, plum, peach, and some other fruits. 4. A unit of weight equal to 14 pounds (6.35 kg). 5. A natural shade of whitish-gray or brownish-gray.
(verb): 1. Throw stones at. 2. Remove the stone from (a fruit). 3. Build, face, or pave with stone.

This is one of those times I just like to sit and admire what we as a species have done to words. Look at all those definitions! We’ve got an object (common AND rare), a color, violence, edibles, creation, all in a one-hand-count word! Amazing.

Bryn and Roald are based on real stone trolls that sat on a real driveway that I’ve been up and down many times in my life. The home there was even named after them- Troll Top! Even as a kid, I knew those two just had to be up to something, and now that I’m older? I’m sure of it.

There are some little pieces of the world that never lose their magic. Stone seems to have a very powerful hold on that ability. Perhaps it’s the lasting ability. Stones hold up the fantastic places of earth’s history for us to research, the fossils of our before-world. But they also keep moving, rolling onto the next place, pushed by sand or wind, carved apart by rivers, picked up by the passing magpie or magpie-inclined human. Stones are the quiet, knowledgeable travelers in our world. In today’s story, we just got to hear their side of it. I hope you enjoyed it.

Happy reading 🙂

Today I am Grief

On By TheQuilledSisterIn Uncategorized

The Story

“You’re good with them.”

“Chopsticks? Well when I was traveling, I- “

“No. Humans.”

“Ah.”

He looked down at the wilting petal in his hand.

“You’re just good with them,” he repeated.

She set down her lunch, realizing the serious turn of their conversation, “Are you disappointed in that?”

“No…”

“Lying to me has never gone well for you.”

“That is true,” he smiled.

She leaned her brow into his shoulder, “Speak. Tell me what is bothering you.”

He sighed. She was the wiser. It was comforting and annoying at once. He relaxed his hand and let the petals fall into the slow moving stream in front of them.

“Sometimes…” he began, “Sometimes I feel I work so hard for them, and yet they do not know me at all.”

“I can agree with that,” She nodded at his side, her warmth spreading from his shoulder across his neck. “It is hard to appreciate all that you do, when they cannot see all of its effects. Please trust that I do.”

“I know you do,” he turned and kissed the dark crown of her head, feeling a twinge of guilt at the unsaid accusation.

“What would help, my love?” Came her whisper. “Would you like to travel with me? I’ve always thought you too busy to do so, but perhaps if you did, you could see…”

“No, no. I would never interrupt your work.”

They were quiet for moment.

Silence was a frequent state for them. But not a still silence, no.

The silence between Life and Death was quite full.

“You are there for their every achievement. I’m there for only the finale. It is cliche, but there is a reason the standing ovation is at the end, my dear. I cannot control that you are not there for it.”

“I hold no anger towards you. There is only jealousy.”

She chuckled, low but truly, “Well, I appreciate the honesty.”

He smiled, held out his hand, and she took it.

“Tell me,” she commanded, “what has brought these shadows on? Usually, when you mourn your plight, you brighten yourself with lovely creations that send me spinning with their brilliant colors, or ideas that take the others eons to understand! Yet here you are with eyes dark as mine. Tell me.”

He knew he had to tell her. Had always known. There was never a thought or a feeling they had hid from one another. Siblings? Lovers? Two parts of one? He knew, yet never knew. Their togetherness, separation, had never quite been defined by the other. He cared not, as long as she was nearby.

“There is one of mine, that should be one of yours.”

“Oh?” She asked allowed.

He searched endlessly in her one syllable for if she had already known of his sin or not.

“Yes. She desires you far more than me, and yet she has so much to do.”

“That is not unusual.”

“What is unusual is… she has spoken with the others.”

He felt her whole self become still.

“You… allowed her to speak with the others before me?”

“It wasn’t really an ‘allowed.’ They approached her. Or she them. I’m unsure.”

“How long has she been in the knowing?”

“A while.”

“What is a while?”

“It’s… a while.”

She sat up. “THEIR while or our while?!” Darkness gathered around them, and the stream slowed to a halt. He was tempted to engage but did not want to upset her further.

“No! No, I’m saying everything wrong. She’s-“

Lightening now, and the trees drew bare. “She. Is. WHAT.”

“She’s part of the blurred space.”

“Ah.”

He watched her purposefully sit back.

Her body relaxed slightly, and she spoke again, “The blurred space…” the stream resumed its flow, yet noticeably slower.

He invited fish and frogs to fill the air with music to ease the tension. Then he took a long, purposefully audible sigh, but he could still feel the stiffness in the shoulder she leaned against his.

“You’re angry.”

“Yes. But I understand.”

“If you understand, they why are you angry?”

“…because pain is part of your business, not mine. But you are ignorant to that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I believe you heard me clearly.”

“I did. I ask for explanation.”

She parted from him slightly, enough to face him. Her swirling hazel eyes caught the light from behind him, and he saw each speck of gold and green and blue that hid beneath the marshy green.

“When the others get involved, the poor dears stand between you and I, where they do not belong! It tears at the very atoms of them, because they are not designed to stand in such an undefined space. You are used to their pain, you see it every morning, noon, and night. But I am shielded from that. I wrap peace around them, I soothe. I gather their loved ones, I sing their praises! You think when one of them enters the blurred space, all is well because all is equal- it is not so! Imagine a dog whipped so long it no longer whines. THAT is the blurred space between us! And you think I would not be angry?!”

“They are my children to raise!” He countered.

“And they are mine to LOVE! You have never dared to do such a thing!” She roared.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. The grass beneath their feet grew and perished a hundred times over. He felt the static on his neck as lightening struck dust in the distance. Fire stretched from its landing and began to feed upon the forest.

“You will not forgive me,” he finally mumbled.

“I have always forgiven you,” she cooed, pulling him into her chest.

