Two brothers get swept into the Coral Sea by a wave to end all waves, but they have their surfboards and ride them out. Then, a giant, golden fruit bobs up on the horizon, carrying a motley crew of survivors and promising the strangest of rides.
~~~
Carter passed the binoculars to his brother as the two leaned against the railing at the top of the giant pineapple. The fiberglass fruit hadn’t originally been a houseboat, but it made a damn good one after being swept into the sea by the tsunami that devastated eastern Queensland. Before that, it served for decades as a popular photo-op entrance to a zoo.
“Still no sign of life in any direction.”
The dire report came with Flynn’s unflagging optimism, making Carter marvel and shake his head before responding.
“Miro thinks we’re mostly drifting in circles but says there’s a possibility we’re inching towards New Caledonia. What do you think?”
Flynn lowered the glasses. “If anyone has a clue, it’s Miro. He can read the sky. Going in circles isn’t good.”
“I know. Rations are thinning… like, to nothing, but us starving is not what worries me.”
Flynn chuckled, nudging his brother. “You still haven’t made friends with Bunji and Dainen?”
“It’s not a matter of making friends. What do you think the tigers will do when they get hungrier? Even to me, you look like a juicy steak.” Flynn laughed harder, lifting Carter’s spirits as always.
Nothing could shake his brother’s sense of adventure. It’s what kept them alive long enough to come across this absurd sanctuary.
The brothers were camping on Rainbow Beach when disaster struck across what turned out to be an unbelievable swath through Oceana. They survived the monster wave, the one everyone talked about but didn’t believe would come, only because they were excellent surfers.
They saw the huge swell on the horizon before it grew so massive, it blocked out the sun, and they grabbed their boards and prayed. Thanks to Flynn having snatched up his bugout bag with a flare gun and firing a shot, they managed to find each other again, though it took them half a day to reunite and lash their boards together. That had been a crazy, happy time.
After that miracle, they drifted for days as if they were the only two beings on the planet. On the night before their next miracle, the starry heavens had lulled Carter into philosophical dreams, and he’d given himself up to the big sleep when his brother’s hopeful voice penetrated his resignation.
“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”
With an effort, Carter lifted his head towards the horizon and spotted through hazy eyes something that gave him a needed jolt. “Is that a pineapple?”
“It’s a BLOOMIN pineapple! And there are people on it, waving like mad. We’re saved, Carter, by a giant symbol of hospitality.”
The next surge rolled them close enough to paddle alongside the marvelous fruit, where helpful hands pulled them onto the lacquered rind. There, they lay on their backs and smiled into friendly faces, blocking out the morning rays.
When two massive furry heads nudged their way into the greeting, the brothers kept smiling. Why wouldn’t there be tigers on a floating pineapple?
Miro popped out of the makeshift hatch, returning Carter to the present when he demonstrated his uncanny hearing.
“Oi! You knocking my babies, mates?”
Bridie popped up next to him, her freckled face splitting into a grin. “I thought you blokes knew better.”
Thunderous growls followed. The cats’ offering their own indignant comments.
Carter grinned at the zookeeper who’d raised the orphaned beasts and the teenage girl who was the first to hitch a ride with him on this giant fruit, bobbing its way to… anywhere.
###
Five days later, Carter was in a staring match with Bunji. Was the cat drooling? He’d been sure that by now, he and Flynn would have been heaps of bones scraped clean and bleaching under the sun.
They were all starving. Nothing in the way of food had made an appearance in days, no matter how hard they searched. Even Miro, with his uncanny abilities, had been unsuccessful.
Purrs erupted from the massive cat as it plopped onto its haunches and lifted a hefty paw to lick it. Dainen draped himself beside his brother, joining him in a thorough grooming. Narrowing his eyes at the languid felines, Carter couldn’t decide whether to be amused or wary.
The longer he watched them, the more somber he got. Their predatory instincts could trigger without warning in an instant. Would they eat them all at once or spread them out over time? He jolted when the cats rose together in a baffling show of alertness. Then, he felt it.
Carter peeked over the rind at Miro, who was dangling a gull wing over the water. “Um… Miro, why is this pineapple bobbing like a giant version of your lure?” He was already queasy with the jerky motion.
