Tag: Writing

Ramblings: Self-told lies

Ramblings: Self-told lies

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Standing on the outside looking in can make it easy to judge, easy to say ‘why didn’t they do it this way?’ or ‘how could they not see it?’. It is easy to see what should happen, when you are far enough away to see the whole picture, to see the threads that bind and twist. To see the whole of the winding path.

It isn’t so easy when you are in the thick of it, when those threads are bound and twisting about you. When all you see is the path at your feet. It isn’t easy to see the problems, when your heart and mind refuse to acknowledge they could ever possibly exist. We blind ourselves to the truth because the every day lies are far less painful and easier to hold on to. It takes someone strong to reach out beyond those lies, to see the truth and take hold of it.

It is easy to say that they should do it, yet not so easy to actually do.

The lies that we tell ourselves are pervasive, insidious, and we don’t even realize that we are doing it most of the time. Or we justify it. Don’t tell a story because you don’t want people to judge, not realizing that maybe you should stop and think about why and what you don’t want judged. That perhaps avoiding the story that might clang alarm bells in the head of a trusted confidante is a flag in and of itself.

We trick ourselves into believing that where we are is always where we need to be, when sometimes it is just a stepping stone. Or a stoplight turned red. Or even both, one after the other. We don’t want to leave the comfortable, the known, so we tell ourselves that we are happy here. Until there comes a time when that lie becomes too big, when it threatens to overwhelm us and instead it smashes into us and falls apart. We fall apart. Our lives fall apart.

But that’s the thing about people. Our lives can, and will, fall apart. Yet we keep on going. We keep on trying to make sense of it all, to move forward to something brighter, to something bigger than ourselves. It pulls us onward even when we dig our heels in and say ‘Stop!’. At least, for most of us. There are, always and sadly, those who dig in too deep, whose shouts are too loud, to be overcome. Whose self-told lies will never be shattered.

For the rest of us, even our darkest moments can be spun into something bright. A lesson, for yourself and for others, if they will care to listen and not judge. A truth that you can hold to tightly, even when the lies begin to creep in again. An understanding, that you are strong and have made it through darkness to light once and can do so again. And again, if need be.

All this to say: pay attention to the little details in your lives, the small clues that will show you the truth if you let them. Tell the untold story. Don’t dismiss the nagging voice that you so often do, the one that asks ‘are we sure this is right?’. The story might be nothing, the voice might be the lie, but if you don’t tell it, if you don’t listen, how can you know for sure?

Storytime: The Midnight Postman

Storytime: The Midnight Postman

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

The package sat crookedly on his kitchen table, an ever present reminder of a job yet to be done. He checked the clock – not quite midnight – and peered out the window at the skies for what felt like the hundredth time that night. The clouds were still thick, gentle mounds barely visible in the darkness, and he knew that above that white barrier a whole world awaited him. A world that never ceased to bring wonder and amazement, no matter how many times he made the journey. Tonight. Tonight he would make the delivery.

The clock ticked its solemn, steady way to midnight as he sipped slowly on his tea. Earl Grey, with just a touch of honey and cream. His routine was so practiced and precise that as the clock on the mantle began to chime the late hour, he swallowed the last drops of tea.

Standing, he gently placed the delicate tea cup by the sink and stretched, his back cracking in time with the clock. “Time to get going, then.” he said to no one in particular. Slipping the package carefully into his bag – gentle for he knew not what the contents were but should there be a single wrinkle, a single crack, he would never make the journey again – and plucked his bowler hat from the stand, placing it upon his head and running his fingers along the soft rim.

Opening the door, he took one last look around his cozy kitchen, a small smile tugging at his lips before stepping outside and pulling the door closed as the clock chimed its last note for midnight. As he always did.

He looked again at the cloudy sky as he strode across his yard, as quaint and cozy as the kitchen he had left behind. Carefully, for everything he did was with great care, he moved through the gate, a small thing of white wooden slats and a simple latch. Not tall enough to keep anything out, but no one cared to bother him anyway. Or visit.

He shrugged off that thought quickly, for it was a small price to pay for the wonder that was his life.

Walking quickly now, the Midnight Postman – a name he had adopted for himself, though no one else called him that – made his way across a slender road of hard-packed dirt, not bothering to look for oncoming vehicles. There would be none. There never was this far from civilization. Across the road he went, and up the small hill that he considered his own, personal hill for at its greatest height there was a brazier filled with a special sort of wood. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a match – a special sort of match – and lifted one foot to pull it along the sole of his running shoes – a special pair of shoes.