She called the fire back, but could not repair its char.

“How do I undo this?” He whispered into her neck.

“I will fix this, my love. Tell me her name, I will go.”

“Pepper.”

The Word

Grief (noun): 1. Deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone’s death. 2. Trouble or annoyance.

An inspiration admittance: This first line came straight from The Sandman (book Neil Gaimen, show on Netflix, highly recommend). I’ve also always been fascinated by this internet-famous relationship of Life and Death.

I took it hopefully a notch my own, to the idea that Life is actually the more ruthful of the two. I think most Western religious, and several of the large Easter ones, view it as such. Life is the difficult thing to get to peaceful, rewarding Death. And yet, in our secular world, Death is the bad guy- to be portrayed as dark and brooding in movies and nightmares, and to be avoided at all costs, even to the point of painful procedures. It’s an interesting dichotomy that I think artists (many many MANY more talented than I) have attempted to tackle for centuries. This is just my go at it, because today I’m sipping a Bellini, and I wish I could call my Nanna and my Grandma and tell them I pickled a peach and used the juice to mix with Prosecco. And I can’t.

.

.

Also….

Whaaaaaat it’s Pepper!!! Poor Pepper, hasn’t she been through ENOUGH?! Uninterested kids, a wayward husband, and now Death itself has it out for her?!

Today I am Collective

On By TheQuilledSisterIn Uncategorized

The Story

St. Minnie’s.

Charming, cozy, needs a little TLC!

Small. Old. Crumbling.

So close to nature!

The local wildlife are gonna fight you in the kitchen.

Perfect for a family just starting out!

Perfect for an idiot who parts well with their money.

–

Emilia knew the tactics, and the words between the lines, well. She had been through 16 condos, 34 houses, and 97 different Zillow searches to get here, in this dreary entrance, of an abandoned church the owners had attempted to convert to a home-stay. Apparently, those owners had run away screaming.

From where she stood, there was a rolled up rose-colored carpet that once graced the entryway, leading hopeful sinners into the sanctuary. The graying wood underneath was rough and badly marred, but Emilia bet that the experienced house-flippers had gasped with joy at the site of real ash flooring, and the thought of its silver swirls glistening under a little buffing. The ceiling in the hallway was about twelve feet high, teasing an echo that grew in the narthex at about fourteen. Windows along the wall had already been retaken by the bodies of fallen mayflies, as well as moss and just the general green-brown dust Emilia associated with all old things. But underneath. Oh underneath, there stood the old-world glass in every single pane. So lovingly made, still bending the light with their hues of deep blues, aching reds, and reaching shouts of yellow. Not like new, cheap windows in the sold-out churches with their yelling and their politics- but truly stained panels. One Emilia was particularly drawn to depicted a clam, proudly presenting its pearl at the top of a mountain. She gently wiped her finger over the smooth oval until its iridescence was clear of debris, and it could make its rainbows along the floor without hindrance once again.

Why had the owners run away screaming? Well the real estate agent tried to drama it up with all the ghost stories of the region, how the St. Minerva Church had once been the home to a leading pastor of southern witch trials, and there’d been a witch who’d cursed him and the land and the town and your momma and blah blah blah.

Emilia’s inspector pointed out that it was more likely the black mold in the hall bathroom. Emilia was inclined to agree, especially since Klokville was no where near the geographical belt of witch trials. Other horrible historical mistakes? Perhaps. But not those ones.

She was inclined, however, to also agree that there may be… something among the old ripped out pews and half-redone wall sconces.

And this is why, against her inspector’s, parents’, friends’, and honestly her own, advice, she put down the only offer the building had seen in five years.

Within the hour, she received a resounding “yesthankyoukeysunderthematbye.”

–

“Sugar, you wan’ us to go up tha with ya while you get ya settled in?”

“Thanks Aunt Lu, but I think the first time I go into my house, I want to walk in there myself.”

“Just like your grandmama, bless her. Gotta run before you walk! Richard! Are you gonna let your baby go’on up there by herself with that big trailer?!”

“No, Aunt Lu,” Emilia’s father called from the small apartment kitchen, where he’d been hiding most of the afternoon, “She said me and her mom could come up with the truck next week. But you heard her.”

“Mmmm.” Aunt Lu turned her steel blue eyes on Emilia, where she knelt on the floor taping the last box marked ‘knick-knacks, office’ closed. They held the look for a long moment, and then Aunt Lu winked and went back to ordering the poor moving men around.

Aunt Lu was actually Emilia’s great Aunt Lu. She had lived with Emila’s grandmother Hilda and grandpa Joseph just about all her life. But when they both passed, first Joe, then Hilda, Aunt Lu came to live with her nephew Richard, his wife Betty, and their kids when Emilia was a freshman in high school. Lu and Emilia had bonded quite quickly over their grief for Hilda, their love of antiques, and their hatred of green beans.

–

Six.

Six nails completely chipped and gone to hell. What was the point of paying all that extra money for the gel-dip stuff if it couldn’t even stand up to hauling a hatchback full of boxes, putting together a bed frame, cleaning an entire kitchen of dust and grime, explaining to a family of bats that yes they were cute and yes a professional bat-house had been added to the Amazon list but no they cannot stay in what is now a human bedroom, and scrambling together a grilled cheese?! Emilia thought it was ridiculous, and was glad she left her old nail-lady in her last town. Perhaps downtown Klokville would have someone more suited for the task.

And perhaps, after finishing said grilled cheese, she should freshen up and go downtown. Window shop for a new nail place, the local favorite pub, and start on the search on that something-in-law she’d promised her mother.

But she felt it was time to truly introduce herself, now that the place was really hers.

–

The pearl in the window cast its light out in front of her. The difference now was, the window belonged to Emilia.