The pineapple dipped again, drastically enough for Miro to grip onto the tiled surface.
“Come, boys! Inside.” Miro waved at his cats and Carter, and one by one, they shimmied down the hatch.
Flynn and Bridie were sitting cross-legged on their sleeping pallets, playing poker with homemade cards, which were actually more feathers from the gull Miro had managed to snare and prepare raw for them. The memory of choking that down made Carter’s stomach roil even more.
Bridie laid down her hand, calling out smugly, “Full house.” She gasped when the pineapple lurched again.
The rocking became so violent that Carter was thrown to the floor and couldn’t stop himself from rolling into Bridie, who was crouched on all fours, trying to hang on. They tangled up together and crashed into the wall.
Flynn slammed into them before their home tilted in the opposite direction, sending them all rolling to the other side. The tigers leapt around them, finding purchase at each tumbling motion, like hamsters on a wheel. Miro, as nimble as the cats, managed to stay upright until he could grab onto the ladder under the hatch.
By the fifth tilt, Carter was sure he was going to be sick. But the motion slowed, then halted altogether. Their relief turned to excitement when they realized the floating pineapple was bumping into something solid. Bridie was the first to recover and scrambled up the hatch to the surface.
Flynn called after her, then followed. Carter came up behind them and stood next to his brother. All three gaped at their surroundings. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the vegetation seemed foreign. The air smelled unlike anything he’d ever smelled, and the sky was painted in odd shades of aqua, blending in with the sea.
Miro yelled for them to get inside because waves were rolling in behind them, ready to pound them into a cliff. But that wasn’t their worst problem. Swooping at them from a massive nest high above were a pair of humongous, winged creatures that did not fit this time. Wicked claws reached for them.
“No way!” Flynn cried excitedly.
Deafened by the screeches coming from the snapping, teeth-lined beaks, Carter dove back inside, right behind Bridie and Flynn. Miro dropped through the hatch and slammed it shut. They rode out the pummeling, maybe for an hour, until everything stopped. Had they been washed up on a beach?
“You three WILL stay inside,” Miro ordered, “and the boys and I will investigate.” Narrowed onyx eyes pinned them down until they relented.
After so many hours had passed listening to ominous noises, Bridie said, “That’s it. I’m going after him.”
The brothers didn’t say a word. Just geared up with their meager belongings and followed her out of the hatch. They climbed down and stood, gaping in disbelief at an unnatural paradise.
“It smells primal,” Flynn concluded after sniffing the air.
“I have no idea what primal smells like,” Bridie whispered as they crept up the beach on shaky legs, “but somehow I get you.”
Carter could hardly take in details fast enough because a lot of what he saw looked edible. His once roiling stomach growled—loud enough, Bridie shot him a sideways glance.
She jerked to a halt. “Do you hear that?”
Not only was the sound terrifying, but the ground vibrated. The tops of the trees rustled. Suddenly, the tigers pounced at them, and they cried out, throwing up their arms until they realized their feline heroes were after something much bigger behind them.
Carter could not believe his eyes. A two-story beast bore down on them with scales, gnashing teeth, and a terrible roar.
Stepping out of the trees, Miro beckoned them, and they ran for their lives. The tigers, having done their worst to a beast with a horrifically thick hide, bounded after them, while Carter entertained the useless thought that floating on the ocean in a pineapple, searching for food, wasn’t so bad.
~~~
How the Contest Works at Writing Battle
Writing Battle… Winter Flash Fiction Contest… What can I say? Okay, I’ll just say it. It feels just like I went ten rounds in a boxing ring! (Since I’ve never done that, I make conjecture here for dramatic purposes.) Only it’s a month long and a knock down drag out struggle through five rounds.
First, there’s the excitement of drawing my prompts with the fabulous flipping tarot cards. Then deciding within the very narrow timeframe of creating my story whether I want to stick with my draw, or try for a redraw. (This time, I did avail myself of the one redraw allowed for the genre, so I went from Winter Survival to Lost World and it felt like a bonus gift! I stuck with my character – zookeeper, and object – pineapple, but I could have redrawn up to 7 more times)
Writing a story in a Lost world with a zookeeper and a pineapple? No problem!