The match flared to life, burning a brilliant blue, and he dropped it into the brazier and waited. To any other, the wait might have seemed intolerable but the Midnight Postman was a patient man. In his line of work, he had to be. Long minutes passed before the brazier flared to life, first a brilliant blue like the match had been, then a soft, vibrant purple, before slowly fading to a soft white with purple and blue flickering at its tips. The smoke pouring from the brazier lifted upward, a steady stream that rose and rose until it touched the clouds above. He watched in silence as it strove to the heavens.

It was time.

Checking that he had a good grip on his bag – it simply wouldn’t do to drop that on the way – he took a deep breath and placed his right foot upon the billowing smoke. No matter how many times he made this journey, that first step always made his heart thud wildly in his chest.

The smoke held, his foot sinking only slightly into its swirling layers and a smile of triumph crossed his face as he lifted his left foot up and began the slow but steady walk up the smoke and into the clouds.

He took care not to look behind at the slowly vanishing world below. He had made that mistake only once, the vertigo it caused nearly breaking the magic of the smoke, and he had learned that lesson well., unlike his predecessor Now when he climbed the winding column of smoke, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the clouds above and his mind on his destination.

As he reached the cloud line he paused, taking in a deep breath of the clear, crisp air that surrounded him before plunging upward, into the cloud. For the briefest of moments, bitterly cold wisps clung to him, pulling at his arms and threatening to steal away his hat, and then he was through. He stood upon the clouds.

The Midnight Postman took another deep breath, filled with the wonder and delight he always felt when he got to this point in his journey. It was the reason he was so fastidious, for having tasted of this magic he would never willingly let it fall from him.

Stretching before him was a landscape that would never be duplicated on the land below. Soft, white clouds became rolling hills and plunging valleys, lit silver by the light of millions of stars and the larger than life crescent moon. Here and there the land below strove to break into the magic the lived above the clouds – tree covered mountain tops, and snow-shrouded peaks. Always, though, the clouds came in and jealously guarded their domain. This was not a place for earthly hubris, and the Midnight Postman was always careful to leave such pride behind. Humbled and contrite, he moved amidst the magic of the heavens, a tiny figure swallowed by the vast, silver beauty.

Rambling: The Fight

Rambling: The Fight

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

So there I was, playing WoW last night, just chilling in those last hours of freedom that we call the weekend, when the sound of a cat fight permeates the air. Initially, I dismiss the noise, likely considering it a sound from the game I played. But in a moment, reality sets in: the fight is in our yard, and our cat is outside. I threw off my blanket and dashed outside, yelling to my husband to turn on the lights as I started to loudly clap my hands. I knew our cat wouldn’t hear it, the deaf angel, but I prayed it would spook the other cat. It was dark. Our cat is black, and so was the other one. A black tornado of fur and claws, darkening the night, was all I could really see, even with the deck light on. (Note to self: Get lights that can light up the yard better).

I was in luck. My approach was heard and the interloper tried to sprint away, with Grim following close behind. He wasn’t about to let another cat in HIS yard go unpunished. This was the ultimate offense.

The strange cat dashed into the dark corner by the shed, scrambling up the fence-a feat that Grim is not spry enough to accomplish anymore-and perching atop it. To rest or to taunt, I did not know nor care. I shouted and clapped my hands again, sending the trespasser over the fence for good. The unknown cat gone, I could tend to my own.

Kneeling down, I cautiously put a hand out, trying to coax Grim out of the pitch black corner he had chased the other cat to. I could hear a rustle in the leaves that blanketed the corner, but my eyes could not penetrate the darkness.

“Is Grim there?” My husband called from the deck, where he stood anxiously in his socks, fly swatter at the ready. So focused on the cats, I hadn’t even really noticed him come outside after my rushed cry for light.

“I think so,” I answered, mostly sure that our cat was huddled in the leaves before me. It hadn’t been him on the fence, after all.

Placing my hand on Grim, I carefully stroked him, letting him know he was OK, and that it was me. I cautiously started to pick him up only to hear a growl emanate from low in his throat. Concerned, worried that I hurt him, I released my grip and pet him once more before he started to slink away, moving into the path where the porch light spilled. Seeing him move with relative ease, I felt assured that any injuries he may have were minor and picked him up again, this time ignoring the low, brief growl in his throat.

“I think that’s enough time outside tonight.” I tell him, cradling the big baby as my husband and I go back inside and place him on the floor, in the light, for a damage inspection.

A small scratch above his eye, but touching his eye. Good.

And one claw, torn completely off. Ouch.

So we cart the poor cat to the bathroom, and I do a quick Google search for what to do (FYI, apparently you should NOT use hydrogen peroxide on a cat. I don’t know why, but this is why you look things up first.) Turns out there isn’t much you can do, other than try to prevent the cat from licking it and otherwise keeping it clean.

It’s gonna be a couple days before he is allowed out again, and I guarantee that will be chafing by the time I return from work today.

Storytime: The Journey

Storytime: The Journey

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Every morning she packed her bag for the trip to work. An extra couple sweaters, her good warm boots and woolen socks, along with a few other warm items. In spite of the clothing she packed, Carrie dressed in shorts and a tank top, sliding sandals onto her feet as she left her front door, backpack slung over her back.

Outside, the day is just beginning. Warm and bright, the sun beams down upon the cobblestone street she traveled. It’s one of the few cobblestone streets left, and to be completely honest, Carrie hated them, especially when the light spring rains fell. Then the uneven stones were slick and she had to leave an ten minutes early just to make the sonic train on time.

Turning off her street, she joined the throng that made its way toward the train, all carrying packs filled with warmer clothing while they walked along in tank tops and t-shirts, shorts and short skirts. Despite the crowd, none of them touched anyone else. A relic of the old days, the days of the pandemic, and a habit that many still cannot break. When someone inadvertently stepped too close to Carrie, she shuddered involuntarily and scooted slightly away, watching her other side carefully to make sure she didn’t encroach on those beside her.

Finally, her feet touched the first step up to the train platform and she trudged up them, shifting the pack on her back to a more comfortable position. Sweat beaded on her forehead as the sun continued to rise and cast its rays down upon the residential city.

With the invention of the sonic trains, trains that could cross miles in the blink of an eye, the make up of the world had shifted. No longer did anyone want to live in the cold regions, where snow blanketed the ground as much as grass did. So residential cities had been established in the balmy, warm regions and work cities in the colder areas where snow dominated. It made for a very strange commute. Inside the sonic trains, instead of rows of seating, there were a multitude of individual rooms, pod rooms, only large enough for a single person and their bag.

Carrie made her way to the first available pod room and dropped her bag on the short bench. Right now, the air was a comfortable temperature, not as hot as outside, but warm enough that she didn’t feel a chill in her shorts and tank top. That would change soon enough. She kicked off her sandals and leaned against the wall to wait. After ten minutes, boarding was done and the train lurched into motion, moving slow until it cleared the outskirts of the residential city. Another 5 minutes passed with the train ramping up speed until Carrie’s ears popped.

As soon as that happened, she opened her bag and began to dig out the clothing she had brought. Pulling on thermal leggings before a pair of heavy pants, she then tucked her pant legs carefully into thick socks and pulled on her warm boots, stamping her feet to settle them.

The air was getting colder. Goosebumps appeared on Carrie’s arms as she pulled her long-sleeve shirt and sweater from her bag, tugging them both on and rubbing her arms briskly. Fully dressed with a warm hat over her ears, Carrie shoved her other clothes and sandals into her bag and pulled it shut.

The train would continue to cool as they moved, until it was only slightly warmer than the work city they would be stepping out into. It hadn’t always been this way, but over the years the designers had learned that this way helped curb sickness and ensured everyone was dressed appropriately before the train arrived at its destination.

When it finally rolled to a stop, Carrie stepped out with all the other workers and made her way down the snow-covered street to the office building she worked. Inside, it would be just warm enough that exposed skin was safe, your fingers wouldn’t freeze. Inside, all her coworkers would be dreaming of home, if only it wasn’t so cold as to cut all dreams short before they began.

Adjusting her bag once more, Carrie walked into the building, nodding a greeting to the bundled security guard, and making for the stairs. Her workspace was on the 5th floor, but to take the elevator for anything lower than the 10th was considered bad practice and earned you a black mark on your permanent record. It made things too crowded, and management hadn’t liked crowds for years.