She stepped softly through the hallway, passing into the Narthex. The silver ash wood did indeed seem to shiver its silver at her. She promised it that she’d buff and wax it first thing in the morning. She hummed a few bars of an old Christmas hymn to the vaulted ceiling, and it echoed back to her, just as the narthex of a far away church had, many years ago. So some structure still very much stood.

The pews were all still there in the sanctuary, though now detached from the floor and bent forward to lean on their backs. Like askew little knight templars, kneeling. Emilia hoped this meant that perhaps their hand-embroidered cushions were somehow protected, but she dared not yet check. She touched them each as she walked down the short aisle, her arms extended to either side, as if leaving one out may be rude in some way.

Sunset’s rusty light hummed through the tall stained glass, like a quiet overture. At the end of the aisle, Emilia looked upward, to see two large steel cords, covered in spiderwebs, where there was once most likely a cross suspended between them. She wondered if the house-flippers had moved it, or if antique-scavengers had come upon it in the between years.

Behind the cords were large empty sockets where the organ pipes had once stood. She knew that the organ had been the only thing saved when the church shut down, and it still sang somewhere. The scars of its presence were marked with the occasional bird nest and dust bunny. It appeared if the previous owners had done much work here, Mother Nature had done more since.

But what is a sanctuary, Emilia thought, if not a place where creatures are safe? And she added more bird houses and seed to her growing shopping list. She spotted an odd shadow in the corner, and quickly added another dog house for her father to build when he arrived. That raccoon family would need a slight relocation.

She sighed. There was so much to do. But at least she wasn’t doing it alone.

In the quiet, in the the humming, Emilia spoke.

“Grammy Hilda?”

“Yes, dear. I’m here.”

The Word

Y’all it’s been so long I had to look up which header I used for this. I’m still not sure it’s right. Go with it:

Collective (adj): Done by people acting as a group. (noun): A cooperative enterprise.

Have you taken a peak at Zillow lately? The housing market is really… something. The past two years I have been threatening to leave my whole life behind and go raise goats on a hill, but honestly- I can’t afford the hill! Who can?!

It’s on a miiiild downturn right now (watch me jinx that) but it’s still insane compared to what earlier generations of home buyers dealt with. More young families are turning to townhouses and condos, or attempting to flip old houses. That would be my dream- take a sabbatical from work, and flip a cool piece of property. Mind you my house-flipping resume has three bullet points: Am only 2 degrees from an ACTUALLY successful house flipper, can fix anything wrong with a toilet, and thinks I know colors better than you. That’s it. That’s all I got.

But much like any big project, flipping a big old building can’t be done on your own. Yeah, maybe you have to use just your two hands- but you need someone with you, beside you. Cheerleads are a thing for a reason, you know? Don’t forget that in this world of bootstraps and all-for-one. The other part of that phrase is all-for-one! We need each other.

St. Minnie’s is something I want to turn into long-form. No, don’t worry, I won’t make y’all memorize all these characters too! I just wanted to put this out there, see how it feels. We’ll get back to our regularly scheduled programming around here (Queen of Diamonds has been UP to stuff! And where did Pepper go?! All in good time…)

Today I am Auxiliary

On By TheQuilledSisterIn Uncategorized

Hey there, hi, hello! Just joining us at Quilled Sister? Welcome! I like to think all of my stories could stand alone, but you might enjoy this one more once you’ve gotten to know us all better. Can I interest you in Carry (our beginning) or Struck (a standalone)?

The Story

She came into my shop today, and I was on the phone.

It wasn’t really an important phone call. I had just rang up Mother to see how she was, and it turned out her neighbor Marie, who I adore, was over to share some neighborly gossip so they put me on speaker because I love that shit and we’d been chatting for a near 36 minutes while I dusted the higher shelves and sorted receipts.

I’d just pulled out the glass cleaner, and Marie had just started in on Mrs. Cricket’s atrocious lawn ornaments, when the young woman walked into my shop. So I hung up.

Not in embarrassment! It’s my shop, I can be on the phone if I like. There’s no manager for me to report to, or report me to that is. No, I hung up because I just really didn’t want to be on the phone the first time I met the Main Character.

I felt my phone buzzing away in my apron. No doubt the ladies on the other line thought we’d been accidentally cut off, or worse- my mother’s worrywart brain thought the shop was getting robbed. As if Tina’s Trinkets would be where the bank robber would search for his gold! Ha!

But she seemed interested, and that in itself was interesting.

I’d never seen one in person before. All my people were run of the mill people like me. Regular folk tend to gather around other regular folk, and that’s perfectly fine! We had our own problems and excitements, like Mrs. Cricket’s lawn ornaments or a favorite cousin’s wedding. I liked being ordinary. My great aunt once told me that robins were ordinary too- and just listen to them sing. Beautiful. “And look at the heron, Tina! Gorgeous, out standing in the waters like a king. Every artist wants to paint him. But oh how lonely he looks. Best to be a robin in her comfy crowded nest, I think,” she’d said.

But when a heron ever did wade into your side of the pond… it was hard not to stare.

She ran her pale hands along the cases, and I noticed her upper arms were much tanner. Gloves, outside? Such a Main Character quality. I wondered where those gloves were now.

I mentally pinched myself: Get it in gear, Tina!

“Anything I can help you with, dear?”

She jolted- I jolted a bit in return. Do robins and herons have a common language?

Her brown eyes went wide. Now that was odd. I assumed a Main Character would have bright blue eyes, or something unusual like green or gray. But these were still captivating! She held me with them as she stalked towards me, and I realized they weren’t really just brown, but a deep chestnut, with streaks of copper and brass rising out of them. I made a mental note to look closer at my own brown-eyed reflection that evening. Maybe there was more to mine too, wouldn’t that be nice?

“Actually yes, I do need some help if you don’t mind.”

