Dahlia Lydia Fiore, Junior High Graduation
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Grazie e avere una buona note.
Feeling slightly better for having a bit of light to keep with her, she continued down the street, occasionally looking through a window to see the remains of a room. After the third storefront she passed, she wondered at the reason all of the furniture and even drapes, carpets, and accessories had been left behind. Even in the desperate flight from Antar, people were still taking their belongings. They removed their drapes, even ones far less decorative then what Stephenie suspected were here. Why would everyone desert a city and yet leave almost everything behind as if they were simply going across town to visit a friend? She was hesitant to consider an answer. This city had been deserted and abandoned for a long time. Antar castle and city above had been there for as long as memory could recall and the original castle even before then. Had any of those above known about a city deep in the rocks under their feet, there would have been stories.
Stephenie used her stolen crystal to look into a shop that reminded her of a bakery, with a large oven in the back wall and the remains of shelves still partially attached to a side wall. The sparkle of something shiny and shaped like a pendant caught her eye. Looking closer at a mass on the floor, she paused and then stepped quickly away from the window as a shiver of fear rolled down her spine.
She closed her eyes, but the unmistakable image of a human skull laying on the floor would not leave her sight. She shivered again and looked up and down the street. Perhaps they didn’t leave.
Mustering her courage, Stephenie slowly approached the window again. She forced herself to look at the mass on the floor. Wiping away some of the dirt on the window, she could make out the arms and runners of a rocking chair mixed with what was likely clothing and the decayed bones of the person who’s head had rolled several feet away after the chair had collapsed. Bits of hair and desiccated skin clung to the skull, which was fortunately staring away from the window. The person died sitting in a chair and no one came to remove or bury the body?
Stephenie sniffed the air and thought about the strange odor she had been noticing since she had entered the city. It was a musty sweet smell. “Is this a plague city?” She felt her throat tightening with each breath and again quickly retreated from the window. She turned toward the way she had entered the city, ready to run back to the large doors and flee, but the dryness of her throat and the sound of water stopped her. If this is a plague city, then I am as good as dead and I might as well die after I’ve had something to drink.
Slowly, she turned around and continued down the street, no longer bothering to look into the store fronts. The rot and death they held did not interest her anymore.
She passed several side streets, but continued following the slowly turning main street because the sound of water was getting louder in the direction it was heading. After a short time, the street opened into another large plaza at least a hundred feet in diameter. Several streets exited the round plaza, but at the very center, lit with several points of glowing light was a fountain. Its water pushed up from a center mound and cascaded down several stone statues into a series of white marble bowls. The fountain was a dozen feet high and thirty feet across.
Drawn by thirst, Stephenie quickly reached the edge of the fountain and could feel a cool mist splashing over her. Knowing she would die slowly and painfully from whatever disease had killed the residents of this city, she did not care if the water was poison as long as it tasted fresh. Taking a small sip, she tested the flavor and found it cleaner than what she was used to in the castle. Scooping up more water with her hands, she drank deeply before noticing how dirty her hands had become. After quickly rubbing away the dirt, she moved a couple feet away and continued to drink until her stomach felt full.
Relieved of her thirst, she sat down next to the fountain and buried her face in her wet hands. She sobbed with frustration and relief in one confused wail. While she would not die of thirst, how was she going to get out and warn her father and Joshua about her mother’s betrayal? She cradled her cut arm in her lap and leaned back with her eyes closed. I’ve got light and some water, but what good would warning everyone do if I bring a plague to them? She shook her head. Damn it, why do the gods hate me so? Fundamentally, she knew her tie with Elrin, even if a result of her mother’s doing, was her real damnation. She could not bring herself to worship the demon god and she dared not seek out the other gods for fear the priests would sense her connection to Elrin.
Opening her eyes, she stared at her foot prints along the cobbled street. A lone trail to remind her that she had to do whatever it was she was going to do on her own. There was no one to help her.
