Not Wanted

The funeral had been hard to sit through. Her sons were angry and sad and didn’t know just how much he was missed.

Mary sighed as her eldest slammed the door behind him.

This isn’t what I meant.

Written for this week’s Trifextra challenge:

A little interlude somewhere in the Former Guardian story after her estranged husband dies.

Safety in Death?

The ritual had worked, Comet was far from here and safe. Safe for the first time since long before the War had started. Their enemies would never find Star’s sister, not without Star or the Queen actively helping them and even then it was a long shot.

“Star, she is safe.”

Star nodded and bowed her head as her queen smiled tiredly at her before leaving the room.

She did not respond to anyone else as they spoke quietly both to her and around her before they, too, left for a well-deserved rest. The ritual they had used to both heal her sister and to send her away (because in order to heal her, they’d had to block her connections to those still here, and the only way to do that had been to send her away) had been a success.

Soon, Star was the only one left in the room. She didn’t bother looking around the room, just walked slowly towards the center where a cot had been placed. The cot was still warm from when her sister had been under the blankets and Star knelt by the cot and placed her hands in the blankets. She clutched them to her face and bowed her head. Silent tears began to soak into the fabric as her slender shoulders shook with the weight of her sobs.

She couldn’t feel her sister in her mind, in her very soul, anymore.

It was like she was dead in the worst possible way.

After all, even when their Queen had been dead, before she’d been brought back by the power of the Lunar Healing Crystal, they had still felt her presence within their hearts.

There wasn’t even that to indicate that Comet had ever existed. No torn threads, no aching apology for leaving them behind. Just…nothing…

Written for this week’s Dungeon Prompt:

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

White Out

“Father, forgive me.” she whispered even as she brought the weapon in her hands down over his head.

The old man slumped over in his chair, the book that had been in his hands hit the floor with a dull thump. his head tilted against the side of the wing-back armchair he had been sitting in before the fire that continued to crackle on in front of him.

The old man had been kind to her in a way that not many had ever been. He wasn’t her father, but he had been someone’s. Even now she could see the pictures hanging on the walls with faces smiling at her from still frames.

He had never talked about the children he and his wife had before her death, but she could tell that he had loved them. She didn’t know why he was alone during this time of year, but he had taken her in off the streets and given her a place to stay during the blizzard that continued to blow even now. She glanced out the window at the wash of white that reflected the light of the fire. It was bright out tonight, as bright as it had been when she’d first slumped on the porch, no knowing that it even was a porch. He’d found her when he’d gone out to fetch more wood for the fire, but she was unconscious by then.

For all his kindness, there had been an evil in him that he hadn’t been aware of. An evil that she could feel and she mourned having to do this, but knew that he would break free of whatever it was that was holding in the evil before the snow had finished settling and the blizzard had passed.

She didn’t like thinking about how she knew this, just accepted the fact that she knew it and needed to take steps in order to stop it, no matter how distasteful those steps were.

She would burn the body once the blizzard stopped, but until then he would be placed in the woodshed where his frozen body would not decay.

With trembling fingers she closed his sightless eyes.

“I’m sorry, Father.” she whispered once again.

Written for this week’s Trifecta challenge and no I have no idea where this story came from. It demanded to be written as vaguely as possible and wouldn’t leave me be.

Snowstorm Peace

Gently flowing down,

Fluffy and soft and moving from slow to fast.

Tree limbs are lined,

But instead of skeletal looking,

They are blurred along the edges softly.

But underneath the gentle facade

Icy sheets await.

Death has never looked so quiet and peaceful.

Ginger Snap

Mary spent the morning working in the house for once. Both of her boys were out and about, but would return home for dinner. (Well, she hoped that her eldest would return home for dinner, but at least he always called.) She was usually at work during the day, but had taken a rare day off in order to sort through the household laundry.

She had been putting it off and while it was running through the wash and then the dryer she decided to take a moment and do something she hadn’t really done since she and her husband had split. She made ginger snap cookies, from scratch. She’d never been very good at cooking from a box and the freezer food always made her eldest sigh.

He remembered what life had been like before Warren and she had split. She had made something homemade at least once a week and always enough for more than one meal. Some weeks she’d even taken the time to bake some bread or cookies instead of buying them at the store. This had started happening less and less near the end of their marriage and had disappeared after she’d been forced to go out and land a nine to five job that often led her to be too tired at the end of the day to do more than shove something from the freezer into the oven or microwave.

She missed Warren, now more than ever that another Christmas was coming without him. This would be the first Christmas since he had died, though and that made it all the harder. She may not have been with him or seen him more than every few weeks for their sons in the last year of his life, but he had still been there, a call away if necessary. They had remained somewhat friends after the papers had gone through and she knew that it was out of fear for their children that nothing more had happened.

Warren had found something at work, something that suggested criminal behavior. He didn’t have enough to go to the police or anyone really and had been too worried about the potential backlash against his family. This had led to many fights as he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the slim evidence he had found, but he didn’t want to endanger them by keeping them close. If you want to shut a man up what do you do? you go for what he cares about the most.