Her voice was familiar, but I knew I had never heard it before. It was just one of those comforting womanly voices. The kind that makes teachers advise one to go into nursing or preaching, the one that draws all the children into the kitchen even when they have their own children. It had a bit of downy softness to it, which I couldn’t tell from youth or recent overuse.

“Of course! What can I find for you today in my little trove of treasures?”

“Well,” she placed her pale hands on the counter in front me, tapping them gently as she peered through the glass below, “I’m looking for something shiny.”

I laughed, “Shiny we can do! Any more particulars?”

She thought for another moment, now splaying out her fingers wide. I noticed her nails were clean, cut short, but unpolished. Another unusual bit. I’d always been a bit jealous of my lunch club ladies, who were able to keep their nail polish unmarred throughout their daily tasks, hobbies, even gardening! Looking down at my own bare fingers, I gave them a little wiggle. Perhaps clean was classy. Neat, graceful. Meant we had rather more important things to tend to.

My store phone rang. I ignored it. It rang again.

“Do you need to get that?” She looked up at me with those intriguing eyes.

“Oh, yes, just a moment,” I reluctantly shifted down the counter to see Mother on the caller ID. I picked it up quickly, “Yes… I’m fine… withacustomercallyoubackinamomentloveyoubyenow.” And shifted back down.

My Main Character customer smiled, “Parent or spouse?”

I smiled back, “Mothers never stop being mothers, dear. Even when you have as many gray hairs as they do!”

I saw a little shadow go across her face, a tension grasp the edge of her smile. Hmm, I touched on part of her Back Story I suppose. What an honor!

After a few heavy moments, she tapped her fingers on the glass once more, decided, and said deliberately lightly, “I think I need a ring, ma’am, don’t you?”

“A lady can’t have too many, and I have plenty of those! Of course they might be a wee bit old fashioned for you, dear,” I started to pull our the cases from under the glass anyway, “If you want something like all the New Age gals are wearing, you’ll have to go to-“

“No, no.” She firmly stopped me, and I was thankful for it. I can’t believe I almost recommended another shop! Main Character or not, a sale was a sale.

“Looking for vintage, then?”

“Yes,” she nodded, and started delicately sorting through the rows of silver-trapped pearls and golden-wrapped gemstones.

I couldn’t help but follow those fingers up, past the strangely spaced tan lines, to the muscle padded shoulders that led under her simple running tank to-

Wait. Running tank?

I drew back a small step. I had been so distracted by her presence as a whole that I had failed to notice she was not dressed at all for a day of browsing shops. Her top was a peachy running tank with sheer sides, and I could see through the glass that her bottoms were plain gray joggers, a pocket on her right side bulging with something oddly shaped. Was it her wallet? Because I saw no purse.

“Is this for…” I began, now uncertain, “a gift?”

“No, I’m treating myself today.” She reached for her waistband, I tensed. My God. My mother was right. I AM getting robbed today. Here I was all giddy about the Main Character in my store, and it was one of those stories. Lord have mercy on my soul, here we go- she’s reaching for it and!

She pulls one of this skinny shrinking fanny packs around to the front of her. Oh.

She smiles up at me reassuringly, as if she has heard the silent fluttering saga that has just occurred on my side of the counter. I’m sure my temple has a bead of sweat on it, but to dot it away would be to admit to my terribly accusing thoughts.

“Well then,” I took the moment to cough, straighten myself out. I could be calm as well, I could be collected too, “if you don’t mind me saying, you have a tone that could go with several different metals, so is there a particular stone you’re looking for?”

“A diamond,” she said immediately. Firmly.

“Oh, I only have small ones of those, we’re just a little shop. This one here in the halo has-“

“I heard,” she whispered, and I couldn’t help but lean in. She was like a magnet! “That you do have a few items kept back for your regulars…” We were so very close, that I was able to admire the very curvature of her nose. Imagine! Admiring someone’s nose. But it is the very middle of someone’s face, isn’t it? I hoped my own wasn’t taking up too much space. My husband, Gary, may he rest in peace, always gave it a big kiss on his way to work, or on the way to golf, or hell, on the way to the bathroom. And it hadn’t gotten one of those old lady warts yet, praise Saint Mary. Come to think of it, I was the only one in my college suite that swore they’d get Botox instead of a nose job at 30! So perhaps I had an admirable nose too. Then it would be perfectly fine to lean in just a little bit further…

“…Now I know I’m not a regular, Mrs. Tina, but if you have a pretty little diamond ring, I promise to pay you better than any of them ever have.”

“Well I-” How did she know about the back stash? And was that her perfume I’d leaned into? It was like a rose, held over a cup of hot spiced tea with cream. “I just do this for fun, it’s not, not really about the money…”

“What is it that you need, then? I’m able to deal in favors as well.”

She pulled back, and it was like a sip of ice cold water.

“Well I-“

“How about we take a look at the other rings you have, and I’ll make an offer, and you think about it? No guarantee on either side, hm?”

That sounded fine. Lots of things sounded fine, actually.

I stepped back behind the register, opened the office door, and took the key from around my neck. I quickly peeked through each box in the safe- I had four diamond rings, but one had a pearl on it. I knew she wouldn’t like that. I don’t know how, but I knew. I brought it anyway.

I displayed the four small boxes on the counter. She pushed the pearl-paired one aside.

It didn’t take long before she pulled the small black-velvet box on the left towards her. Fascinating. I knew what it held without having to turn it around: A early Victorian round with two glaring garnet slit-ovals guarding it on either side. The silver and gold filigree down each side appeared to be thorny vines wrapped around tiny, star-like diamond shards. When I came across it nearly three years ago now, I thought my eccentric art-dealer who loved to spend her ex-husband’s money would want it, but she called it “garish, almost frightening.”

“It’s perfect.”