Then comes the writing, rewriting, begging friends and family to read it, rewriting, rewriting, then hitting that submit button. Whew! Surviving stage one… done!
Stage two… the duels. I get to go from writer to judge. The best part? I’m treated to some very good stories (in the three other genres I’m not competing in), and it is so very hard to pick between the two stories (for five duels)! I’ve discovered that offering feedback is not only a great way to give back to my community of writers, but it’s a super good learning experience.
While we wait for stage three, we can open our story to the community and read other stories, then give and get more feedback, or just chat. There are four genres. I mentioned two, Winter Survival and Lost World. The other two were Occult and Meet Cute. One of my favorite stories I read in the post-dueling rest period was from a male author who got Meet Cute and decided to go for it. It wasn’t in his wheelhouse. It was my favorite story. He nailed it. The characters were amazing, it was funny, and the ending delivered the perfect punch and left me grinning.
But the nail biting continues folks. Once the dueling is over and we’ve chilled for about a week and enjoyed more stories, the scoring begins. It’s quite an elaborate system, but I’ll try to capture the gist. There are four rounds of elimination based on the initial seeding round and subsequent dueling results, then the fifth round goes to the professional judge. Each day, we come back for the results. Yikes! I will mention at this point, the platform is pure genius, if you aren’t picking up on that already. All the stages are well laid out with a timer, so you know exactly what will happen next and when.
My goal is to make it to round five one day. I think (if I’m figuring things out right) I made it to round three this time before getting knocked out. My story in the 2022 Autumn Short Story Contest, The Passengers (edited here based on feedback), made it to round two. But that’s okay. The competition is fierce, and no matter the results, you get feedback from your peers. Talk about learning. The story above got enough consistent feedback to tell me exactly what to work on.
I’m signed up for the 500-word Spring Micro Fiction Contest. Registration is open! Then comes the 250-word Summer Nanofiction, then Screenwriting… and back to the 2000-word short story. Did I mention yet, there are cash prizes? Very decent ones, too.
Feedback is welcome on A Pineapple Ride to Anywhere. I’d love to see how it jives with my peers at Writing Battle.
Enjoy a little computer generated imagery and thanks for visiting, and the read!
My Pineapple AI art, courtesy of Photoleap
The last photo is the real thing and inspiration for my story. A landmark in Queensland that captured my imagination before I even traveled there. How could I not use this awesomeness in a story with a pineapple prompt? 😉
Now for the big announcement!
You can meet Max and Teona, the team behind the Writing Battle platform, on my Sunday Creator Spotlight. See Post!
I am thrilled I was able to participate in the fifth annual Virginia City Writing Retreat. I have wanted to try it out for several years and meet some local writers. Registration is now open for next year. Our hardworking host, Kim Harnes, reports that the June 2026 retreat is already two-thirds full, so if you live in Northern Nevada, don’t miss checking it out.
Here are my top five reasons why this wonderful Victorian-era hospital turned art center in Virginia City, Nevada makes a great retreat:
St. Mary’s Art Center is part of a fantastic pioneer town that, despite its 2 million visitors a year, retains its historic, out-of-the-way charm.
The creativity vibes are off the chart.
It is set against a fantastic backdrop and beautiful surroundings.
It provides just the right accommodations for an intimate gathering of strangers and friends eager to engage in creativity.
It’s haunted, yep, as in ghosts.
Here I am with our excellent host, Kim Harnes. Check out the comfortable, historical surroundings. You’ll notice many features and artifacts from the original Victorian hospital. Imagine how the rooms were once used for surgical and other treatments, or part of the recovery wards, and then add art. What a great combination.
Second floor veranda, and the entranceThird floor balconyshows top three floors, entrance at 2nd floorlocal artThe art center’s side view showing first floorlocal artOur cozy room.I addition to the grand staircase, is this well-trodden utilitarian nurse’s accessA lovely gallery featuring local artThe long hallway on our 2nd floor. So much to see on each floor.A view to a preserved historical office
Besides meeting many amazing local writers and learning about their journeys with my friend Dee, the retreat offered several highlights. One of them was an insightful presentation on writing short stories by author Linda K. Hardie. Linda demonstrated how completing a short story can serve as an excellent catharsis for repressed emotions, such as killing off that annoying ex or the small press publisher who fails to honor contracts.