She sat silently staring into the distance for some time. Then she blinked her eyes, uncertain that she was not imagining it, but after a moment, there was definitely a strange luminescence moving down the street. As it grew closer, she scrambled to her feet, recognizing the dim outlines of a human form. The apparition was moving in her direction. She quickly moved away from the fountain, but as it closed on the fountain, it appeared not to notice Stephenie at all. Instead, it held its, or her, hands as if carrying something. When it reached the fountain, it leaned over as if scooping up water.
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Mother’s Curse is a coming of age story about the youngest Princess of Cothel and her efforts to save her father and brother from her mother’s schemes, while at the same time, coming to terms with what it means to be a witch. Get it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or iTunes.
Daughter’s Justice continues Stephenie’s journey of discovery, where she must overcome national opposition to her being a witch as well as lead her friends and protectors on a mission to stabilize her countries finances. Get it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or iTunes.
Thaddeus Nowak is a writer of fantasy novels who enjoys hiking, photography, and the outdoors. Visit Ted on his website, Twitter, Facebook, or GoodReads.
A Wrinkle in Time (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Well, I’m a little frustrated with my running , or non-running self today. But at least my Saturday was pretty cool, and filled with accomplishment.
My dear friend Kim accompanied me on my promo rounds, yesterday. Like two traveling salesmen ladies we made the rounds with our ice coffees in our cup holders and 70’s and 80’s music on the radio.
First stop, Davisville Free Library in North Kingstown, where I am scheduled to do my first ‘gig’ reading and signing books. I am both looking forward to this and dreading it at the same time. Looking forward because it’s what I’ve wanted to do almost my whole conscious life. Dreading for the same reason. It’s a lovely, bright little town library with pleasant supportive people, so if nothing else I’ll spend a June afternoon with some nice people.
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (soundtrack) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Ain’t nobody gonna steal my joy..
I love that ain’t keeps showing up in my posts. Such a powerful word.
I agree with Seth, and he does such a fantastic job expressing the sentiment in his photos
May we all persevere, and let’s just share our joy so it cannot be stolen.
Gillette Stadium, home of the New England Patriots, Foxboro, Massachusetts, USA (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Here I was thinking that running for 22 minutes straight on a treadmill meant that I was physically fit to run my first 5K. WRONG. Tonight I decided to see how far I could go on the Smithfield High School Track. Each lap is either ¼ of a mile or 1/3 of a mile, meaning I need to run between 9 and 12 times straight.
Well I ran around once. Then I walked around. Then I tried to run around again. By the time I finished I ran around about two times and walked around about two times. So between a mile and a mile and third. I’m sure all my panting alarmed the elderly gentlemen trotting briskly around the outside lane, as I hugged the inside like my guts were going to fall out.
I am running my first race on July 3 in Foxboro, Massachusetts. For you New England Patriot fans the race takes you right into Gillette Stadium. And my darling husband and daughter, who hate to run unless it’s part of a basketball game, agreed to run with me. Actually they signed me up and decided to join me just in case I began to procrastinate or back out, as only I can, concerning exercise.
So I’m in a bit of a pickle now, because I have about 6 weeks to train to do 5K without dropping dead.
I am not a runner at heart. I like to cycle, I like to sit in front of the TV even better. I like to read with a bowl of tasty snacks next to me the best.
But I need to run. It’s the fastest way I can think of to get my exercise done. There I said it. And a body in motion stays in motion. Running is good for my cholesterol, my blood pressure, my weight, my energy level, and my mental attitude.
So it’s time to train, train and train some more. I got this.
When I told the Crow that I was going to run a race she responded as I thought she would. “Make sure you don’t fall. You’ll hurt yourself.” Ah, encouragement at every turn. Of course she does worry. Usually unnecessarily and as often as possible. One time when Julia was sitting on an ottoman laughing and leaning backward my mother warned, “Watch out, you’ll bite your tongue off.” She was serious. Severed tongue through a fit of laughter. Julia uses that line on me whenever she thinks I’m being over-protective. It works pretty well, I must say.