“Perfect.” I said, but it wasn’t. Because as much as I was in awe of this odd creature before me, I did not know what to do with her. And this ring was one of the most expensive items in my shop. And she was in joggers.

This did not bother my Main Character. She was already slipping the ring onto the middle finger of her right hand, and damn if it didn’t slip on there like it was made for her! I almost just said, take it and go with my blessings!

She reached into her little fanny pack. Had we reached a price while I wasn’t listening? Oh God my mouth had run while I was musing. Had I said the ‘with my blessings’ out loud? Damnation.

“This is obviously superb,” she purred, as she began counting 100s onto my counter, “So I’m actually going to give you both for being so kind as to show a new customer your back lot.”

“…both?”

She didn’t look up from her counting, “The money and the favor.”

“But I didn’t ask for a-“

“Well, when you do, you’ll have my card.”

“Oh, okay.”

She held out her hand with the ring on it, once to admire, and then once to shake mine. A firm grip, an affectionate squeeze paired with a short satisfied laugh, and she turned to go. I couldn’t believe our interaction was ending so soon. I wanted to chat, to know what was next! To be a part of it!

“Wait!”

She turned, one hand on the door, half of her already gone, “Yes?” Another look at those eyes, the brass flashing with… curiosity? Laughter?

“Do you… want a receipt?”

“No, thank you,” she smiled, “better not!” and she was gone.

I stared out my door for a moment, as if she might pop back through it, but she did not.

So I next I stared at the many papers piled on my counter, most of them green. Oh my. She… certainly compensated me my fair share for the ring. Underneath Benjamin Franklin’s many faces, was a thick square of white paper. It had only 5 numbers. So… not a phone number. How would I get in touch? I flipped it over to see-

A card. Her card. The Queen of Diamonds.

The Word

Auxiliary (adj): Providing supplementary or additional help and support. (noun): A person or thing providing supplementary or additional help and support.

I’ve rewritten this section a few times. I have lots of different thoughts about this! I know I blabber on sometimes, tell y’all exactly how I’m feeling when I write something. Sometimes I’m like HERE IS MY POINT and other times I try to be more tricksy. I think I’ll just leave this one here, and invite you to view Tina and her Main Character as they are, however you like. If you want, let me know how you’re feeling about their short interaction- you know where to find me!

And also… isn’t it nice to see the Queen again? 😉 I wonder what she’d think of someone referring to HER as the Main Character…

Happy reading!

Today I am Okay

On By TheQuilledSisterIn Uncategorized

The Story/Non-Poem*

*It’s my blog. I can call it what I want 😉

When someone traumatic tries to come back into your life, I envision it a lot like ‘two ships that pass in the night…’ two war ships, naturally.

The clouds move to cover

Wind whispers on sail cloth

The wood’s creaking a rumor

And cleansing in sea froth

Enemy ship on the horizon captain!

Is it… them, One-Eye?

Aye, Captain. Less than a league and gaining.

Damn.

There’s a hum in the deep

A disturbance is near

The old ruins rumble

Buried creatures reappear

There’s still time to out run them, Capt’n. We can make it to Storm Bay an’ camouflage in the cliffs.

We could, mate, we could.

What’s the call, Captain?

The temptation delicious

To unsheath the sword

Once dripped in battle

Surge forward once more

Run out the cannons! Raise the flag! Hard to starboard to face!

You heard the Captain, hard to starboard!

Cannons lads! CANNONS!

To growl out the thunder

Match lightening with flame

But sea, storm, and sailor

Have become one in the same

Cannons, ready, Captain. Engage?

No- no. I just want the enemy to see ’em. Let them fire the first shot.

They’re closing, Captain!

Hold, all! HOLD!

The dark demands upon the bow

It aches to move, hurts to still

The anchor, the sail, to stay, to run

It’s all a matter of will

They’re moving out of range, Captain, pickin’ up knots!

Aye, the cowards. Well done, lads! Pull the cannons. Leave the flag high for now.

Aye, Captain!

There is a shield built on balance

A weapon with peace

And a wind drives one onward

To tread storms with ease

Turn us back to course, and pour us all a rum.

The Word

Okay (Exclamation): Used to express assent, agreement, or acceptance. (Adj): Satisfactory but not exceptionally or especially good. (Adverb): In a satisfactory manner or to a satisfactory extent. (Noun): An authorization or approval. (Verb): Sanction or give approval to.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence

— Henery Wadsworth Longfellow, The Theologian’s Tale

To answer your unspoken question I’ve completely imagined: No, I don’t think Mr. Longfellow would appreciate how I used the arguably most quoted line from his Theologian’s Tale to rewrite one of those ships’ crew preparing for a potential battle.** It kinda goes against the entire theme of the original work. But on the other hand, he was a romantic in his personal life, as well as a writer for the common man, so perhaps he would totally understand that when you’re awoken with a fright at 3am and find someone bucking up against your boundaries, you grasp onto whatever you can and if what comes out is a goofy not-poem scribbled in the Notes app, that’s okay.

Anyway. I didn’t write a lot in 2021 for lots of reasons, many of them I’ve detailed before- one of them is one that keeps all of us from doing things all the time: the demon Perfectionism. I’m scared to put work out there that isn’t good enough. That will make people say “what the hell does she think she’s doing? She literally needs to stick to her day job.” And that’s okay. And I love the not-poem above and it’s okay. And I think I’ll have lots of stories this year that are okay, but I also think I’ll bring some to you that are really awesome! Some I’ve already started that I’m very excited about! But to bring you those, I have to write everything and work on it and work on me and practice, so, here’s my pre-apology and pre-blush for the okay ones. I invite you all to join me in being okay, more than okay, and everything in between in 2022!

Happy reading, and happy New Year!

**(I wrote the rhyming parts later, I cannot rhyme at 3am.)

Today I am Telltale

On By TheQuilledSisterIn Uncategorized

Two raps at the door. I knew they’d come.

Raps? I chuckled, set my book down along with its far away plot I’d clearly been too wrapped in. I stood to answer what was really just a couple polite knocks.

“Mrs. Leaway? I’m Officer Merriman, this is Officer Bringle and Officer Townsen. It appears your doorbell is broken.”

On my sunny little deck were three policeman. The one who spoke was a bit taller than I, enough I had to look up into his brown eyes. He sported a lovely stereotypical mustache that made me smile at him, but also crows’ feet around his eyes. I hoped they were from smiling at maybe a first or second grandchild, and not squinting at suspects.

His companions appeared to have been chosen because they were exact opposites of each other. A cooked shrimp, in all senses- small, red, with a small spiny thin beard, versus a bison of a man- dark, tall, and bursting with muscles. I wondered for a moment if they were casting a buddy cop movie on my front porch.

“That’s me, sir. Sorry about the doorbell, I asked my husband to change the sound out for something less annoying- it had been this jangling thing since we moved in- and he didn’t. So I tried it myself and broke the whole dang thing. The electrician has to come in! I’m so embarrassed.”

Mustache and Bison chuckled, Shrimp was not amused.

“I’ve had similar DIY mishaps myself, ma’am,” Mustache nodded.

“Speaking of your husband-” Shrimp started, but Mustache put a hand out to quiet him and started again.

“Mrs. Leaway, we received a concerned tip from an anonymous source. We’d just like to clear that up with you.”

I nodded, making sure to send my smile to Shrimp as well, but he still frowned through his thin lips. “Of course, would you all like to come in? It’s muggy out today.”

“I know I would, thank you ma’am,” Bison stepped past his partners into the air-conditioning as I held the screen door for all three, noting their fully equipped belts as they shuffled by. I welcomed them into the den, where I’d just been reading my book and where my cats, Midnight and Cheesepuff, each opened an eye to inspect the new comers. Midnight decided it wasn’t worth investigation, but Cheesepuff hopped off his ottoman throne to sniff each boot.

“Handsome fella you have here,” Mustache noted, offering Cheesepuff his hand to sniff. I was leaning more towards the grandkids theory.

“Thank you! They’re both rescues, but act as if they’re bred straight from gold. You can take a seat, if you’d like.” I leaned up against the back of my sofa, pale pink bespeckeled with purple violets. It was an ugly thing, but it was a gift from Gerald’s mother and I had to admit it was comfortable.

“Thank you but no, we hopefully won’t be here long. Mrs. Leaway, the tip I mentioned.”

“Yes,” I tied my fingers together, “what was it about?”

“Apparently, yesterday afternoon, a witness saw you at the grocery store purchasing what they said were ‘troubling items’, and then you made a concerning statement to the cashier.”

“Oh…” I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks, how embarrassing for multiple someones to have witness my terrible attempt at comedy, “It was just a little joke… I was trying to be funny. I suppose I missed the mark,” I said quietly, staring at my feet, where Cheezepuff was now sitting, as if my tiny little queen’s guard.

“Well, we’d take it as such as well except that this same witness mentioned they normally see your husband each morning, walking your dog around the block, and then sometimes again in the evening, either walking the dog or strolling with you. The witness said they haven’t seen your husband do so in several days.”

I chanced a glance up at Mustache. He was giving me one of those Fatherly-Authortive stares. I was sure it worked on teenagers and young women everywhere. Shrimp was glancing around my den, leaning back to look down the hallway, making little marks into a spiral bound notebook. Bison and Midnight were having some sort of silent conversation.

“I’m sure you can see the implication the witness was making, Mrs. Leaway.”

“I can, Mr… Merriman, you said?” He nodded, “Mr. Merriman, as I said, my comment to the cashier was a joke, though clearly a bad one and at best inappropriate, and I’d be more than willing to apologize if I made the poor boy uncomfortable.”

“That’s not the problem here, ma’am-“

“As you can see though, sir, we don’t even have a dog. We’re cat people. There’s an elderly man next door, Mr. Charles Ridgeland, who we’re very close to- ever since we moved in he’s been just the most wonderful neighbor to us. So when his wife died three years ago this August, and he got a bit too tired to get his beagle Maggie out as much as she liked to go, of course we volunteered to take her! My husband kinda needs the fresh air in the morning anyway, and I loved joining him in the evening if we both got home on time.”

“I see,” Mustache was nodding at me, but I could see the calculations going on behind his eyes.

“And Mr. Ridgeland will be able to attest to all this?” Shrimp piped up with his notepad, like an eager reporter. I half expected him to switch hats to a 50’s fedora.

“Mmhmm, he will. But please don’t take it personally if he’s a bit stiff at first. Charles is a veteran, and was a lawyer until Betsy- his wife- begged him to retire, so he can come off a little strong. Please be kind.”

“Of course,” Shrimp responded automatically, and took out the door, seemingly pleased to have his own task. I wished it was Bison going to speak to Charles, as I was mildly afraid my strong-tempered neighbor would have just enough vigor to get a taste for seafood if that spindly little officer upset him so late in the afternoon.

I took a deep sigh, suddenly very tired myself, and leaned further back into the sofa.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Leaway?” Officer Bison asked, glancing at his partner.

“I am,” I nodded, “it’s just been a long couple of days. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit? I’ve got a big table in the kitchen if you’d prefer that over the den.”

Mustache nodded, and I couldn’t tell if it was to me or Bison, but either way they followed me through the little hallway.

“My goodness, someone has been busy,” Officer Bringle/Bison’s deep voice rumbled through my little kitchen, it’s granite counters stacked high with pastries in every single tupperware I owned, and then those stacked with muffins and scones just wrapped in sullophane.