He had at least had the sense of mind to talk (or fight) this over with her due to her particular situation with her own family. She had no one but him and she relied upon him and their children and the links that she had with them in order to keep her sanity.

(Her family had always been different and they required a lot more than just the energy feeding that others like them usually needed. Mary and her sister had required a mental presence or link in order to keep them grounded and safe.)

She breathed in the scent of the ginger snaps as she pulled them out of the oven and one of her hands reached out to fiddle with the ring that she still wore.

Warren and she had planned everything out, their fights and their faked anger. (Well, alright, some of the anger hadn’t been faked, but what person likes their marriage to end for any reason, even one that they understood.) Their sons hadn’t been brought in on it, because it wasn’t supposed to last this long. He would have been able to gather the rest of the evidence he needed now that he had an excuse for staying later and later at work. He was supposed to take the evidence to the police the weekend that he had died.

She knew that it hadn’t been an accident or because of the gangs of teens that the police had said had attacked his house, but she had no evidence in order to back any other claims.

Mary set the cookies down on the table once she was done and sat in front of them, just staring.

If not for her sons, then it was very likely that the sacrifices her sister had made for her to have any kind of life outside of their duties would have been for nothing and she would have gone completely mad and taken as many with her into her destruction as possible.

Guardians that had lost their anchor could be as destructive as an atomic bomb.

Three Years

Three years,

A lot can happen in three years:

I’ve seen two more children born to one sister.

I’ve seen one wedding being put together in three months.

I’ve been to two funerals and had to send condolences to another.

I’ve been to four graduations and sent congrats to another.

I’ve found my footing when I’d been homebound for almost five years.

I’ve found peace where previously all I knew was anger.

I’ve seen a family fall apart and then come back together.

I’ve seen strangers turn away the sick and then others welcome the homeless.

People have died,

People have lived.

Lives have been lost,

Lives have been found.

The news has been all over the place:

Storms and hurricanes and cyclones and landslides.

Countries have burned in the fires of revolution;

They have also burned from nature’s wrath, her lightning.

Three years ago, I didn’t know what to do with my life.

I had my family and my friends,

But I didn’t know who I was.

I’m still searching,

But I know which direction to take.

A lot can happen in three years,

And it’s not such a high price to pay.

Written in honor of my third anniversary on

Somehow, this makes sense to me

Peace, according to A Student’s Dictionary, means 1)a period of harmony among nations when there is no war and 2) a calm ordered condition. It is believed that peace is a derivative of the Latin word pax meaning “freedom from civil disorder.” It is also used as a farewell in many countries of the world especially in death (rest in peace).

There are many definitions or beliefs about peace and what it means to the world as a whole as well as to an individual. I was going to write more about it in that context, but the more I sit and listen to the sounds in my own home, the more I realize that peace isn’t something that can really be studied. The idea of peace and the history behind its use throughout the world can be studied. It has been in the past, it is being done in the present and I have little doubt that it will continue to be done far into the future. Mankind is curious and we want to know things; I seriously doubt that will change on its own.

But I also believe that there are some things that can’t really be studied and can’t really be measured. That doesn’t mean I don’t believe that they exist, just that humankind just isn’t able to measure them.

It puts me in mind of Terry Pratchett’s The Hogfather. During the course of the book (though I’m more familiar with the movie adaption) they are trying to find out why a ‘mythical’ creature has gone missing and new ones are being created. What the plot in the movie or book isn’t what I’m thinking about, though. What I’m thinking about is a conversation between Death and Susan near the end of the movie/book:


“So we can believe the big ones?”


“They’re not the same at all!”


“Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what’s the point—”


I believe that peace is something that you have to find for yourself and create around you in order for it to be real. In the end, only you can really know if what you have found is peace for you. you can offer to share it with another, but even then, it is your peace and not their’s that is being spoken about. While they might be able to find rest in your peace for a time, until they are able to find and keep some of their own peace inside, it will ultimately leave them once they have left you.

Peace isn’t an absence of something, not for me. It is being filled with the knowledge that I’m not alone here on Earth. I have Someone with me at all times that loves me even when I screw up so badly, no one else will even look at me. It is knowing that there are others like me who feel the same way or at least close enough to know what I’m talking about.

It is being in a home with my family all around me, maybe some of them aren’t in the same room or even doing the same thing together, but they are there. They are my family and I love them and I know that they love me. We may not always like one another, but liking someone and loving them isn’t the same thing. I’d go into that, but we’re not talking about that at the moment, we’re talking about peace. Still, I needed to mention it because in my mind peace and love are intrinsically linked. You cannot have one without having the other.

I know peace and I know chaos. I know that you cannot have one without having experienced the other at some point in time. How would you recognize it if you hadn’t been able to experience its counterpart? A lot like knowing the difference between sunlight and moonlight.

On a lighter note, peace is also that feeling you have when a fussy baby FINALLY lays down for their nap. That nap doesn’t have to be overly long, just long enough for you to breath.

This was written for this week’s Dungeon prompt: