Freckle Face

It was a gorgeous summer day at the pool. He had curly blonde hair, a decent body, and was a year old than me. He lived in my grandfather’s condominium complex, and swam like a competitor.

We played Marco Polo that day, challenged each other in holding our breaths underwater, and in who could swim the farthest. I remember emerging as the champion, and the feel of his chlorine slicked body embracing mine before our parents made us take a break.

My grandfather, of course, thought it was the funniest thing and made sure to get the boy’s phone number before I left. I must have turned fifty shades of red because he laughed as he handed it to me. I smiled all the way home, and then my mom refused to let me call him because it was after 8:00 pm when we finally got home.

Our champion swim marathon turned into champion telephone marathons. I wore a path on the dining room carpet pacing as I talked to him, bound by the cord of the telephone. My mom hovered nearby, finding something else in the kitchen that needed cleaning, staying conveniently within hearing range. I would spin, twist, and wind the cord around myself, my mouth never ceasing movement.

After a week of conversation, I begged and I pleaded to have my now-boyfriend over to visit. His mom had agreed to bring him down, so it was up to me to get my parents to approve. My mom finally caved and agreed to let him come.

I was awake with the sun that morning, an unusual feat for me. I liked my sleep but this day was an exception. I was having a real live boy over! Oh how time moved so slow that morning! Up and down I went, continuing even after my mom told me to sit still. I just couldn’t!

Finally, the doorbell rings. He’s here! I opened the door, and there he stood. His curls hugged his head tighter than I remembered, endless freckles I hadn’t noticed before decorated his face. He smiled crookedly, the gaps from growing teeth drawing my attention. His arms spread wide in greeting, embracing me, before he waved his mom away.

“Hi,” he said, his hot and foul breath hitting me like a pile of dirt released from the back of a dump truck.

I took him to the living room and went in search of my mom.  She took one look at my wide-eyed, horrified expression and laughed.

“Boys sure look different when you have your glasses on, don’t they?” she said.

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The editors at Write on Edge gave us 450 words to tell a story about a face to face meeting that didn’t go exactly as planned. This story comes from my real life archives. I was 11 that summer and well…I hope you enjoyed this little memoir.

I welcome and appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts in a comment.

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In Time: The Rebirth

Last time with Viola: Changes

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As Father Lee spoke his last word, a low growl erupted from the stretcher.  Viola stood up in spasms, her body’s reaction to the new blood flowing through her. She reached for Henrietta. Henrietta stepped just beyond Viola’s arm span as the chains on Viola’s wrist restrained her. Viola jerked backwards violently, only to feel Father Lee wrap his arms around her. He snarled as she tore at the exposed flesh of his hand with her nails. Blood seeped from the wound. Viola caught its scent and, with a great heave of strength unaccustomed to her, she pounced, sucking hungrily, rendering him powerless.

The first taste of blood on her tongue sent her mind spiraling. Images flashed through her mind, hurrying from one face to the next, one scene to another- Cage, Orvella, Henrietta, faces of men she didn’t know. Cage again, on bended knee. Loneliness engulfed her as the scream reached her ears. She paused, confused. Henrietta slipped in, attaching a small swatch of black velvet to her wrist, and loosening Father Lee from Viola’s grasp.

“You should not mess with what you do not know,” Henrietta said, daring to look deeply into Father Lee’s eyes. “I should never have allowed this. This betrayal of my people will be my demise. Leave me and never return.”

Father Lee trembled as she released him. Sounds of wailing came from the walls, adding speed to his retreat. A small wisp of smoke devoured him from sight.  Viola whimpered as her rage deserted her and Henrietta moved to her side. She placed a hand on each side of Viola’s face and looked into her eyes.

“Oh child, please forgive me. Your blood should be pure, from only the purest of vampyric souls, not laced with the evil that is Desmond Lee. My lords will punish me, and soon, so to you I leave this…” she paused long enough to show Viola the bracelet on her wrist, “…never remove this bracelet or you will unleash the beast that now lives within you.”

Horror filled Viola’s eyes. Her bottom lip trembled yet no tears fell. Henrietta sighed and gathered Viola in her arms. She felt the familiar tremors of hunger that afflicted all reborns. She hugged Viola tighter then released her.

“Your thirst will be great. Your new nature has made you a predator, but your soul will prevent you from the hunt. There are woods not far from here, to the east. Hide there. You will be protected and free to quench your thirst. When the fire inside you dies, it will be safe to return. I wish you well, child. Listen to your soul. Let no one sway you from what you know is true.”

Henrietta stepped backwards, not willing to turn her back on Viola, and disappeared.

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Today’s piece was inspired by many places around the internet-Velvet Verbosity’s 100 Word Challenge, Lance’s 100 Word Song– and through some of the reading of my favorite authors. I hope you enjoyed.

As always I welcome your thoughts. Please leave your feedback in a comment.