“Yes… I… I bake when I’m upset, you see.”

I had my back to them as I poured us each a glass of water, but I felt another look exchanged.

“I’m pretty good too, I’ve won the state fair’s pound cake with my buttered rum the past two years. Would you all like a slice?”

“You’re THAT Mrs. Leaway? My goodness, I thought the name looked familiar. Alright, if Officer Bringle here can keep a secret, I’ll take you up on that slice. I’ve heard it’s heavenly.”

I smiled over my shoulder at them, and happily uncovered the cake stand, slicing four thick pieces.

We each took a seat at the kitchen table, another gift from Gerald’s mother, but this one had been during a time before her cataracts so it was a beautiful slat of mahogany, the legs and chairs of which had carvings that reminded me of a nymph’s braided hair in those old mythology books.

Mustache took a large forkful of his cake, “The rumors are all true, Mrs. Leaway. Don’t tell my wife, but this is the best damn cake I’ve ever had in my life.”

Officer Bison nodded vigorously and mumbled something agreeing through a crumb-filled mouth.

“But if you don’t mind an old man asking,” Mustache swallowed, took another bite along with his gentlemanly tactic, swallowed again, “why have you been se upset lately that I can’t even guess the color of your countertops?”

I took a small sip from my water glass, then a sigh, “Well, what your little witness apparently doesn’t know is that Gerald- my husband, left me for another woman last week.”

“He left this??” Bison pointed at the cake with his fork.

“Bingle!”

I laughed, a real, full throated laugh.

“Ma’am, I am so sorry-” Mustache started.

“No,” I steadied myself, “no, oh my goodness I needed that, thank you.”

Mustache glared at Bison, Bison stared straight into his water glass.

They stayed silent, waiting for me to continue. I obliged.

“I’m an analyst for city planners-” I began, “I work from home most days, just researching and making calls. It’s why I started baking, honestly, what to do with your hands when you’re on your headset for three hours bickering with an Architect and his Engineer cronies? Honestly it helped negotiations to occasionally blur them out with the blender-” Mustache laughed here but pretended it was a loose crumb.

“-But some days I have to actually go out and meet with City Council, or the Bankers, whoever is investing in the town. Last Wednesday morning I told Gerald I had to do just that, way over in Blueville County, so I wouldn’t be back until late in the evening. Well, I got home that evening, expecting him to be just coming in from walking Maggie. Instead, he had just finished packing his last suitcase. The forest green one with his monogram that I gave him for Christmas! We were supposed use to our new luggage to visit Scotland this Spring. But he was using it to run off.”

Officer Bison swallowed his last bite of cake, “And did you confront him?”

I wanted to put my head in my hands, but didn’t want to look like I was hiding my face, so I tried to look at them even though I felt my eyes watering again, “Sort of. I didn’t know what to do! My family is not the type that has their husbands run off, you know? So I just stood there asking him ‘why’ over and over again, and he just kept saying that she was more fun, more interesting, more wild.”

And I had. I felt no reason to tell them the detail that my “why?”s had gotten louder and louder with each repetition. Is an omission of detail a lie?

“I will admit to you, gentlemen, that I was standing in the doorway, and when he tried to move past me, we had a little scuffle,” I rolled up my sleeve to show the olive-colored finger prints with yellowing petals still blooming across my arms, “It’s my own fault. All those warnings about heated arguments and such. You always hear ‘don’t start something when you can’t think straight, talk once everyone’s calm, blah blah blah.’ And what did I do? Literally stood in the way.”

“May I?” Mustache stood to closer examine my arm, and I nodded. His touch was kind, and his fingers slightly warm. “Could you further detail as-stated ‘scuffle’, Mrs. Leaway?”

“This was really the extent of it. I can’t even remember if he grabbed me first to move me, or if I grabbed him to make him stay. But it was like we stood there for a moment, still as statues. Then he pulled me the rest of the way out of the doorframe and kept going.” The officer gently pulled my sleeve back down my shoulder and moved back to his seat.

“Why didn’t you report him for that big a bruise?” Bison questioned, “I don’t mean to sound accusatory, but I will say we have had calls for less.”

I nodded, “And I understand those calls. But like I said, these kind of things just don’t happen to us. So it took several days for me to realize that it did happen to me, and by then, I wasn’t really sure if there was anything to do.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, ma’am, we never know how we might act in those moments.” Mustache said reassuringly, and looking into his calm eyes, I thought how nice it probably was to have such a man around the house.

“Did he leave the house then, or did you continue to engage with one another?” Bison asked quietly.

Engage. I shook off the shudder that was rising up my spine. It’s strange; a moment so passionate and extraordinary can become so clinical and ordinary in just a word.

I took another sip of water to clear my throat, “Well he got by me, and walked through here, back out towards the garage,” I gestured his path through the kitchen, “and I followed him the whole way, just begging him to tell me what was going on.”

Or at least that’s what Gerald should have interpreted from my continued “Why!”s.

“And gentlemen, I’m embarrassed to say this,” they leaned in slightly, “but as I followed him through the kitchen, I picked up several of the banana walnut muffins I’d meant to take to our Home Owner’s Association meeting and launched them at him as hard as I could. He screamed at me- told me it was assault. Is it?”

Bison sucked his teeth, and I think it was to keep himself from laughing a bit.

Mustache shook his head, appearing to hold his breath, “No ma’am, I don’t believe it it would hold in a court of law.”

“I don’t even remember if I even hit him with one. He was out the door and in his car so fast, with me just begging for answers behind him…”

…I decided to also leave out the part where he’d peeled out of the driveway with my nail marks on his doorhandle. There was no need for that.

During my recounting, Shrimp had made his way back into the house and to the table. He’d stared at the cake in front of him and I only now realized I hadn’t provided a fork. I stood to get him one.