Linda writes humorous and delightful, yet eerily dark crime stories published in a variety of anthologies.
I loved her story set in downtown Reno in a glimpse of homeless life among the tourists and gambling enthusiasts in A killing at the Copa, crime fiction inspired by the songs of Barry Manilow.
To ensure you can benefit from her wisdom, I invited Linda to be my Spotlight Guest in July.
An unexpected highlight was the opportunity to play my first TTRPG! Author Jade Griffin writes companion novels to the Call of Cthulhu RPG series Amor Fati, which act as both a player handout and minor mythos tome. Dee and I got a beginner’s crash course as Mr. Wabash in 1896 Chicago. I’ve always wanted to play a tabletop role playing game, and it was way more fun than I even imagined, thanks in no small part to Jade’s excellent story. Jade will visit my Spotlight in September.
By the way, Dee will visit my Spotlight in August to discuss writing fan fiction, particularly stories that feature characters from the classic TV show, Bonanza. Virginia City was the stomping ground of the Cartwrights, and Dee wrote a story set in this very hospital. Stay tuned for more!
Then, there was “movie night” in the charming little theater on the haunted 4th floor, where we enjoyed popcorn and candy while watching “Old Henry,” a dark, twisty Western flick that was fitting for our stay in a historical Western town.
Meeting agent Hannah Andrade from Bradford Literary Agency was another excellent perk. I learned a great deal from her critique of the first ten pages of my novel-in-progress, as well as how to effectively pitch it to an agent.
Many attendees retreated into their rooms and cozy niches on every floor to write for much of the time, which was the main purpose of the retreat. As for me, I was too busy and anxious preparing my pitch. Next time, I’ll focus more on writing. Besides the overnight guests (since there are only a limited number of rooms available), quite a few came for the day on both Friday and Saturday.
The dining roomA writing niche on the 3rd floor hallwayDee and I did get some writing done in our roomClass time. Taken by Kim, Dee and I at the far end of front row.
I’ll conclude by bringing things full circle—the socializing. The Art Center has two kitchens on the first floor: one features a large dining table for gatherings, and the other contains a massive iron cooking stove that, unfortunately, can no longer be used due to safety issues, but it is a sight to behold. Kim ensured there was plenty of excellent food and beverages. We all contributed dishes for the Friday night potluck, which provided delicious leftovers for our lively mealtime conversations throughout the entire weekend.
The wonderful Chocolate Nugget Candy Factory, Mound House, on the way up to Virginia City, where I got fudge for the potluck.View from the Art Center, which sits on its own hill east of town.A parlor across from dining room, where we played Jade’s TTRPG.One of the larger rooms, 3rd floor.
My writer friend Lucky Noma made me a song. He’s an awesome friend and it’s an awesome song.
Captured By the Hunted is a vampire story set in Central Europe and one of three fantasy threesome romance novellas in Les Romances des Trois. Chapter 10 features a main character, vampire enforcer Gedeon Kadar, recalling his life as a Scythian chieftain before being turned. He gave his human life to save his stolen mate, Taclaema.
Lucky’s song was inspired by Azersarta’s tragedy. Les Romances has been republished on Amazon and is available on Kindle Unlimited and Audible.
You may have noticed that I’ve fallen behind on my blogging over the last several months, although I’ve managed to keep up with my Guest Spotlights, which I’m very happy about. I’ve lined up more amazing authors through October, so stay tuned.
First up, on Sunday, June 22, Rayne Hall will be chatting with us from Bulgaria. After that, all my guests will come from my very own jurisdiction in Northern Nevada. You might wonder why that is. Well, a writer’s journey can be quite random when it comes to building a community. Initially, because I started writing at the outset of the pandemic, I engaged in outreach through social media groups, which netted me a handful of amazing writing friends from around the globe. However, this year, I attended a local retreat and met many fantastic local writers. I will share more about that incredible event in a separate blog and in my newsletter.
As for the reason I’ve been less active on WordPress, I’d like to share a bit about my health journey since early March when I discovered a lump. To keep it brief, I underwent a partial mastectomy to remove an ER-positive invasive ductal carcinoma, grade 3, stage IIB. The cancer had spread to my two sentinel lymph nodes, which were also removed.