Just now I told my daughter that I too was very athletic as a child. She sat and stared at me, a blank look on her chiseled blond beauty of a face. She had just spent the evening at basketball practice for the AAU team she plays on. She’s already made it clear to her father and me that her goal is college hoops and then the WNBA. She just might pull it off too, who knows? But I want her to know that not all of her athletic prowess comes from her Dad.
“Really Jules. I never got any formal coaching, and I only played on one team for one summer. But I was a really good softball player. I used to bike for miles on a daily basis, and I wasn’t bad at tennis either. You don’t believe me do you?”
“Nope.”
I’ll show her. I hope.
A woman searches for inspiration, in this 1898 painting by William-Adolphe Bouguereau. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Reflecting upon a day when we honor our mothers and all they do for us, I have found that other bloggers today have said it well, better than well actually. Whether your mother is with you or not, it’s all about love, and who we love, and appreciating the power that provides for us, sustains us. I can’t add much more to that message.
I think you all know by now how I feel about my mother, and I think she finally knows too, which is liberating for me. It’s no secret how much I appreciate her, on her good days as well as on her not so good days. She has always given me love when I seem to have both deserved it least and needed it the most. For that I am grateful.
And I have so many other wonderful mothers in my life. My mother in law, a true friend, my sisters, my friends, all the women in my life that give until they can’t and then give a little more. As women we do this, we nourish the souls as well as the bodies of those we love and don’t ever think of payback. Well we don’t often think of payback anyway. It’s just what is. Thank you to all of them. And as a mother I can tell you there is no better job, no better vocation whether it be by birth, by chance, by friendship. Even for those who have 4 legged kids - giving of yourself for the well- being of another is a sacred privilege. I know that when I got that warm sleepy hug this morning from my girl, that’s all the gift I needed.
So now. as A Girl from the Hill is out in print, I must admit to feeling both elated but also a little let down. Elated that it’s finished, that I accomplished this and brought it to completion with lots of help of course. Elated that my mother enjoys it, and that it is a fitting tribute to her. But let down in that I don’t know what’s next. Yes the book is sweet, and can be fun and powerful in some ways. I am proud of this work. But I’m not sure what’s next for me as a writer. I have been looking for inspiration, and coming up empty. I know I’ve mentioned writing about my struggles with food, but there is also part of me that wants to develop characters that go beyond this.
I was fortunate this past Saturday to spend a delightful few hours listening to Ann Hood. Again if you know me you know that she is my writing hero. She was at the Davisville Free Library in North Kingstown, RI. For me it was like going to church. Her words, her creativity, her enthusiasm, her story all inspired me. Just when I was thinking that maybe I can’t do this, maybe it’s not what I’m meant to do, maybe I am just ordinary – her words lifted me and have given me the confidence to trek on. To hear someone with such passion for their work and the process, without pretension, truly lifted my spirits. So while I am not totally immersed in that world today, it’s in my future, I am certain. If you get a chance pick up her new book, The Obituary Writer. I’m just getting started and it’s wonderful. She has given birth to so many wonderful stories, this one included.
So I ready for my next child to come along, and open myself to inspiration.
With Love and Gratitude – P
Warning labels (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I have been saying wow to myself a bit more than usual tonight. Wow for the man who rescued those poor women from a decade of torture, and then refused a reward. Wow to the people out there who are actually criticizing him.
And when I read this post just now Warning: Crazy., about the labels that don’t come with the mentally ill, again, wow. So beautifully written, I just wanted to cry for the author and her brother. We all need to open our eyes a little wider because it mental illness can happen to anyone, to any degree, and none of it is funny for the persons suffering and the people who love them. I’m sure I’ve done my share of ignorant snickering, so I will make every effort to open my eyes and remember to treat people the way I would like to be treated. Some very cool guy said that a few thousand years ago and it’s still the strongest truth I know.