“Mrs. Leaway, were there any witnesses to him leaving the home?”

I returned to the table with the fork, but before I could answer, Shrimp coughed for attention, a new blush on him that hadn’t been there when he left.

“If you’re referring to Mr. Leaway’s departure, I got that confirmation from the neighbor Mr. Charles Ridgeland.”

Mustache turned to Shrimp, “Last Wednesday evening?”

“Last Wednesday evening confirmed. He says he was at the window, expecting Mr. Leaway to come retrieve Maggie the beagle as was their routine, but Mr. Leaway did not. When Mr. Leaway was quite late, Mr. Ridgeway stepped outside on his stoop and heard shouting, and then saw Mr. Leaway pull out of the driveway in his green Dodge. Mr. Ridgeway then went back inside his house to retrieve his walker, and then came over to the Leaway residence to see if all was well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Townsen,” I offered as much a smile I could.

“This is a correct retelling of the next few moments, Mrs. Leaway?” Mustache asked.

“Yes, it is. As I said, Charles is a wonderful neighbor. I suppose more a friend at this point. I wish I’d seen him coming over, I would have met him halfway but I was in such a state. I brought him in the house and he just sat there so sweetly holding my hand while I practically went into shock! Then he waited while I called my friend Leslie Bagsend to come over and stay with me for the night. She’s actually come and stayed with me a couple nights- I think she and Charles are in cahoots to keep me sane,” I giggled a bit to make it clear I was joking and my sanity was not actually a concern.

Mustache looked to Shrimp, Shrimp took another bite of cake, looked at his notepad, and nodded.

“And Ms. Bagsend can corroborate these details as well?”

I nodded, able to give a small smile on behalf of my friend, “Oh yes, the rest of the evening was a blur for me but she was so sweet to come over. She wanted to take me back to her house but I didn’t want to leave incase Gerald came home.”

“Leslie is my wife’s sister-in-law,” Bison offered nodding along with me, “a real reliable person. I’ll follow up but I suspect that’s why Leslie missed their little book club my wife was hosting couple nights ago.”

“Well, Mrs. Leaway,” Mustache stood, and the other two scrambled to do so as well, “it appears that instead of suspicious nature, we have instead a domestic disturbance here, and I do apologize for any further pain we’ve caused by making you recount the events. As you may know, we’ve had a few nasty occurrences in the county over the past couple years so we take every tip very seriously.”

Bison held up a hand to his partner, then turned to me, “I would like to ask, ma’am… about the grocery items?”

“Oh,” I stood again, retrieving my purse from the hook on the door, unfolding the receipt from my wallet, and placing it on the table in front of them.

“You see, like I said, my family isn’t the type to have their husbands run off. I was ashamed, and I supposed still in a bit of shock all those days later. So I bought the rope and the cookies, and made my terrible joke to the cashier. When I got home, I took one bite of those damn cookies-

I slapped the counter “-it was like a splash of cold water!”

They all jumped back a bit. I swear Shrimp even reached to his belt.

“Store bought cookies? In my house?! No man was going to do that to me. So I burned that rope. I wasn’t going to go out like that. Not while there was still air in my lungs. There might still be pieces of it out on the grill if you’d like to check.”

Mustache finally took a breath and straightened a stray whisker, “So you mean, the rope was going to be for you?”

“Yes sir, I was quite out of my mind. I didn’t think I could live as an abandoned wife with all the shame. But I’ll make it through. Charles says he still has contacts, will get me a good divorce lawyer. He says since Gerald ran, I can probably keep the house. I designed this kitchen myself a few years ago when I got really into my baking, and all the notes to the contractor are in my handwriting. And Leslie keeps insisting that the minute I give her the signal she’s knows five men with the hots for divorcee’s. Plus, over my dead body will Leann Goodwin’s keylime pie win at the State Fair. So.”

I’d tried to make a little joke. They didn’t laugh, but I saw a twinkle in Mustache’s eye, and Bison smiled at me.

“Quite the turn in just a few days.” Shrimp noted.

“Well, better than hanging from the ceiling,” I said, staring straight into his pale blue eyes until he looked away, “and would I love for him to come crawling back through that door on his hands and knees right this minute? Yes. But will he? I do not believe so. Gerald’s never done an impulsive thing in his life, so I don’t think this was either. He’d been planning to leave for a while, I was just the last to know.”

In fact, it would be quite impressive if he crawled through the door right now.

The officers tipped their hats, shook my hand, took their leave.

I waited several minutes after the last reflection off their silver studded cars were gone before I made my way over to Charles’s porch, where he waited, Maggie at his feet and three glasses of sweet tea on the table.

“A site for sore eyes, my gal! Leslie called, she’s at Rhonda’s to apologize for missing book club and spread a little gossip, then is on her way here.”

I scratched Maggie behind the ears and under her collar, she gave an approving “hrumphet” before flopping on her side.

“That’s excellent. Thank you, Charles, I hope Shrimpy wasn’t too annoying.”

“Ha!” Came Charles’s raspy voice, “You calling Shrimpy? I was thinking the simple Pinky. Or Pipsqueak.”

I laughed with him for a bit, leaning back in one of his iron chairs.

“Where is he?” I asked, more out of curiosity than care.

“You know you don’t get to know that, doll. You never get to know your own. Family rule.”

Leslie’s pearly white Cadillac was coming down the drive, just as the sun was starting to sink.

The Word

Telltale (adj): Revealing, indicating, or betraying something. (noun): 1. A person, especially a child, who reports others’ wrongdoings or reveals their secrets. 2. A device or object that automatically gives a visual indication of the state or presence of something.

Well, at least he’s not under the floorboards, right?

I should probably stop writing shorts about people taking care of their problems in such a way. But like, then what would I scare off potential suitors with? I only have the one cat.