Rambling – Update Time

Rambling – Update Time

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I’ve been silent, but with good reason. I have been focusing my creative energy and time toward working on Wings of Shattered Shards, Book 2. Alas, it still lacks a proper name. What it doesn’t lack, however, is a fully handwritten, completed draft 1!

Yes, that’s right. I got to write “the end” for Book 2. Not the end of the series, of course, there is much more that Amy and her friends must do, but the end of this portion of their saga, at any rate. It is quite exciting, there is nothing quite like it. Except, perhaps, putting “the end” at the end of the final draft!

What does this mean, moving forward? What sort of timeframe are we looking at? Well, I know many of you are probably eager for Book 2. I don’t blame you – I’m eager to find out what all happens in it, too. I’m tentatively hoping that I will be able to complete all the edits and polishing for a publication date next year. Will this absolutely happen? I don’t know. I could have more difficulty than I anticipate, or I could breeze through it like nothing.

Draft 2 is well on its way. I have somewhere around half of it typed up, a good 55k words. I’ve reached a scene that needed a complete rewrite, which I typically do handwritten, so I’ve stalled a little there as I write out the scene again. If I’m diligent, this draft may be finished in a couple of months. I do have some potential upheaval occurring in my life in the near future, however, so that may affect this hope.

I’m really excited about Book 2. There are some exciting things happening in it, some tragic moments, and a few tender ones mixed in. The quest to save the shards continues, and Amy experiences some serious growth within.

Well, I just wanted to provide a bit of an update as to where things were. I will probably continue to focus on Book 2, but I’m going to try and make an effort to start being more active in writing on here.

I hope everyone has a wonderful day, take care, and I hope to see you reading my books one day!

Rambling: The State of Things

Rambling: The State of Things

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Its been hard to find that creativity lately. Difficult enough to find the words for my story, even more so to write a blog post that doesn’t perpetuate the doom and gloom that is our world lately. The last blog post I tried to write was just before all this started to effect my country and, therefore, my life. It was a post speculating on the comfort of finally having “enough” and not worrying about spending money on more frivolous things. Can’t say that feels altogether appropriate say this point in time.

There are still silver linings, despite the state of the world today. You might need to look a little harder, but they are there. Personally, I find myself hoping that this pandemic will upset the current order of the world, so that when we return to a normal it is a different flavor of normal them we’ve had before now. Something better, more sustainable. Maybe I’m just dreaming, but it is a pleasant enough dream.

Amidst all the dark, there is still light. There are those working tirelessly to help others, even just by making face masks for those who work in the health sector. They are doing this without asking for anything back, because it is the right thing to do. The good thing. There is a lot to be proud of, right now. And, of course, there are all our health workers, the nurses, the doctors and their support staff, putting their health and lives on the line to help those in their community.

But there never seems to be good without bad. Two sides of the same coin. Ever intertwined. I know you’ve seen it, the videos and pictures of protests, people sick and tired of the social isolation. Tired of not working. They gather together and protest, perhaps not even fully realizing how dangerous their actions are right now. Maybe just not caring. I can’t pretend to know their thoughts in this time.

But I don’t want to focus on those people. They are the loud ones. The we are going to hear about the most. The small stories of kindness go overlooked amongst the noise. So I urge you to take a moment, seek out the stories of those who are doing what they are able to help those that they can. Along with our health professionals, these people are the heroes. Giving what they can when there is not a lot to give.

As ride the bus into work, I can see numerous windows filled with hearts and messages of love and support. Outside the hospital there is even more. The other day, as I sat dejected on the bus, the automated voice spoke up. “We’re all in this together,” it droned. I nearly cried. I needed to hear that, even if it was just from a robotic voice.

So, I want to take this time to say it to you. We are in this together. We will get through this, because humans are wondrous creatures. We adapt. We change. And we carry on. We will make it through.

Rambling: When the Characters Decide

Rambling: When the Characters Decide

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

There are many ways to write a story. Some writers plan every little detail before they really start writing the meat of the story. Other writers get an idea and just run with it. And, of course, there is everywhere in between.

I’m a pantser. It means I don’t write an outline, though I do have an idea where the story needs to go. When I’ve tried to start with an outline in the past, I tend to just start writing the story. I’m too eager to dive into the world I’ve created, I think. Despite not planning all the details out, I still feel I have a good handle on where my story is going.

And then the characters make their thoughts heard. This usually means that, as I get deep into writing a scene, my characters do something completely unexpected though still in tune with who they are. It can be as simple as one using a nickname well before I thought they would be familiar enough with another character to do so. But it just feels right.

It can also end up being something as game changing as an unplanned death or a major rift in a relationship. Those sorts of things can completely change the intended direction of the story, but they are often something good, something the story needed that you only subconsciously recognised.

That is how I like to write my stories. Knowing the direction, but constantly guessing and surprised at the smaller details that reveal themselves to me.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

If you enjoy my writing, the best way to support me is to purchase a copy of my debut novel, Fledglings First Flight. You can pick up a copy via the links below. It is also available free to read on Kindle Unlimited.Please let me know what you think!

FFF Cover Second Design test

(Kindle Version / Paperback Version)
CA: https://amzn.to/2PmPSmn / https://amzn.to/2MOtosK
US: https://amzn.to/31JTwcw / https://amzn.to/2JskmQ9
UK: https://amzn.to/2pUrTAk / https://amzn.to/2MRHx8w

Storytime: A Web of Eyes

Storytime: A Web of Eyes

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

My breath was already ragged as I tore my way through the underbrush, collecting scrapes and cuts from the branches that I pushed past. No time to stop, just keep running I told myself silently, not wasting the breath to say it aloud. I was not going to give up, they would never catch me if I had anything to say about it.

I burst through a thick bush and had to windmill my arms to stop from falling off the cliff that opened up before my feet. Glancing over my shoulder, I could hear my pursuers crashing through the trees, gaining ground each second I delayed. I looked down the cliff at the river that raged below. I had no idea how deep it was, nor what dangers might lurk in its depth or down its length.

The sound of the pursuers became ever closer.

Taking two steps back, my shins up against the underbrush, I took a deep breath and ran, not letting myself have the luxury of delay or second thoughts. They could not catch me, it was all over if they did.

The jump was high enough that I managed to get all my limbs in order and dove into the water with what was truly a spectacular swan dive. Were I not so desperate, I may have stopped to congratulate myself on my perfect form. Instead, I broke the surface, sucked in a desperate breath and began to swim with the current, rushing along faster than I could ever manage unaided. Risking a glance upwards, I saw two figures huddled on the cliff I had leapt from, pointing down towards me.

I was free for the moment, but did not believe that I had truly escaped them. They were determined, single-minded, and it would take more than a rushing river to win my freedom.

Before that, however, I had to conquer this river.

Despite my best efforts to keep my head above the water, the rushing waters continually pulled me under and tumbled me around. Without the current, I wouldn’t have been able to tell which way to go, I ended up so turned around.

My arms began to weaken, my head dipping below the surface more often than not. As I inhaled another breath more filled with water than air, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was how it was going to end. Drowned in the river, my body being borne out to a lake or sea somewhere, lost.

Very well, I thought, closing my eyes and feeling a strange contentment fall over me. I felt myself drift downwards and didn’t try to stop, didn’t strive for the surface, not this time. My head began to spin from lack of oxygen and I would have swam for the surface, then, had I known which way to swim. Instead, I let go to the inevitable and ended up with the strangest sensation. Instead of continuing to sink, there was suddenly pressure at my back, pushing me towards what I could only presume was the surface and life-giving air.

I broke the surface, filling my lungs and feeling sensation and consciousness rush back, my plight springing back into sharp focus. What had happened? Groggy still, it took me a moment to realize I was moving faster than the current, and there was still the mysterious pressure on my back. Turning slightly, not an easy task, I discovered that I was sprawled across the back of a dolphin.

Feeling my movement, the dolphin unceremoniously dumped me back into the river proper and swam circles around me for a moment before nudging me again to keep my head above the surface.

“Never thought I’d be saved by a dolphin…” I muttered, swinging my arm over the dolphins proffered back and allowing it to carry me down the river again, feeling a little more in control. “Thanks.” I wasn’t sure if the dolphin could hear me above the roaring river, or even understand me if it could, but I still felt compelled to express my gratitude.

Riding the dolphin, I traveled much faster than I could have ever hoped and I allowed myself the brief dream that perhaps, just perhaps, I had outrun my pursuers enough that they would not find me again.

Eventually, the cliff surrounding the river diminished and I discovered that the river emptied into a lake, and that the dolphin was not fond of the still waters within. Leaving me on the shore where the river spilled into the ocean, the dolphin swam back over the fast-moving waters, seemingly untroubled by the effort it had to put in to make progress. I stood there on the bank until I could no longer see my dolphin friend, and raised my hand in a final, unseen farewell before turning to trudge along the shoreline.

First order of business, I thought, I need to figure out where I am. And get to where there are people, where I might be a bit safer.

It felt like an eternity, walking along the lake, though it was more like part of the afternoon, or maybe morning? I wasn’t quite certain what time of day it was and I couldn’t see the sun, hidden as it was behind clouds, to find out, though my rumbling stomach insisted that it was time to eat. I gathered a few berries along the shore, but did not dare stop for longer to try my hand at fishing. Those that hunted me had proven resourceful and fast in the past, I had no reason to believe it would be any different this time. No, I had to keep moving, get as much distance between myself and them as I possibly could. It was the only hope I had. Well, that and the rumours I had heard earlier in my journey of a place of safety, where they would not, could not, go. “South” they had said, but none could give better directions than that, and so my journey had taken me roughly southward. Was I too far west? East? Where did I go from here?

The wind brought shouts to my sensitive ears and I cursed. Was it them again, already? Or just another set? They were all so interchangeable, I couldn’t be sure; dark leather, masked faces, a tattoo of a spider’s web with an eight-legged eye in the centre on all their forearms.

Either way, I couldn’t linger any longer on the bank of the lake.

Choosing a direction almost at random – southerly, and away from the shouts – I dove into the forest and made my way along as quickly as I dared to move, stripping bushes of their berries on my way. The forest slowly darkened around me and the cloud-shrouded sun dipped below the horizon. Soon, I was unable to see the forest floor in front of me and began to trip on every upraised root, catching my clothing on nearly every grasping bush I passed. I could no longer go on, and so with the last of the light I found myself a little hollow in a lightening-struck tree, just big enough to wriggle into. Once I pulled a large, leafy branch from a bush and set it across the cracked trunk, it felt like a cozy, safe little nest. Exhausted, I fell asleep quickly, lulled by the sounds of night around me.

I woke early, anxious to be going and cramped from my tiny hideaway. With more than one groan, I pushed my way out of the tree and stood, stretching out my aching muscles and looking around to remind myself what way I had been going the night before. Thankfully, I could vaguely make out my path from the night before, crushed leaves and snags of fabric. I hoped I hadn’t left so obvious a trail throughout, but there was nothing to be done about it now. I couldn’t take the time to backtrack and obscure my trail.

As I walked through the forest, careful now to leave as minimal a trail as possible, the world around me slowly brightened and I thought I could hear the sound of cheerful voices ahead of me, muffled by the trees. I didn’t feel the now familiar anxiety at the sounds of these voices, leaving me to hope that I had finally found what I was looking for – a sanctuary.

Changing direction slightly, I headed toward the voices and possible sanctuary.

The sight that awaited me through the trees was entirely unanticipated.

A mall. I had heard about them, these relics of a time now gone. I thought they were all long since abandoned, but before me was a bustling shopping centre filled with people for whom the world had not ended.

Did they know what was out there and just didn’t care, or were they so engrossed in their curious routine that they were oblivious to reality? Honestly, it didn’t matter. There may be safety in their numbers, I reasoned, so I joined them.

I entered the mall cautiously, unsure what to expect from this structure that hasn’t yet realized it was obsolete. I did not expect buzzing, bright lights, nor the tidy little rooms filled with all manner of items that I could not begin to understand. There was an entire room dedicated to paper bound together in what I could only assume must be books, based on the brightly lit sign that read “Carlson’s Books”. Who Carlson was and why they was displaying their books in that little room, I did not know.

What is this place? I asked myself as I turned slowly to take in all the strange sights. The mall was packed with people, all of them intent in their business, caring various bags as they rushed from room to room. Unable to contain my curiosity, I grabbed the arm of one woman as she passed.

Ignoring the glare I received, I asked “What is this place? Why are all of you here? Don’t you know what it is like outside?”

She didn’t answer, pulled her arm away with another glare before bustling off into the crowd.

Feeling out of place, I made my way to one of the glass contraptions that appeared to be taking people up to other floors of this crazy building, thinking that perhaps a different perspective would help me understand this place so of out time with the rest of the world. The doors slid shut behind me and I turned to watch our assent. My eyes fell on three figures pushing their way roughly through the crowd, looking just as out of place as I did amongst these people living in the past and my heart sank.

This would not be my sanctuary.