Surgery went very well, thanks to my excellent surgeon. However, because my genomic test (Oncotype) came back with a high recurrence score, my oncologist is having me undergo a dense dose of the big three, AC-T. The A is for the anthracycline drug Doxorubicin, also referred to for decades as Red Devil. It’s red, and it’s a demon on the old organs. The C is for Cyclophosphamide. These two drugs will be administered in four infusions over a period of eight weeks. The T is for Taxol and will be my second 8-week course. At the end of the year, I will undergo four weeks of radiation followed by five years of immunological drugs.
Chemotherapy is something I never thought I would face, but cancer is a nasty, sneaky beast. To illustrate my point, my little sister was diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer two weeks ago. She starts chemo the day after I do. Tell me, what universe has two close sisters diagnosed with cancer within months of each other? She has an even tougher battle ahead, and we will be fighting together.
Some of you may, unfortunately, be familiar with the disease in its various forms and stages, as well as these treatments. I would greatly appreciate hearing your stories. Feel free to shout out your medical team and treatment centers; I have been very impressed with mine. So here’s three cheers for Renown Breast Cancer Treatment Center, Oncology, and Radiation! I would also like to thank my Oncology Wellness Doctor, Madeline Hardacre. Lifestyle medicine should be an integral part of every cancer center.
During my recent chemotherapy education at Renown Oncology, I was given this wonderful swag bag assembled by Pinocchio’s Moms on the Run. Check out all they do. I remembered today how I participated in a run years ago. I still wear my pink ribbon baseball cap on my walks.
My precarious alliance with the Red Devil starts next week. I plan to use the time to journal, knit, and read. I’ll be featuring some of those books from the chemo chair. You can follow my review posts on Instagram.
Live each day to the full and create something every day. Thank you for letting me share my journey. Darci
As a dedicated student of arts and crafts since I could hold a crayon, May is a special month. It’s Mermay! An entire month dedicated to mermaid art.
Since I write more than engage in any other creative activity these days, I’m offering a short story, Beneath the Prismed Light, in celebration. It features a selkie (another wonderful mythical sea creature) and a lighthouse keeper in a romantic dystopian fantasy. A brief history of the selkies is included in the end pages.
This story, with its surprise twist on the lore, is free to my newsletter subscribers. This month I’m sharing it here.
The center photo is one of my attempts at Mermay art, and I had fun trying some digital manipulation for different effects.
If you want to peruse some (much better) whimsical, fun art, hashtag Mermay or Mermay25 on Instagram or Facebook.
My friend, author J. K. Divia, is offering a Mermay, Selkie Takeover giveaway in collaboration with other authors. I participated last year, and will do so again in 2026. Check it out and good luck on winning some great books and swag.
I’ll leave you with a YouTube video from one of my favorite Mermay contributors, although I’m pretty sure mixed media artist James Burke creates mermaids all year long.
I have all of his Washi tape and use it liberally in my journals. Perhaps you’ll discover the wonder of watching this art come to life and be inspired to create some of your own.
I leaned forward again and repeated my question. “Halil Enair, do you admit shooting Ozzy Pruitt with illegal dark magic, locking him in his owl form, and causing him to slip into a coma?”
Recalling my helplessness and nearly losing Ozzy had me clenching my jaw. But we both survived, and two of the offenders below me risked their lives to help. One was the woman eyeing me steadily. She straightened her shoulders, letting out a dramatic sigh.
“Yes. I shot your owl spy, Michael Elliott.” She drew out my name, snark in tact. It still sounded amazing in her husky voice. “I knew the weapon could have killed him. As I explained the first three times, anyone with you was to be treated as collateral damage.” I raised an eyebrow. No less damning, but I had to give the woman credit for sticking to her brazen honesty.
If I learned anything about Halil Enair, it was that although she might speak impulsively, every word had a purpose or was meant to provoke a specific reaction, and the little bee loved to sting. Was I giving her what she wanted? I doubted it. I hadn’t been an alpha this long without mastering my reactions to goading, yet I sensed my fellow alphas’ eyes on me. I upped the sternness of my glower.
