The Perils of a New Grocery Store

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Stacy liked to fantasize. As she pushed her shopping cart along the grocery store relieved that this aisle didn’t have any bustling shoppers, she let her imagination fly. Instead of scanning the nearly empty shelves, she was a bat, soaring through the sky under the moon. Life would be simpler as a bat she thought as she squinted at the expiration date on the Kine Juice - New with Italian Herbs! it was seven months expired and she gagged slightly while putting the can back on the shelf. Bats snapped insects from the sky without worrying about upset stomachs. Four expired cartons later - and a particularly nasty one that had leaked - she finally settled on three cartons of Chicken Humors - Chortles for the Heart. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes at the marketing gimmick and made a mental note to ask Lewis if he was sure this store was the only sanguine extract carrier in the area. If it was, it looked like she was going to have to order off Amazon and dish out the insane shipping prices. Bats never worried about shipping.

 
She turned her cart back towards the entrance and grimaced. The stares and whispers and hurried scattering was the worst part of any shopping trip. Nobody liked bats either, but a bat wouldn’t know that everyone hated them simply for existing. Being a vampire, well, she was all too aware of the fear she inspired even though most of the things people believed about vampires weren’t even true. Exiting the Larder for Lorefolk aisle, she tried to ignore the elf mother that promptly shepherded her children down the Meats, Mussels, & Marrow aisle, despite the fact that elves couldn’t digest meat. Stacy gritted her teeth and kept going. Who in their right mind - vampire or not - would bother attacking someone in a grocery store with plenty of witnesses and security cameras?

The human cashier stiffened when she rolled into his lane and kept casting furtive looks at her. Probably thought she could smell fear. She couldn’t, but she didn’t need to; his body language said it all. She could smell that he was anemic, but no one ever wanted to hear that from a vampire, so much so that most states had a law prohibiting vampires from discussing medical information with anyone without a medical license and signed consent from the patient. This suited Stacy just fine. She preferred keeping conversations with strangers to a minimum. Bats she was sure, never had to navigate awkward social niceties. It was a relief to step outside the grocery store at last and take her cartons of chicken blood to the car. At least in her second-hand sedan she was just another driver, not a legendary monster. 

***

Not really sure where Stacy is or why she’s there, but I had fun making up a vampire shopping trip. I figured that a vampire blood supplier would want to use less obvious terms other than blood to describe their products, hence the “Kine Juice” and “Chicken Humors,” and calling blood “sanguine extract” for general use. “Kine” is a biblical word for cattle, and “humors” is referring to the four humors in medieval medicine, which included blood. “Sanguine” is a blood red color.  I had a lot of fun with the products and aisle names, and maybe someday I’ll get around to actually creating a story for Stacy to inhabit.

Time Flies

Photo by Alex Guillaume on Unsplash

“But I don’t wanna!” wailed 2020, dragging his feet.

The instructor sighed, “You have wings for a reason. It’s time to learn to use them.”

2020 flopped onto the ground (or what passed for ground in the realm of non-reality), folded his arms and stuck out his tongue, “You can’t make me. I’m staying right here.”

The instructor looked at his clipboard, looked up into the indefinite color of what could be considered sky (or a roof, or more ground), counted to ten, took a deep breath and then made a decision.

In an instant, the non-landscape changed and they were no longer standing on firm ground. Well, the instructor was standing on something, but 2020 was falling; falling fast through the nothingness of time and space.

“Flap!” yelled the instructor. “Rise above!”

Instead, all the instructor heard were screams. The instructor shook his head and sighed again, “He’ll figure it out.”

Crochet Defined

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Crochet
Noun
1. Buffet of choices: so many hooks; so much yarn.
2. Voices speaking from the thread. Memories caught everywhere you look.
    Seeking tales from the bedspread, the mittens, the tangled knots.
Verb
1. Twist and pull, pull and twist, again and again, and again.
    Wool enrolls in sweaters. Cottons enlists in motifs with poise.
    Each project better than the last, becoming chief of all.
Example: Play the day away, sit back, crochet.

Wonder

Photo by sydney Rae on Unsplash

When you’re sitting on the grass
Just letting the time pass
Any moment magic can be born
So look up and see the unicorn

Oh the Fair!

Photo by Pascale Amez on Unsplash

Fair weather reigns for the glorious fair
where you wander through the enchanting wares.
Say you’ll return, oh but when? Do not say;
today is set aside as a wondrous day.

Forget your woes. But the fair don’t forget,
for here laughter thrives. Treasure it for
besetting days devoid of mirth; beset
your terrors with delights held in your

heart; in the dark you’ll not grow faint in heart.
So recall the fair and the sky just so
Part the crowds, enjoy the sights, every part,
oh, the games and rides and everything oh!

Delight in the joy for these delights
light the grim gloom with shimmering lights.



This is a Shadow Sonnet, where the first and last word of each line is the same. It makes for some interesting writing. I cheated a little, but I think the end result isn't bad.