I tried to shrink back into the small crowd in the glass cage with me but I stuck out like a sore thumb. One of my pursuers pointed at the contraption I rode and they redoubled their efforts to push through the oblivious crowd. One reached to a quiver on his back, pulling out an arrow that sported a small pouch tied to its tip.

An explosive arrow. Looking around frantically I realized I was trapped with no way out. That didn’t stop me, however. Scrambling through the others in the tiny space, I used the metal bar that ran along the inside of my glass cage to climb up and try to push one of the panels in the ceiling free. I had just managed to shove aside the panel when the contraption was rocked with an explosion, swinging wildly as one of the thick cables snapped. I pulled myself out hastily and leapt free without looking.

My grasping hands found purchase on a beam and I swung up, straddling my savior as I took brief stock of my situation. The class cage had crashed to the ground below, sending broken shards into the crowd. I could see more than one body lying prone, bleeding. Not my problem, I reminded myself, turning my attention higher up to search for an escape route. Just above me, I could see a series of beams and cables that I was fairly certain I could use to get away from my pursuers. At least temporarily.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself up so I stood on the beam and tried to walk its length carefully until I reached one of the cross beams. Wobbling slightly, I climbed up to the new beam and sat astride it as I plotted my next move. I had no desire to be captured or to become a smear on the highly polished floor, so I knew I had to plan each step carefully.

It was time to be an acrobat.

With another deep breath to try and calm my nerves, I leapt from my beam, arms outstretched as I flew through the air, intent on a cable a couple of feet from me. For a moment, I thought I was going to miss, that my story would end here, but instead my fingers closed around the cold metal and I swung far with the momentum of my jump. I was slightly disappointed that nobody except my pursuers saw my death defying leap. My pursuers were too biased and simply could not appreciate my display of skill and athletic prowess.

No matter. I wasn’t here to impress them.

Hand over hand, I pulled myself along the cable, my legs swinging freely, until I reached another of the beams to pull myself up on. Looking back, I could see that my pursuers were struggling to push their way through a crowd that refused to be parted, engrossed as they were in the aftermath of that falling contraption. I had somehow gain gained a little ground, but I needed to actually get down on the ground. I couldn’t stay up in the rafters forever.

Ahead of me, the beams disappears into a dark corner, and I thought I could make out an abbreviated storage space. That would have a way back down, I reasoned, continuing along the beam toward that corner. Thankfully, I didn’t need to perform any further impressive feats to reach my way down, the beam was wide, sturdy, and reached all the way into the corner.

Once I reached the end, it was a simple matter to pull myself up on the storage platform, though I had to pause once did so to allow my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting in this hidden little corner. Once I could actually see, I quickly spotted a set of sturdy stairs that seemed to lead back to the ground floor and made my way to them.

Once I was down the stairs, I was easily able to push my way out of the mall, as most of the crowd was still gathered around the fallen contraption. I risked a glance over my shoulder before I pushed open the big double doors to leave and saw that my pursuers were through the worst of the crowd and picking up speed. Without wasting another moment, I dated out of the building and ran as fast as I could down the empty, rubble strewn street. At the front of the mall, the area was pristine, kept in good repair by those strange people who still frequented the mall. Here, out the back, it was the world I was used to: the relics of the old world being slowly engulfed by the rampant plant life that marked the new world.

I was glad to escape the mall that time had not touched. The energy in there had felt wrong.

But here I was truly in my element. I had grown up on overgrown streets like those I now raced along, and I knew I could easily evade my pursuers in this concrete jungle. I kept my eyes open, scanning the buildings and alleys to either side until I spotted what I was looking for. I changed direction slightly, ran up the broken remains of a car and leapt from its roof to grab onto a window ledge. Pulling myself up through the open portal, I tumbled into the building proper and say for a moment, my back against the wall as I tried to catch my breath. Once my moment of rest was up, I took a long swallow from my canteen and crawled away from the window, careful not to allow myself to be exposed. I didn’t think I had been seen, and I wasn’t about to risk it through carelessness.

I made my way slowly through the old building, testing the floor before I put my weight fully on it. It wouldn’t do to escape them just to bring everyone running as I crashed through the floor. I found another exit, one that led into an overgrown alley. I could barely see the sky with all the plant growth around me. Good, I thought, they won’t be able to get up high and find me, now.