“I admitted my actions five times,” Halil continued. “Heizan and I explained to the investigators no less than seven times the workings of my father’s dark magic weapon and his orders to bring you to him. I admitted three times to participating in your torture, describing in lurid detail every act I inflicted on you. Would you like me to repeat those details a fourth…” she cleared her throat, “and fifth time?”
If her hands were free, one would rest on her cocked hip, although the gesture might reveal her slight tremor. I also had another quirk to add to what I was learning about Halil Enair. She quantified things to make her point and didn’t like landing on even numbers. Interesting.
“We can skip…” I started to drawl. She interrupted.
“You blushed each time I illustrated my… creativity in handling certain of your parts. You’re doing it again.” And there was that deliciously throaty voice from that nightmare cavern. “You must feel those cheeks flaming hot like your swoony eyes tend to do when your dragon is riled. You aren’t used to getting red in the face, are you, Alpha?” How did she do that? Turn that sting into allure, her exaggerations into truth.
Her inscrutable amethyst gems, framed by thick blonde lashes, beckoned me like a siren with an irresistible song, and everyone but us might have vanished from this chiseled-out crater. Being alone with Halil Enair in the desert didn’t seem like such a terrible idea…
I gritted my teeth, and the insanity passed. She continued in her smug, honeyed tones. “I promised on that godsforsaken island to submit to an accounting of my crimes. I kept my promise. Now, let’s get on with the sentencing. I’m tired of standing here, getting a crick in my neck looking up at you.”
Halil Enair
I swiped at the irritating copper cuff with my toes. Flush against my skin and feeling more like silk than metal, I hardly noticed it was there except for the incessant hum. I scoffed. The Council thought their magic band would hamper my abilities. I had different ideas that I hadn’t tested because a small part of me wanted to atone. Another part wanted to know how long I could stick it out without cheating, and part of me couldn’t stand disappointing a certain alpha, even if I did think he was arrogant.
I bit back another huff and glanced across the table. The lovebirds were busy canoodling, so I dished out our casserole. Next, I uncorked the wine and poured it into etched crystal glasses—a ritual I’d come to enjoy as much as our post-dinner cribbage games.
That surprising new pastime got me thinking of the more profound reflections I’d engaged in since moving to Ketchikan. Yeah, go figure. I, live-on-the-edge Halil, was having insights. While my frustrations often overwhelmed me, I admitted that my probation, or exile of shame, was serving its purpose, helping me realign my life and embrace the concept of having choices.
I could even acknowledge that the alpha, who suffered the worst from my actions, seemed fine with letting me denounce him as my jailer, as if he understood my need for a bullseye with broad shoulders. Gods, get your mind off that mouthwatering physique, Halil. Still, the analogy illustrated the soul of an alpha—the willingness to shoulder responsibility for so many. But then he did something that made me wonder if there was more to it.
Michael Elliott had attached the monitor to my ankle himself, sealing it with his dragon’s magic while my Aunt Magdalene took care of my brothers.
His face was fascinating to watch as I fidgeted and jerked, jumping up to complain, sitting back down, and fidgeting again just to see that fine, darkly stubbled jaw clench in… well, I’d hoped it would be irritation. Instead, the alpha looked amused. I can still see that glimpse of his tantalizing smile and the glint in his deep midnight-blue eyes. Eventually, I sat still long enough to let him finish, mostly to enjoy gazing at his luxuriant blue-black hair as he knelt at my feet.
Challenging him seemed like a good idea at the time, but I’m sure I came off as a sullen adolescent. I couldn’t stand to make our probationary arrangement easy or give him that oddly intimate power over me: an untenable outcome and the hardest to swallow. Yet, I had the same question every time I went down this path: how could he smile at all after what I had done?
Spero Vic
After sitting half the bloody day in a hazy corner of the Juniper’s Hollow, broiling next to the fire and nursing too many beers while I waited for my mark to show his hairy dwarf face, I was itching to toss a chaos spell into the middle of the crowd to break the monotony. It didn’t help that my butt ached like a mother. Why did pubs never have cushioned seats when the entire goal was to keep their patrons engaged in prolonged alcohol consumption?
As if the hard oak wasn’t bad enough, I was forced to cram my long legs into awkward angles to fit them beneath the shrunken booth.
