Keep Moving

After a while she just sort of melted into the floor.

No, must…keep…going…

She was tired and wanted it to be over, but there was still work to be done.

Sometimes people are broken. Sometimes they don’t want to go on. Sometimes they just want to lay down and let whatever they were running from catch them.

But…

Sometimes it’s not just themselves they’re running for. Sometimes they have to keep going even if it means a continuance of the cycle of pain and suffering and wanting it to just end once and for all!

She pulled herself back up, planting her feet underneath her on the ground and used the momentum from swinging her body up and into a standing position to propel herself forwards.

One foot…then the other…must…keep…going…

Blood Family

“What is the point of this?” he asked, his voice low and even. “Why did you come here?”

She looked down, but did not answer, not yet.

In her arms was a small child, pale all over save for his eyes which were a crimson as dark as her freshly spilt blood. The child looked back up at his mother, quiet and assessing, recording her image into his mind as if he knew even at his young age that this would be last he’d ever see of her.

Finally, she spoke, her voice as soft as the wind on a clear night.

“I need a place, a place for my son, where he will be safe and can learn and grow.”

The man in front of her was silent as he thought over her words, understanding what she was asking.

She did not know his name, did not even know the name of the place they were in nor the name of her child. It was safer this way, safer for the child as well as the one she was leaving him with. Names were power in more ways than most humans were aware.

She would give anything, pay any price for the safety of her child and the man knew it. A part of her was worried, worried about what the man would ask for, but another part of her, a small part that had long since grown silent in her own home, knew that her son would be safe no matter what here.

The ritual she had performed to send her here for this short amount of time had made certain of it.

“Very well,” the man said, “I will take the boy and raise him as my own. I will never speak of you to him, never hint that he is anything but my own. You will not exist within his life if I am able to help it at all.”

She nodded to his terms. He understood and for that she would be forever grateful. Another of her family would be safe.

She hugged the child to her chest once more before handing him over to the man in front of her.

She disappeared without a trace, the blood that had been placed on the boy vanishing just as silently.


Written for this week’s Weekly Prompt from suzie81speaks: http://suzie81speaks.com/2014/04/27/weekly-word-challenge-family/

 

Sights and Sounds Bleed Through

The world was incredibly confusing. Every time she looked around the world was turning this way and that. Colors swirled this way and that, different patterns running as fast as a train at full speed, but also as slow turning as thickening caramel.

“Miss Hailey, are you all right?” someone asked.

She didn’t answer, she wasn’t certain that they were even talking to her. Their voice was unfamiliar to her. Well, every voice around her was unfamiliar. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing at this point. If she didn’t know the voice, there was a good chance that it wouldn’t end up with her head in a burlap sack.

The vertigo worsened and she saw the world tilt even more until she felt the cool and uneven texture of whatever was on the floor against her cheek. She pinched her eyes closed and felt hands brush themselves against her face and hair, carefully checking her temperature. They felt as cool and wonderful as the ground against her overheated body as it lay sprawled across the floor.

Several bodies huddled around her for a moment before they were ordered to move away. She closed her eyes once again, nauseated enough to not try and open them again.

The voices continued to speak around her and she tried to shut them out. They made the colors worse, like psychedelic pearls floating away from people’s mouths. how they managed to do this even when her eyes were closed was a mystery, but the pounding in her temples in response was certainly real, not fictional in the least.

She wasn’t certain what had happened next, because the colors and sounds proved to be too much for her. The darkness was a blessing in more ways than one for her at this point.


Written for this week’s FreeWriteFriday: http://kellieelmore.com/2014/01/31/fwf-free-write-friday-word-bank-9/

Also, this type of situation has actually  happened to me. I call it Dr. Seuss Vertigo and it is not pretty. The times it continues before black-out and/or sleep are horrible and not time-able by the person feeling it.

I Will Find You

If he had any kind of psychic power then he would have been able to tell that she was planning something that might actually work. As it was, he’d known that she wanted freedom. Anyone with the ability to want anything would know that she did.

(No one likes being held prisoner, not even someone who is in a gilded cage. His wife was held in a cage as far from gilded as you could get. She had no comforts, nothing and no one to really make any of this seem less than it was: enslavement as a living resource for whatever he wanted at the moment.)