I pushed through the plants, seeing to make my way out of the alert when a bright color on the brick wall, almost competition obscured by clinging vines, caught my eye. Unable to contain my curiosity, I pushed aside the vines to reveal words written in bold, bright orange paint. It was a small poem, written years ago, but my breath caught as I read its words. It was about me.

Fear not, young runner
The web of eyes does not stretch forever
Seek out the warmth, like birds of old
Sanctuary awaits, if you can be bold
The sound of the ocean in your ears
Will let you know you can shed your fears

My mouth dropped. I was stunned. This writing, bright though it was, had clearly been written long before I was chased. Possibly before I had even been born. The sanctuary was south, of that I was now certain. And the sound of the ocean? The only way I could reach the ocean from here was by going west. My path was now clear. I would head west until I reached the ocean, them I would follow the shoreline until I found this sanctuary where the eyes of the web could not reach.

I was going to be OK.

Ramblings: New Year

Ramblings: New Year

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Well, here we all are. Somehow in 2020. Some of us despite all odds, some of us with our heads held high. All that matters is you made it, however you got here.

Good for you!

This year is going to bring a lot of change for me. Well, the change has already started, but it will be the culmination of change. It’s frightening, change always is to me and many others, but it will be good. It is going to mean that my life will stop being a matter of living paycheck to paycheck, of falling deeper into debt. No, I am now digging out of that hole and don’t plan on ending up in it ever again. Granted, life may have other plans, but so do I!

Last year brought a lot of change, as well. I finally published my book, as well as a short story! I’ve heard a lot of good things about my book, from people that I trust not to sugarcoat their words for my feelings. It feels good to know that I have brought joy, and continue to bring joy, to people through my words. It is a dream, after all.

I am continuing to work on book two of Wings of Shattered Shards, though it still remains without a title. One will come to me, I am certain. I’m hoping to come up with another title that sports alliteration, as that just makes me happy. We will have to see, however, as I don’t plan on forcing the title just to satisfy my silliness.

I’ve also been thinking on my Seventh Majir short stories and where I want to take them. I think they may end up a bit more involved than I had initially intended to have them be, with each story being able to stand alone but the whole taking the Majir towards his destiny, one incident at a time. I had already inadvertently set it up that this could happen, so I guess I was already subconsciously crafting this. The big question is does Majir get one more short before he learns he has a destiny, or do we jump right in? I’m tempted to say one more short before he learns of his destiny. After all, what is the fun of just jumping straight into the meat, gotta enjoy the side dishes too.

Among other smaller things, there is another large change looming before me right now. A new job, more pay. Just have to wait a little bit more before I hear back from the security check, which I am confident will come back clean, and then it is notice time!

Exciting. Terrifying.

But what part of life isn’t, if it is worthwhile?

Poetry: Adamantine Finger

Poetry: Adamantine Finger

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

An oldie, the companion to Crystal Eye. Had to make a few small changes in this one, but I think I’m satisfied.

Testing one.
Testing two.
Testing three.
All systems online.
All applications loaded.

My head turns mechanically
To stare at my creator,
Tracing my aluminum shell
With an adamantine finger.
Finding each tiny flaw
And marking it with a red ‘X’.
My frozen expression tries to wince
But it cannot move

Two small taps on my hard chest.
I can feel a ticking inside my breast.
  Tick
     Tock
   Tick
My internal clock
Ticking the seconds away
Until my expiry date.
When I will no longer be the best
Replaced by a newer self

A tap on each beady eye,
And I can see an array of colors.
Blue, red, green, purple, and beyond
Two more taps, one for each ear,
And I can hear an eternal laughing,
Because all I am is gray.
Never to enjoy the rainbow,
That for a moment brought joy
But now holds only pain.

Tap, tap.
Each arm can move now.
Firmly in one hand,
I can now see a knife.
Faulty programming asserts itself,
I bring it across my opposing limb
And draw forth motor oil.

Staring in shock at my fluids leaking,
I fail to notice two more taps.
It is with surprise, then,
That I notice my legs will walk.
I take two steps forward,
My creator takes two steps back.

I stare in sorrow,
Wondering why.
Trying to understand
Why he will tap me with his finger
But not touch me any other way.
My eyes leak my washer fluid,
As I try vainly to touch
What does not wish to be touched.

He fades away into the darkness,
Fading even from my mind.
Until all I am is a silly machine,
Leaking oil and washer fluid,
Clinging to vague memories
Of a time of love,
A time that never was.

 

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