 

Points of Departure

Photo by SilverGardenia

caught in crystal
stars and planets
a long way from home
paradise lost and
paradise regained
the last battle



Written for dVerse, where we were challenged to create a poem out of book titles on our shelves.

Ramble

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Across the trellis
Fluttering
Roses ramble on

A Flock of Words

Photo by Alex He on Unsplash

Somewhere there’s a flock of words
Searching for pastures of paper
Thirsty for a lake of endless ink

And once they’ve steeped in ink
Off go those frolicsome words
Rolling and rolling across the paper

Until at last the paper
Lies covered in ink
Rife with the imprint of words

With just a little ink and paper, so many words are caught

Freeing the Bridge

Photo by Katie Moum on Unsplash

Wild weeds grow o’er the road
for no creature lingers here,
no sound of finch nor toad,
just the dank stench of fear.
But the bridge still stands robust
a delightful spot for a stroll.
Yet, the pleasant sight spawns mistrust,
for under the bridge dwells the troll,
with a chilling baleful glare
and razor pointed teeth ready to bite.
Only fools venture there,
arrogant fools - and the knight,
with a sword and a shield
and an iron will that refuses to flee,
the troll is forced to yield
to her and at last the road is free.

Small Pleasures

Photo by Giulia Bertelli on Unsplash

Yarn in many colors
Many sounds and sighs
Happy visions unfolding

Words scattering across the page
Fluid poems diving into novels
Windows to other sights of life

Small pleasures build up to something grand

Guarding the Road

Photo by Alejandro Luengo on Unsplash

Across the river spans the ivory bridge
Linking perilous roads from to ridge to ridge
In the turbulent waters below
Dwells the troll
He keeps the bridge and guards the road
If you chance upon him do not run
Though his tusks are sharp and his mace can stun
And he could smash you into a blot
Without a second thought
Don’t try to hide
Just accompany him down to brunch
Where he’ll serve plums and quiche and punch



This is an update to a poem I wrote last year: Bridge Troll and shared with dVerse.

Little Leaves

Photo by Dmytro Tolokonov on Unsplash

Lost against the bark
Minuscule leaves are
Nature-shy as they try
Out new life in the air
Proving the worth of spring before
Queuing up and rushing out

The Hunt

Photo by Paul Hanaoka on Unsplash

Intruders lurk in my house
unseen. When I spy the mouse,
I attack and cannot rest
until death befalls the pest.

Tangle

Photo by SilverGardenia

Little bits of yarn
Tangle up
Creating stories



Combining crochet and writing, what could be better?

On Cue

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

The snow has melted
Sinking through
The ground down to where
Roots wait patiently
For the sun
Springing up on cue
Clothing the world anew
With vibrant
Blooming, rejoicing life

I Want to Meet You

 It has been long my friend; I want to meet you
And speak with one another face to face
Throw open the door widely and greet you
Standing here together in the same space
Thus the threshold becomes a holy place
Where we can freely laugh and weep: converse
Knowing we’ve o’ercome the very worst



Written for dVerse. This is my attempt at a Chaucerian stanza, a seven line poem in iambic pentameter. Writing in meter has never been my strong point, so it's far from prefect. I think though, we are all eager to see each other in real life.

If you have the inclination, you are invited to join members and friends of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on April 10 in Fasting and Prayer for relief from COVID-19. Everyone is welcome to participate.

Dredge for Toasted Stars

Photo by Carolina Heza on Unsplash

Everything’s coming up roses
Thorns striking up a foxtrot
Their fragrance singing all the time
The wooden door has lost its key
Smooth worn metal from the many fingers
That never held it
And caused the hens to lay
The purring painting of opportunity
When you knelt in the night sky
Dredging for toasted stars
And the fox will say
Machines will learn
And burnished roses glow
Beside the wooden door



This mixed up little poem comes from a prompt called "Twenty Little Poetry Projects." There's a list of twenty random things to stick into a poem. I didn't get all of them, but it kept me entertained!

Dreams

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

The fleeting light of singing stars
And bursts of color never seen
Paint the night with a scintillating
Dream that curls like a leaping cat
And stretches like a noontime shadow
Twisting, growing steady until
It disembarks in sunlight and paints the world

Value

Photo by Jasmin Sessler on Unsplash

Of all that’s valued high,
prices reaching to the sky,
many glint with gold
or sheen of something old.
Yet with all this social distancing, I can’t decide
which is valued most: Meeting you sans screen?
Or rolls of toilet paper stacked close by?


Written for dVerse.
 
I've been thoroughly enjoying all the posts and pictures highlighting the importance of toilet paper to our current society; they've been bringing a much needed laugh. 

On a more serious note, please consider joining members and friends of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on Good Friday in Fasting and Prayer for relief from COVID-19. Stay safe everyone!

How to Read a Book

Photo by 🇸🇮 Janko Ferlič on Unsplash

It’s a quest to pick just the right book
as you search through every nook
running your fingers over the spine.
Does the title sound sublime?
is the cover so faded it’s hard to view,
or is it crisp and bright and new?

When you finally pull the tome off the shelf
and hide away with just the book and yourself
do the words erupt and leap off the page,
or are the characters all hiding backstage?
Where are you going as the pages flip by
while alone upon your couch you lie?

Now that your journey’s begun
there’s work to do before you’re done.
For you’ve become both jury and judge
opinions are forming; will they budge?
Does it please you, or do you learn?
Will you set it aside before the last page turns?

Each and every book is change
no matter how large the range,
they cause your thoughts to readjust.
Inspiring doubts; creating trust.
So will you venture into the fray
and learn how you will change today?



Looking for a life changing book? Try The Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ.

Sunrise

Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash

Watch the light as it plays
Building up a full new day
Tossing up pink and yellow rays

First, just a hint of rosy rays
Peeking over treetops as they play
Then suddenly; a scintillating day

Such a glorious new born day
Wrapped in the sun’s vibrant rays
As they flash and glint and play

And when the play is done, day sinks down into setting rays.

Splendid

Photo by John Jennings on Unsplash

Splattering of ink
Spilling words
Splendid thoughts and rhymes

Monarch Revisited

Photo by Alex Guillaume on Unsplash

Inching o’er the milkweed stalk
munching leaves around the clock;
it has no time to stop and talk,
but continues on its hungry walk
feasting throughout the day.
Until at last it can begin,
to spin and spin and spin,
before retreating deep within,
hanging in a grand display.
On the branch, bundled; sleeping
resting from its insect creeping
in renewal steeping
tucked away from gazes peeping;
the chrysalis sways.
And morphs from gentle green to clear
until at last the cracks appear
now it’s time for the premier:
watch the tenant fly away.
Flitting now from flower to flower,
glorying in its newfound power;
as it wiles away the hour
monarch of this fragrant bower
lights upon a purple spray.
Glances o’er its fertile land,
where mint and lilac hand in hand
fan out like jewels in vistas grand
under the sun’s dazzling rays.



I started this poem back in 2019, updated it back in February, and then revisited it again now. I think I'm done at this point, but who knows! Shared with dVerse for OpenLinkNight.

Anticipation

Photo by NordWood Themes on Unsplash

Awaiting with glorious longing most
Natural and human I do not boast
The patience of saints instead
I posses an intolerance for the hours ahead
Counting the minutes twice over
In case I’ve counted wrong, moreover
Pacing around and around
And around again I’ve found
Tricks the time into stretching out
Increasing until I’m compelled to shout
Of the unfairness so I scream and vent
Not until the time is past can I rest content



An acrostic poem.
It's National Poetry Writing Month! Write a poem everyday and have fun!

Curious Deeds

Photo by Micheile Henderson on Unsplash

See here is such a common seed
And yet it’s full of curious deeds
For seeds are magic I’ve heard it said
So bury it there in the flower bed
And though it’s entombed within the earth
We still wait for a blossoming brith



Written for dVerse.


 

A Flight in the Night

Photo by Krzysztof Kowalik on Unsplash

I stood at the window, waiting for sunset. In the fading light, the garden looked wild and mysterious, nothing like the carefully curated scene it presented in the daytime. Finally, the last light vanished and the night garden blossomed. Slowly, first with the star lilies on the pond, little lights flickered to life. Moon violets glowed along the pathways, and the most recent addition, three fire trees at the far edge of the garden.

“They look good,” said the sorceress approvingly. “Like floating lanterns, but safer.”

I grinned. The reddish flowers on the trees were the only night flowers that glowed red instead of white, and they really did look like fire, even though the flowers were merely warm to the touch once they lighted up and couldn’t burn anything. We’d had to get special permission from the fire marshal to put them, for even though the trees weren’t a fire hazard, they could sometimes cause a panic among neighbors.

“I think it’s my favorite part of the garden,” I said.

The sorceress laughed and rolled her eyes, “Iris, every plant is your favorite.”

“True.” We looked back at the garden and I sighed in contentment. Working on the sorceress’s garden was the first time I’d ever used night plants, and it had been intimidating at first, but it had been so worth it. The lights twinkled and danced in the garden and I wanted to look at them all night. We finally had to turn away from the window, but as we did, something grabbed at my magic.
I paused and turned back frowning. Usually plants only tried to communicate with me when I was near them. The sorceress didn’t have any plants inside the house - she said she’d never remember to water them - and the garden plants might try to reach me if there was a fire or something, but otherwise, they didn’t really care what I did when I was inside.

“What is it?” asked the sorceress.

“I don’t know,” I said. Whatever it was, it kept pulling at me. The feeling was faint, but it was there. “Something’s wrong, I need to check it out.”

“By yourself, in the dark?” the sorceress exclaimed. “Can’t it wait until morning?”

“No,” I said heading for the door. “Don’t worry, go ahead and lock up. I’ll just go straight to my car when I’m done.”

With my hand on the door handle, I couldn’t see her roll her eyes, but I could practically feel it. She sighed, “I’d better come with you.”

So we went out into the garden. Even in the dark, I knew every single plant, even without the glow from the moon violets that lit the paths. The violets brushed gently against my magic, but didn’t react otherwise. They weren’t the problem. The feeling was stronger outside, but not by much. It was just really persistent, or I might not have noticed it at all. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and leaned into my magic, stretching it out, trying to locate the source of the pull. I could feel the bursting energy of the moon violets, the murmurs of the sleeping roses, the muted excitement of the golden apples, everything around us resting and not paying attention to two humans. Further out where the apples of youth, and the vegetable patch with carriage pumpkins and donkey cabbages and mattress peas. (We’d almost planted some giant beanstalks, but there’s a city ordinance against it.) None of these plants were calling out to me. I stretched out more, searching.

“It’s the fire trees,” I said at last and we started down the path.

The pull got stronger as we walked. Even before we were within sight of the trees, I broke into a run, the sorceress right behind me. When we reached the trees, we finally saw the problem. In the yellow light of the fiery flowers we saw a boy, maybe ten or so, curled up in the roots of the trees. One of his legs was twisted in a funny angle, and I winced. He’d probably jumped from the wall on a dare. The local kids thought sneaking into a witch’s garden was a rite of passage. We’d been doing our best to discourage it, but hadn’t been very successful. The moment he saw us, he tried to crawl back, but cried out in pain instead.

“Hold still, that leg’s broken,” the sorceress commanded and started digging through her pockets “Where’s that amulet?” She muttered.

“Can you fix it?” I asked in surprise. I had seen her do some impressive magic; most people would consider her the more powerful magician between the two of us. She could do just about any magic she chose to study. My magic only worked with plants.

“I’m no healer. I can ease the pain, but we’ll need to call an ambulance once we get back to the house. Stop moving, you’ll make it worse,” held the amulet out and began chanting. The boy had a wild look in his eyes and I thought he’d tried to bolt again. But he stayed still and suddenly relaxed.

“Thank you,” he said in a small voice.

“Hold onto to that for now,” said the sorceress handing him the amulet. “Now we just have to move him… If I had my flying ointment…”

“There’s witch feathers growing around the bend. I’ll get them.” It didn’t take me long to find the flight granting plants. Their leaves looked blue in the night, and were nearly identical to feathers. Their yellow flowers were closed for the night and they hardly stirred as I harvested a few.

The sorceress had coaxed the boy into talking by the time I returned, though he clammed up again when I appeared. It occurred to me that he probably thought I was as powerful as the sorceress and not just a landscape designer who could talk to plants. The sorceress took the with feathers and started chanting again. The boy yelped in surprise as he rose up into the air, but a moment later I think he was enjoying himself. As we walked back, the fire trees finally stopped tugging at me and the garden was calm.

Stirring Up

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

Pour me a sample

From some forgotten lore

Of something more

Then the blended grimy grays

Of tepid hustling days

Stir in some pinks and yellows

Bobbing marshmallows

And something bright

That sparkles like hope

In a long telescope

Looking beyond here and now

*

There’s a fever in the air

causing such a scare

stirring up fear.

When’s it coming here?

Don’t panic! (Have a stock of food,

but don’t overdo it, dude.)

Whatever shall we do?

Here’s an easy clue:

wash hands same as for the flu.

*

With a stir, with a shout

Monsters scamper out

In a massive swarm

Like a mystic storm

Mocking nature’s laws

With purple spotted claws

And needle pointed teeth

They fly from beneath

Look how tiny, oh how sweet

As they flit o’er the wheat

Written for dVerse.

I tried three times to respond to the prompt, and wasn't completely satisfied with any of them, but I mostly like them, so here they all are. The last one I actually wrote first, and while I like the sound and the feel, it's pretty much nonsense. So I have decided, that these little monsters eat viruses and while mostly harmless, are known to bite obnoxiously rude people. 

 

Golden

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

Searching far for sweet ripe apples
hanging golden from silver branches
fly under the stars and land as
the guards sleep heavy in their saddles.
Pluck the fruit and leave no track
clutch the golden orbs while the sun
rises and the guards gape stunned
at empty trees, but don’t be lax.
Fruit leaves no trail, yet princes chase
golden fruit to golden bird to golden maids.
How then his golden promises shall you evade
when he comes to test the hand of fate?
Leave these dreams of golden apples
seek instead for home grown pears.



Written for dVerse.

There are many fairy tales involving golden apples. They're often in a king's garden and are stolen by a bird(s), sometimes by a princess(es) who can change into a bird(s). A prince (or gardener's son) is tasked with stopping the theft of the apples, and has to quest for the bird and eventually the princess. While there are a few variations where the princess is in need of rescue, mostly she's straight up kidnapped - and then happily marries the prince at the end. This does not sit well with me, particularly when there's rarely a reason given for stealing the apples in the first place. This poem is sorta a conglomeration of all these fairy tales, as a warning to the princess and giving her the option to choose a different path.

Fluff

Photo by Lara Crespo on Unsplash

Tiny scrap of fluff
Enough to fit within my heart
Whimsical and tough
Tiny scrap of fluff
A bit of forgotten art
Curled into a sleepy puff
Tiny scrap of fluff
Enough to fit within my heart



Written for dVerse.