He had worked very hard at making sure she would be unable to find the resources needed to escape. It was part of the reason that she didn’t often get to see anyone other than him. He didn’t want her to find sympathy amongst the servants and have someone to help her. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that most people, people who actually cared about the suffering of people they didn’t know, exist and that they would probably try to help her if they knew. He was very careful about what others knew and didn’t know about his wife and her situation. He had gotten where he was because he had known where and how to gather and disseminate information.

The point of the matter was, he hadn’t been aware that his wife, his darling and oh so dear wife had been able to escape. And in such a matter that he was finding it difficult to track her. Whatever she had done to send children away (and it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to figure out that was happening when he’d just thought that her boy had been trying to do a false pregnancy. Human women had this happen to them all the time) she had been able to use to escape for herself. He had been able to get a read on some of the children, but not a location, just that they did exist and were alive somewhere.

“I will find you, I will find you and as many of those pathetic little rats that you’ve hidden from me, my darling wife.” he snarled to himself as he paced the library like a caged animal, books open and strewn about him.

“You cannot run from me forever.”

Just because he could not predict the future did not mean that the power he’d gained was useless in hunting down what belonged to him. He would never stop looking.


Written for today’s Daily Prompt: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/21/daily-prompt-future-3/

Bittersweet Heroes

In the end, she couldn’t have completely saved her children by herself.

The places that she sent them to, the people that were there were the real heroes for her children. There wasn’t always someone there to give her child to, but more often than not there was. Some of them spoke a language that she knew, but most didn’t. It didn’t seem necessary most of the time.

She would push her child forward, sometimes scooting the small bundle of pink across the floor carefully, so very carefully, and then look up into their eyes. Sometimes it was a man, sometimes it was a woman, different ages and races and sizes and all kinds of other things. most would look into her eyes long and hard and then down at the snuffling and mewling child either in her arms or on the floor.

Their eyes would invariably pause on her wrists and ankles, taking in the manacles there, fastened with no lock. The skin around them was scarred and inflamed and it was obvious that she would lose her hands in any bid to release her. The look in her eyes told them that even then, she would likely never be free. All she was asking for was the freedom of the child she was holding out towards them.

They were heroes because they took the child even though it was likely that whomever held the mother would search for the child as well. They did not know that he would be searching for too many children and would likely find not even half of them. They would be safe insofar as the people who took them in would see to.

These people that she did not know, would never know, would be responsible for her child, for her children, for each part of her soul that she was able to send away. They would be parents and she would likely never be mentioned to the child that was now their’s. That was fine for her; the less her children knew about where they had come from, the less danger they would be in. The magic that she’d used to send them away worked better when there were fewer who knew the details.

Ignorance was rarely a protection for anyone, it certainly hadn’t been for her. The irony that she would use what the sire of her children had used against her in order to stop him from harming her children (and they were hers, never would they be his no matter what their genetics would say) made this sweet enough to drown out the bitter.

“Thank you.” she would always whisper, even to those who would never understand her words.

She would lean down over the child, some would awaken in order to see her one last time (or a first time) and she would mumble a few words in her own language. The language of the Phoenix.


Written for this week’s DungeonPrompts.

http://theseekersdungeon.com/2014/01/16/dungeon-prompts-season-2-week-3-role-models-and-the-molding-of-personality/

A Perfect Chance

There wasn’t much to start this new life, but she did have something. She had a small amount of money in her new name and a place to live where she didn’t have to worry about rent. She even had a fake life set up with a background that explained some of what she had been through, but mostly, she just had a chance.

She glanced back at the corner of the little apartment that was now home and smiled at her little daughter, already asleep.

It had been a long day after a string of long days. She hadn’t found a babysitter for the weekends or even after school hours were over. The Daycare that her job provided only lasted during high school hours and maybe for a little bit after. It never lasted quite long enough for her to finish all of her work in the library, but it was enough for now.

Kelly was an energetic child, but she could also sit quietly and look through different picture books or draw. She had been very obedient since their move to this new place, but Hailey was slightly unsure just how long this would last. She needed to find a babysitter to watch Kelly soon or she’d never be able to find time for her own schooling.

While Hailey had the transcripts for her skills that would have been learned in a regular high school environment, she did not have much further education than that. She wanted more for her daughter, but she would never get there if she did not have the means to do so; getting a better job required a better education with required time she did not have. She loved her daughter, loved her more than she had ever thought possible for a child that she was actually going to get a chance to raise.

She had heard in whispers from some of the servants in her past life talk about the joys of children, children that you got to keep an raise and put some bit of your soul into. She had never dared dream that she would ever have a chance at such a life where that was possible and now that she did…

It was wonderful, every breathtaking, terrifying minute of it.


Written for today’s Daily Post prompt. There was going to be more, but I can’t seem to get another bit out for this scene and I’ve learned in the past that trying to write when the scene is done always ends badly (and very choppy).

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/15/daily-prompt-perfect/

Super Mommy

Kelly loved her mommy. She just knew that she had the best mommy in the world. Mommy made sure that Kelly had a home and toys and books and time with friends and at the park. Mommy took her shopping and let Kelly be in charge of picking out the best apples and pears and potatoes and onions. Mommy only double-checked every now and then to make sure that Kelly knew what she was doing.

She taught Kelly about herbs and plants as well as how to read and the different letters of the books she read with Kelly. She even made sure that Kelly had her own little field journal to record things in. She didn’t care if those things were made up by Kelly or things that she actually saw in real life, just so long as she was enjoying her work.

Kelly’s mommy didn’t have anyone for her, though, and after learning about such things from one of the other kids at school Kelly had decided that her mommy needed someone just for her. (Though she didn’t think that her mommy would mind sharing her Special Someone with Kelly for games and story times. Mommy said that sharing something that was important to you, even if only for a little bit, was just as important as sharing your treats.)

Kelly had never had anyone besides her mommy and she had never felt the need to ask why she didn’t have a daddy. She didn’t have to. Kelly was a smart girl, everyone said so, but she didn’t think that you had to be smart to see how her mommy shied away from most men and some women. She was fine with younger people, but not really anyone that would be equal enough with mommy in order to her her Special Someone.

This would take work, but Kelly wasn’t afraid of a little work, or even a lot of work. Mommy was worth it.


Written for today’s Daily Prompt: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/10/daily-prompt-hero/

The Price Is Right?

Was this the price of his power, his ability to become more than just some backwater nobody living for nothing more than that moment?

As a child he had wanted simple things, but before he’d hit the double digits his father had passed and his mother had slowly gotten sicker and sicker. He’d had no siblings to help care for their small farm and the neighbor’s weren’t really interested unless they got to keep more than they really needed. They weren’t interested in being neighborly towards his family, small though it was, so he wasn’t really interested in giving them any of his father’s and his grandfather’s hard-won land. They’d taken this from the forest and he’d give it back to the forest before he’d let them get their greedy, selfish hands on it.

His mother hadn’t lasted the year, and he just knew that it hadn’t been a completely natural death. The remnants of different types of strange things that he had found around an on her spoke of something else, something…more…than natural.

He hadn’t known what they were and he hadn’t wanted anyone else to know either. He’d kept some of the things in a field journal that his father had given him and took notes and sketches of them before burning them and his mother’s body. He’d sold what he could to start his new life and then traveled.

He hadn’t sold any of the land though, just let the neighbors know that he’d be back for it, and kept all the proper papers with his field journal as well as filing a copy of them with the magistrate in their area.

That was all decades ago by now. Most of those people were gone, dead or moved away or not even the people that they had been before. He certainly was different. None of his peers from his childhood would ever recognize him now and not just because most of them were gone as well.

He wasn’t the same poor farm boy, a nobody who only held land because his grandfather had come with a sizable family, only to lose them because of sickness and accident and injury.

“My Lord,” his majordomo bowed to him and took his cloak, “I hope that all went well on your latest journey?”

“It did, Marcus, it certainly did. Anything new come about while I was away?”

“No, my lord, your lady wife is still ill, just as before, I am sorry to say.”

“Mayhap what I found whilst out will aid her in her recovery.”

“One can only hope, my lord.”

He moved away from the man behind him and he was alone once he’d reached his wife’s chambers. No one but he was allowed in these rooms without his express and written permission and even then only for a certain amount of time. Once he was in her chambers, he moved towards the door that led to her tower, taking a key out from around his neck and opening the door that led up and up and up the stairs. They seemed higher than they actually were and well they should. He had no need to brush a hand against the runes carved into the walls here and there.

Once at the top he found his wife, sickly looking, but with a smallish bulge at her hips. Her eyes were closed and her breathing labored. This wasn’t unusual and he pulled a small hip flask from his belt and sat at the edge of her pallet. With one hand he lifted her otherwise waif-like body and when her mouth fell open with the aid of a thumb he slowly but surely fed her the liquid from the flask. He was careful to rub his fingers down her throat in order to make sure she swallowed the liquid instead of drowning in it.

She would need several more doses of from the ever-refilling flask at least twice more before he retired for the evening. He had to make sure that the child survived the pregnancy.

Combining species that had never successfully procreated together before was a tricky business.

But, he thought to himself as he laid her back gently on her little cot, it is certainly worth the rewards.

He left the small tower room, his wife never once awakening during his short visit.

In order for his wealth and life and riches to continue, he needed viable offspring with which to continue his work. He could only go so far with unsuccessful and dead fetuses.


Written for this week’s Dungeon Prompt and this wasn’t how it was meant to end, but when a story’s done with it’s little scene, then it is done.

http://theseekersdungeon.com/2014/01/09/dungeon-prompts-season-2-week-2-the-price-of-civilization/

No First Day Jitters

She smoothed down her hair and settled the skirt that Kelly was wearing. Kelly giggled and swung their joined hands once they’d left the house.

“Kelly, my love, you seem more excited than me.” her voice was warm as her daughter skipped alongside her, hand still firmly in her mother’s.

“Course I am, Mama! It’s the first day of school!”

She nodded to any others in the halls once they’d entered the building that wasn’t far from their small home. She had chosen a house close enough to walk to her new job at. The Junior High that she had been hired at had a day school for children not yet old enough to attend the community’s kindergarten. That as well as the small military fort just outside of the seemingly small town’s borders helped her to feel safe even if the odds of said people being able to protect her and her child weren’t good.

She listened to Kelly’s chattering through the school’s halls on the way to the rooms that the day school was held in. The day classes were a small part of the school’s child development program, but from what she had been able to discern from the few people she had already met (and if she was being honest, the few waves of intent she had sent out) she knew that her Kelly would be safe.

After dropping Kelly off with her new teacher, and boy had Kelly made a lovely impression with her exuberance! She turned her path back towards the main entrance hall of the school. There she found the library and let herself in with the small key she had been given at the end of the hiring process.

There were already a few teens waiting for her to open up the small library and they were more than willing to chat with the new librarian for a few minutes while she finished opening the doors.

“I’m glad you were able to come in so early on your first day!” more than one of them took the time to tell her after introducing themselves, “The last librarian was always opening the library maybe ten minutes before the first bell rang, Ms. Smith!”

She smiled, “You don’t have to be so formal all the time,” she would tell a few of them, “I’m not just Ms. Smith, call me Hailey.”

She’d always felt more comfortable around children, no matter what age they were, than she had with adults. They didn’t feel threatening, even if they had threatened her, which none of these teens had done.

One boy smirked playfully, “Whatever you say, Ms. Hailey.”


Written for this week’s FreeWriteFriday prompt.

http://kellieelmore.com/2014/01/03/fwf-free-write-friday-time-place-2/

Walking With Reason

One by one her children, those that she was able to save, were sent far far away from where she was. She would never be able to watch them grow, never see what they would make of themselves. But it was enough to know that they would be alive in order to do those things in the first place.

She did not speak to all of them, only a small number would ever hear her voice even if they did not remember it. Some would, though her exhausted whispers would only feature as strange mutterings in their dreams in a language that they would never be able to understand. Others would hear the words distinctly, but still be unable to understand what the words were saying. Some would try to remember and transcribe the few words down and then spend a lifetime trying to translate them. An even smaller amount would find anything that would come close to the correct words.

Many would never even think about it, they would just shrug their shoulder and move on with their lives. If they even acknowledged it in the first place.

Not all of her children were even aware that they were not the biological offspring of the people who raised them. This was true also for those who raised them. Some of the parents were aware that their children came from someone else, but others believed they were their naturally born children. They had given birth to them after all.

It was a tricky balance that she had to keep in order to save the children she was able to. She always at least thought the same words whenever they were sent away.

“My children, you are more than enough to make me keep trying for freedom.”


Written for the first prompt of Season 2 in the Dungeon Prompts.

If you’re going through hell, keep going.  –Winston Churchill

http://theseekersdungeon.com/2014/01/02/dungeon-prompts-season-2-week-1-motivation/#comment-5815