Thanks for stopping in.

In Time: Changes

Last time with Viola Grace (chronologically)

Henrietta looked at the near empty bag, the last of Orvella’s blood, hanging over Viola Grace’s head. She would be glad when it was over. She missed Orvella fiercely but knew that if Orvella were here, she would disapprove of what Henrietta’s next step was. She wanted to delay the finish, but knew that was impossible. It was pure luck that she was able to secure Orvella’s blood for the transfusion. Father Lee was almost on Orvella’s heels. She’d had just enough time to fill the bag and begin its journey through Viola Grace’s veins when Father Lee showed up, alone this time.

“You have no power here, Desmond,” Henrietta whispered, venom laced in her voice.

“I have more power than you know, Henrietta.” She rose to face him and he put his hands in the air, as if surrendering. “I’m not here to harm, I promise. I’m here to give you the orders. This is what you must do and how you will do it…”

His voice echoed through her mind. She still didn’t understand how he controlled her, just knew that he did. Against her will, the transformation would complete as ordered, and when it finished, she knew she’d never allow him to use her again.

A breath caught in her chest as the last drop swam through the small tube. Her eyes followed it as it traveled down, around, under, and finally in through the IV stuck in Viola Grace’s elbow.

A deep voice sounded from the darkness, startling Henrietta. “The time has arrived. She is awakening. We must prepare to quench her thirst.”

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The Hungry Fairy

“I will turn you into a beansprout,” said the fairy to the mischievous firefly.

“You wouldn’t! Whom else will you chase hour after hour at the ending of the day? Who else would light your way?” the firefly said.

“It doesn’t matter, firefly. I will turn you into a beansprout,” said the fairy again, this time with a giggle at the end.

“You wouldn’t! Whom else would you hold in the palm of your hand until the tickle of their feet make you laugh? Who else will forgive when a wave of your wand zaps them?” the firefly said.

“My dear firefly, I am hungry. Who else would I call on to fill my hunger?”

“You wouldn’t!” the firefly shrieked.

“I will turn you into a beansprout,” the fairy said with a wave of her wand.

A beansprout landed gently in the palm of her hand. She held it eye level and said, “Oh, my dear firefly, but I would.”

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This week celebrates the 33rd challenge of those mind behind Trifecta. We were given 3 challenges. I answered the first one: “Write a 33-333 word response to the following quote: “What I tell you three times is true.” by Lewis Carroll. You do not have to use the actual quote in your response, but you may if you wish.”

I welcome concrit. Please feel free to share your thoughts in a comment.

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The Immortal

“You cannot have the books.” The words were a mere whisper spoken from ancient lips. The shriveled skin of his hands danced through the air. The books began gliding back his way.

“I will have those books. You can’t stop me!” His mirror image retorted. It was his younger self, hands smooth and creamy, the lightning swift to leave his fingers.

Zap. Zing. Phwipt.

“You cannot have the books!”

“I can, and I will!”

“No. It will destroy your destiny!”

“You just want to hold me back!”

“You do not understand what you are doing!”

Clunk. The red book hit the ground midway between them.

“How will I ever understand if you won’t teach me?”

Thud. The black book landed on top of the red one.

“You cannot be taught.”

“I can. You just refuse to try.”

“You cannot. You already know everything I am teaching you.”

Thwap. The black book rose from the ground.

“You always say that, but you never explain what you mean. The answers are in those books! I know it!”

Zert. The red book sailed through the air as if it had wings. It hovered dangerously close to the younger. Crackle, flash. It moved away, not quite far enough for the elder’s satisfaction. The younger was strong, too strong.

“You cannot have those books.”

“Ha. I have one already. You can’t stop me.”

“Do not force me to use torment on you.”

“You won’t. To hurt me would be to hurt you.”

“I would, I have, and I will.”

Fire streaked across the green. Nothing burned but the younger. He crumpled to the grass heavily, sending wisps of dandelion seed floating through the air. He arched his back and set himself against a tree trunk. He pulled the red book closer to him, his fingers searching as fast as his eyes could read.

“You do not want to live forever. This world is not worth it.” The elder breathed in spurts, feeling the pain of the burn on the younger. It weakened him greatly. He turned his energy to his mind, bending and wielding to share with the younger the memory of pain he had not experienced yet; the remembrance of stolen love; the cost of all the lost lives that had gone before him.

The younger’s chest swelled as tears spilled over, moistened the ground. This pain was worse than the burn he felt, though the healing spell he’d summoned was working. The black book settled beside him, its voyage through the air complete.

“Now that you know, do you still want the books?” The elder said between the gasps of pain filtering from his ancient lips.

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I was cleaning out my documents yesterday and found this little gem that I wrote for a 500 word contest on Figment.com. The picture was the inspiration. Enjoy!

I welcome and appreciate your feedback. Please feel free to leave your thoughts in a ccomment. There’s always room for improvement.

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