Awaken

Photo by Nynne Schrøder on Unsplash

rest your head against my shoulder

in sleep

and babble every hour

point to the wakening world around you
today my baby
tomorrow 

you’ve grown too soon

Written for dVerse.

 

Bells and Bells

Photo by Jez Timms on Unsplash

Bluebells bob around the tower
And ivy climbs up the stones
Where bells peal every hour
In tremendous booming tones
Echoing across sky and sea
As diving bells vanish beneath the blue
While the wild gulls soar free
Over bells and through the view



Written for dVerse.


 

Let Me Be Crazy

Photo by Adrianna Van Groningen on Unsplash

“You know it’s not going to work,” Mason said, arms folded as he leaned against the doorway.

“I’m going to do it anyways,” Evelynn snapped, lacing up her shoes.

“It’s not even real. You’re crazy.”

“Then let me be crazy,” she pushed past him, onto the street and started running.

The thing was, Mason was probably right. It was just a game they’d played as children with the neighbor kids, before they moved away and grew up. Pretending they’d found a kingdom in the abandoned lot. She hadn’t even thought about it in years. But now that they were emptying out their great-aunt’s house a lot of memories were resurfacing. And her memories of the kingdom (had they ever bothered giving it a name? There must have been a name,) were just too solid to ignore. She remembered buildings - living buildings grown out of trees and bushes that breathed and bent in the wind. And people. The baker who saved hot rolls for them; his wife who only wore red; Adria who’d taught her to herd geese.

They weren’t like memories of playing dress-up, where jeans stuck out from under sparkly princess skirts and all the play food in the toy kitchen was plastic. No, they had been real rolls, so hot they had to toss them back and forth between their fingers; she could almost taste them. The wife’s deep red tunic and leggings had extensive embroidery - a detail she wouldn’t have known to make up as a kid. Real unruly geese, not some random stuffed animal. Mason, of course, said that she just had a really good imagination.

But this morning she’d found the photograph. It was her and Adria in a brown tunic, unlike anything the kids at home wore, with the geese and beyond them the strange living houses. The photograph was real, so the rest of it had to be, right? Mason said it could all be explained. He said the houses were just bushes and she was looking too hard at them. Adria must have been some visiting kid in weird clothes. And there were geese in the area, so they’d just been sitting there with them. But Evelynn knew he was wrong. So she kept running.

At last she reached the place. It wasn’t an abandoned lot anymore. There was a nice house there and if anyone looked out the window and saw her, well, they’d think she was crazy. Because as she looked at the blank air above the sidewalk, it was there. Something she’d never had a name for. Something you didn’t quite see with your eyes. But something she wouldn’t forget again. A shiver in the air. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and leaped. For a moment she was flying.

Then she landed. Not on hard sidewalk. Something soft. Opening her eyes, she saw grass. Sitting up, she saw geese scattering and in the distance, growing homes beckoned.


Written for Verge.
 
I like stories where characters travel to other worlds. But I think the characters get a raw deal when they have great childhood adventures and then are expected to go on and be normal adults without ever going through the portal again. So I'm sending them back.

Spring Thrills

Photo by Abigail Lynn on Unsplash

Prodigious Punxsutawney Phil
Poked his head outside his hill
Displaying his special skill
Searching for his shadow’s spill
He searched and was searching ’til
The answer arrived with quite a trill
Giving everyone a springy thrill
For of winter we’ve all had our fill



Written for dVerse.

Monarch Flight

Photo by Justin DoCanto on Unsplash

On the branch, bundled; sleeping
resting from its insect creeping
in renewal steeping
tucked away from gazes peeping;
the chrysalis sways.
And morphs from gentle green to clear
until at last the cracks appear
now it’s time for the premier:
watch the tenant fly away.
Flitting now from flower to flower,
glorying in its newfound power;
as it wiles away the hour
monarch of this fragrant bower
lights upon a purple spray.
Glances o’er its fertile land,
where mint and lilac hand in hand
fan out like jewels in vistas grand
catching the sun’s dazzling rays.



Originally written for dVerse and expanded for Verge.

Dreamer

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

Like a flock of falling stars
Catching in your eyes
Full of fleeting memories
That never happened anyways
And sparkle just out of sight
Like a flock of falling stars
Reach out and seize one
Raise it up to the light
Catching in their eyes
At the sight of fantasy
Shaping into reality
Full of undoubted memories



Written for dVerse.


 

Dawn and the Tooth Fairy

Photo by Mikel Ibarluzea on Unsplash

This is a continuation of The Mysteries of Flight.
 
The plane ride was uneventful. Dawn spent the entire ride with her face pressed to the window in awe. She made occasional comments about the shape of the clouds and the play of the light, but Liz didn’t hear them. Liz had earphones in, and was glued to the in-flight movie. Flying was so much easier now that planes had movies. They took her mind off her fear of crashing. She still had to take several deep breaths though and remind herself that the plane was not a death trap. Was a family reunion really worth the anxiety? Once they touched down, she could breathe easily again.

“So now we’re on the other side of the world,” said Dawn in amazement as they walked down the ramp.

Liz laughed, “Just the other side of the country. Come on, we need to find our luggage.”

Dawn was blown away when Liz looked at a screen and determined where their luggage was. “That’s… that’s, but how does it know?” she gasped.

“So, you know those tags we put on our luggage at the last airpot…” Liz started while wondering if she even knew the real answer. But she got something out that satisfied Dawn, and then she had to explain how the baggage carousel worked. Liz was relieved when they got out of the airport and her brother Edward and his seven year old picked them up. She didn’t have to explain things anymore. Dawn already understood cars.

“Auntie Liz! I lost a tooth! Look at it!” He waved the little white tooth at her, “The tooth fairy was supposed to come last night, but dad says she was recovering from a broken wing and couldn’t fly. But she’ll come tonight. How much do you think the tooth fairy will give me for it?”

Liz exchanged looks with Edward, “Oh, I don’t know. It’s been a long time since the tooth fairy visited me.” 

They chatted about the tooth fairy during the drive to the cabin. Dawn had retreated into her usual silence. She was rather shy about meeting new people. She didn’t like admitting that she only had six years of memories. Liz thought Dawn was a little too touchy about her lost memories, but let her be. Once she warmed up to the family she’d open up. When they reached the cabin, Davey insisted on dragging Liz’s carry-on up to the room they were sharing. This was difficult, since he wouldn’t let go of this tooth. Edward eventually took over. Once the bags were in the room and the boys were out of earshot, Dawn turned to Liz.

“What’s a tooth fairy?”

Liz looked up from her suitcase in surprise, before realizing this was a very reasonable question. “It’s a kid thing. When you lose a tooth you put it under your pillow and the tooth fairy leaves money or something. My parents gave us a bag of those gold chocolate coins, which I realized later was kinda defeating the point.”

Dawn sat down on the bed deep in thought. Liz started unpacking, waiting for the deluge of questions that was sure to follow.

“Jill says fairies aren’t real. She says I’m not allowed to read anymore fairy tales until I have a firm grasp on reality.”

Liz sighed. Dawn’s social worker had a good thought going there, but there wasn’t much anyone could do about the rest of society. Until Liz had met Dawn, she hadn’t known how many unreal things she causally believed in on a regular basis. Well, this would probably be easier to explain away than the flying snakes. “And she’s right. No fairies. The tooth fairy is just a story made up for children. Like Santa Claus at Christmas.”

Dawn’s face lit up, “Oh! Jill says Santa is the mascot for Christmas. So the tooth fairy is the mascot for teeth?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Liz in relief.

“I think I get it now. Everyone just pretends the tooth fairy is real, because they think lying to kids is cute.”

Liz laughed and shook her head, “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

A sob came from the hall. Both of them turned toward the open door. There stood Davey, still clutching his tooth. He immediately turned and ran.

“Davey, wait!” Liz called out and ran after him.

Dawn followed, still puzzled. Davey’s cries brought Edward running and despite promises from every adult present that the tooth fairy really did exist and would bring him a one dollar bill - “Maybe even three!” - couldn’t console the seven year old. It wasn’t until another aunt herded a bunch of young cousins off for swimming that he calmed down at all. He was still very sad when they left, though. Dawn watched it all awkwardly and didn’t say much. Having just nearly learned about the tooth fairy, she didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

Edward glared at Liz as the kids left, “You have to fix this!”

Liz sighed, “Look Ed, I’m sorry. I should have closed the door. But when you put that dollar under his pillow, he’ll forget all about it.”

“Not after this, he won’t! I forgot two nights in a row already. He’ll never believe in the tooth fairy now.”

“Yeah, and now he’ll tell the rest of the kids too. There’s going to be a lot of unhappy children before the day’s over,” grumbled another uncle, planting himself in a chair.

“Why do they need to believe in the tooth fairy?” asked Dawn. All the adults look at her as if she’d suggested they eat the kids.

“I’ll explain it later,” sighed Liz. She turned to Edward, “You could include a note from the tooth fairy maybe, and add glitter or something to make it magical?”

The grumbling uncle suddenly jumped up, “I’ve got it! I’ve got it! Ed, get your camera! We’ll take a picture of the tooth fairy!”

“How?” asked Dawn, but everyone else was nodding.

“I’ve got pictures of butterflies I could photoshop for the wings,” mused Ed looking happier. “And if I shrink it down enough,   no one will be able to tell the difference. Not a seven year old, anyways. Who’s going to be the tooth fairy?”

“Liz,” said the uncle.

Liz looked at them and then shrugged, “Okay I guess. But I don’t have a skirt.”

“I do,” said Dawn. She still didn’t get why everyone was so upset about this, but she might as well help out.

A few minutes later Liz was in the wooded backyard wearing Dawn’s jean skirt and trying to pose like a fairy. She didn’t look like a fairy. That’s how Liz’s mother fund them when she and her husband pulled up. After explaining why they were  attempting a photo shoot, Liz’s mom shook her head, “That’s not going to work. Look, we passed a formal clothing rental on the way up here, why don’t you go down there and pick out something?”

Liz frowned, “A tooth fairy in an evening gown. That’s not much better.”

“No, no. Like a prom dress. Something puffy and sparkly. Get going, before the store closes.”
“I can’t afford it.”

Her mother smiled, “I can!”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” said Liz as they piled into the car. Dawn shrugged at her and didn’t say anything.

The people at the rental store thought that dressing Liz up like a tooth fairy was an absolute ball. They went through several sparkly dresses, and had a lively debate over which one was most fairy-like. Dawn spoke up once to say she liked the green dress best, but this was dismissed as not very “toothish.” A blue knee length dress with a very puffy skirt and lots of beading was finally chosen. By the time they had a dress, Edward got a text that the kids were on the way home from swimming. So the rental folks let them take pictures out in the back parking lot.

“Your photoshop skills had better be good,” Liz told him as once again she tried to pose like a fairy. It went better this time. They returned the dress after they were done and hurried home, making a stop to pick up dinner.

Dawn didn’t speak again until they were getting ready for bed, and first she made sure the door was closed, “So, every family dresses someone up like a fairy that doesn’t exist to make sure kids… don’t think too much?”

Liz rubbed her eyes, “No. We’re the only family I know that’s done this. The dressing up part that is. The whole tooth fairy thing that everyone does… It’s just for fun. It’s fun for the kids. I loved the tooth fairy coming. Even when I was older and suspected it was just my parents. It just makes childhood happier.”

“Huh,” said Dawn, but didn’t ask anymore questions.

In the morning Davey waved the picture that his dad had “caught” of the tooth fairy and all the young cousins were suitably impressed. Childhood innocence had been preserved. Dawn stayed thoughtful and quiet. When she hadn’t said anything by lunch time, Liz took her aside.

“Is it bothering you that much?” she asked behind a closed door. “It’s not a big deal.”

Dawn gave her a look, “Do you know how hard it is to tell fact from fiction while everyone else is just lying without a second thought?”

“Kids grow out of it! They’ll look back on this and think it was so fun that their parents made photographic evidence for the tooth fairy.”

“I suppose,” said Dawn doubtfully. “So, you’ll actually tell them someday that all the adults were lying about that?”

“Yeah. I mean, they figure it out eventually.”

Dawn mulled this over for a bit and then sighed, “I’m glad I’m not a kid then. I couldn’t handle it.”

The Mysteries of Flight

Photo by David Kovalenko on Unsplash

Liz took a deep breath, trying to banish images of the plane diving to meet the ground. Would crashing in the woods, or the sea be worse? Were they even flying over a significant body of water?

“So, where are they?” asked Dawn as they stood in line at the airport.

Glad of the distraction, Liz turned to her friend. Dawn didn’t always say much, but since this was her first time flying, she was bound to have questions. Lots of questions. Maybe answering them would keep her mind off her own anxiety. “Where’s, who?”

“The winged serpents. They can’t be in this building, there’s not enough space. Do we have to take a car or something to get to them? I don’t think they’d like cars. Are there carriages?”

Liz blinked in confusion. Dawn was a reasonably intelligent person; they’d met in a math class at the community college and had hit it off. Dawn was much better at math than Liz. But sometimes talking with Dawn was a lot like talking to a four-year old. It wasn’t her fault, of course. Losing all your memory as an adult would do that to anyone. “There are no such thing as winged serpents,” said Liz, starting with the easy part.

Dawn frowned, “But what other animal would we be flying on? Brandon says dragons aren’t real. Besides, you wouldn’t be so upset if there weren’t snakes involved.”

Liz suppressed a shudder. Flying snakes would be so much worse than regular ones. She’d faint dead away. “I’m scared of flying and snakes. Two separate fears. There are no flying snakes. We are getting into an airplane. It’s a machine, made by people. They’re made out of metal and, um, fiberglass.”

Dawn was silent for a moment as they inched up in the line. Her forehead was creased in concentration. “Metal doesn’t fly,” she said at last. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“Yes,” said Liz tersely as headlines declaring Passengers Perish in Explosion and Airplane Wings Weren’t Screwed On Tight flashed across her mind. She took several deep breaths. She could feel Dawn watching her face. “I’ve flown before and survived. We’re both going to be fine.”

“I think we should go by winged serpent,” said Dawn. “They’re intelligent. I had a very nice conversation with one last time. Besides, if we fell, they’d catch us.”

“Um. I think that was a dream,” said Liz as gently as possible. Dawn was always trying to remember something, anything, from the days before her memory vanished. It was painful to see her latch onto the wrong thing. “You must have been reading some fantasy book and had a dream about it. Snakes can’t have wings. Only birds have wings.”

Dawn’s face clouded, but then she pounced on the last thing Liz had said, “Butterflies have wings.”

Liz laughed, “Okay, and some insects too. But not snakes. They’re reptiles. Reptiles don’t have wings.”

“What about pterodactyls?”

“Extinct,” said Liz as they moved forward. Dawn pressed her lips together and Liz wondered how many counter-arguments she’d come up with. She smiled fondly at her friend. It was going to be an interesting flight.



Written for Verge.
For more of Dawn's story see Blank Slate and Out of Reach.

The Grand Tour

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Squirrel placed her hand in her new husband’s as he helped her gently down from the carriage. With her skirts rustling around her, she looked up in awe at the country home. Who would have thought that she, former street thief, would be here, a proper lady and married to a rich and charming man? Some would say even that she was marrying down! Well, that was the nobility for you. He was richer than some dukes, but was merely a merchant, and therefore second rate. Captain Delman and Lady Corrine, her adoptive parents, had been insistent that Mr. Price wasn’t worth it. So she had done a very non-proper thing and runaway with him.

“My dear Sofia,” said her smiling husband, “Come, the grand tour awaits!” He swept her off her feet and carried her into the house.

And the tour was grand! He showed her every room, starting with the great hall with its wide trailing staircase, the dinning room with golden candlesticks and he did not forget the kitchen, which was cleaner than she had ever dreamed a kitchen could be. He showed her the drawing room with its crystal chandelier and ornate plasterwork on nearly every inch of the ceiling and walls. The guest rooms dripping in silk canopies and sheets covering mahogany beds. Their own room had been redone after the passing of his last wife (the fourth wife one he’d lost, poor man) with completely new furnishings, including a charming vanity with a mirror in a gilt frame, that he’d commissioned just for her. Squirrel was dazzled. He ushered her up the stairs to the servants’ quarters, which after the opulence she had just witnessed, seemed more bare than any others she had once inhabited (when she was lucky.) The tour ended at the door of the garret at the top of the house.

“And now, my bride, my dear, mistress of the house! You have seen everything, you are queen here. The keys to your domain, my lady!” He made a show of bowing and handing her a ring with a great many keys.

“Thank you, my lord,” she laughed and curtsied as she took them. “But what is behind this door?”

His face darkened, but he smiled, “Aha, that my precious, is the one place that I forbid you to enter. This key here,” and he pointed to a key smaller and older than the others. “Opens the door, but that you must never do, my love. It shall not go well with you if you do.” And he led her away down to dinner.

Well, thought Squirrel, Why give me the key at all? Why shouldn’t I use it?

She did not climb the rickety stairs to the garret that night though, nor the next night. Squirrel waited. She had learned patience on the streets, where one wrong move could have ended her life or sent her to the jailhouse. Instead, she enjoyed the lavish meals, and the fine clothes, and the fairytale she’d somehow found herself in. She went in and out of the many rooms and looked them all over carefully, for they were hers, and this was a novelty she would never get over.

At the end of the first week, Lady Corrine wrote her with entreaties to come home. Squirrel was amused and tucked the letter away. At the end of the second week, Mr. Price went away on a business trip. “I must be away for some six weeks. But do not pine in my absence. Invite your friends, my dear Sofia. Invite your lovely parents. It will ease their minds. Be merry!” Squirrel thought of the room at the top of the house and sat down to write a great many invitations to her house party.

Mr. Price had hardly left the grounds when her guests descended on it. Captain and Lady Delman were first among them, as well as a number of young lords and ladies and their servants. They bustled in every which way they could, and Squirrel greeted them as prettily as Lady Corrine ever had.

“And now,” cried Squirrel, before they had a chance to settle in. “The grand tour!”

Her tour was not as grand as Mr. Price’s. The guests had a glimpse of the great hall, but they they saw not a peep of the drawing room, nor dining room, nor hardly anything of the furnishings, for Squirrel led them straight up to the top of the stairs to the garret and thrust the little old key into the locked door. The door swung open and the key fell out onto a floor of blood. For in that haunted room were the cut up bodies of the four former wives of Mr. Price. There were screams and gagging and the town guard were sent for and Captain Delman himself led a hunt for Mr. Price. Lady Corrine whisked Squirrel back to the city and fussed and scolded, “I told you it was dangerous! I told you not to do it!” she said. “Didn’t I say the lawmen could get to the bottom of it without you getting involved?”

“The most recent Mrs. Price was my friend. I had to do something,” said Squirrel unrepentant. “Besides, what danger was I in when I in with everyone around me when we looked into that room?”

Lady Corrine shuddered and kept her indoors until Captain Delman returned, with the prisoner in tow. Mr. Price was locked up in the Imperial Dungeons of the Realm, and quickly executed.

“Well, now Sofia,” Captain Delman said to her after Mr. Price was deep in his grave. “You married him, his estate is yours. Whatever shall you do with it?”

“Burn it,” said Squirrel.



Prompt: An Escape

For more of Squirrel's adventures read: The Sword Thief.

Blue Beard has many variants, but the one by Perrault is quite nonsensical. The heroine discovers her husband's murder room during a house party, while there are tons of guests. Does she raise the alarm? No. Instead, she must face Blue Beard alone. Perrault then has the audacity to end the tale by claiming the "moral" is that women shouldn't be curious.  This was unacceptable, so I fixed it. The Grimm brothers' version, Fitcher's Bird, is much better.