A shrill laugh pinged off my frayed nerves, and I closed my eyes. The Woody Woodpecker impersonator at the bar was going to be my first victim. Shit.Cartoons?What would pop into my head next? Disrupting the cheer careening around the low-ceilinged oak-beamed tavern was gaining traction as a workable idea.
The hours enduring pipe smoke, beer fumes, burning candles, and dwarf sweat had triggered a throbbing in my left temple. I needed relief, but drawing attention was out of the question. So, I distracted myself with thoughts of the luscious redheaded hellion I’d left snoring in my bed at dawn after borrowing her portal key to hop into this realm… illegally. It wasn’t often that my schemes lined up with a night of acrobatic sex. Unfortunately, I was so over this vigil that my most lurid moments with Ursula weren’t even doing it for me.
My empty stomach clenched, reminding me I hadn’t consumed anything but the dwarves’ superior version of German beer since yesterday. Shit! F##* hunger, f*#% nerves, f%*# Ursula. Meeting the dwarf and talking him out of the thing I’d come for was the only way to satisfy the hollow pit in my stomach, the gnawing ache I’d lived with for too many rune-cursed months.
I was about to run a hand through my hair but remembered just in time to keep both hands wrapped around my tankard, pretending to enjoy my tepid beer. My glamour kicked ass, easily concealing a tall human dressed in a duster loaded with rune magic in a room full of stout patrons who barely topped five feet. However, after so many hours fighting hunger and boredom, it was becoming harder to maintain. I needed to hold it together until Larin Birch sauntered through that oak plank door.
Was it too much to expect a regimented dwarf to stick to his schedule? Had someone gotten to him? I just need to get what I came for, return home, and slip the key around Ursula’s lovely neck before she wakes. Then, I’ll rouse the dryad and send her back to her forest, her memories as hazy as her missing hours.
This plan had been weeks in the making, and this was only the first step, one of many in a series of progressively crazier moves still ahead, which was nothing new for the “batshit-crazy rogue mage intent on his purpose,” as another surprisingly astute lover had said, stumbling out of my apartment, laugh-crying and shaking her head. A night with me between silk sheets often resulted in blissful disorientation and colorful slurs against my character, even from the powerful supernaturals I typically went for.
All but one. A shapeshifter with man-killer instincts: Halil Enair, an especially memorable dalliance, who won’t be pleased to see me on her doorstep. Unfortunately for her, she had a crucial role to play in my scheme.
I unclenched my jaw and took a few deep breaths. No one needed to hear my teeth grinding. Still… “Just a little chaos,” I mumbled, running my hand down my coat sleeve to soothe the marks pulsing hot on my skin. “They won’t know it came from me.”
Lauren’s happiness is shattered when the compulsive need to retrieve her comb lets her overhear a conversation between the two most important people in her life.
###
If Lauren hadn’t gone back for her comb, her world would still be vertical, not slanting horribly sideways.
She clutched at the door of the stall with a shaky hand and held her stomach with the other, hoping to keep down the bile trying to explode to the surface. The only thing stopping her from giving in to the tilt and collapsing on the public toilet floor was the public toilet. Someone had neglected to flush it. Lovely.
Desperate to gulp in air from somewhere other than the fetid space shrinking around her, she used every ounce of her willpower to get the door open and stumble out of the bathroom.
She pulled herself together enough to sweep past the lockers without drawing attention and slipped through the back door of the cycling studio. There, she leaned against the wall under the pink-tinged blue sky and focused all her energy on breathing. How can the day be so bright when my world has gone dark?
As her heart settled its erratic pounding, she became aware of something digging into her hand, and she stared at the purple object she’d clutched through the whole awful episode. Her favorite comb. A bubble of hysteria escaped her lips. Hot tears threatened next, and that’s when she got angry. Was everything a lie? Could I be that blind?
The act of shoving the comb in her bag brought forth a bitter irony. She would still be blissfully ignorant if not for her compulsion to rescue such a trivial possession. She let out another embarrassing squeak of hysteria and glanced around the parking lot to make sure she was alone. Alone.
That hated word rang in her head and brought tears to the surface again. She let a few drops slip out and straightened, smoothing her Lycra shirt over her bike shorts.
Then, Lauren walked purposefully to her car. The private conversation that had precipitated the nauseating tilt to her universe played through her head as she climbed in.
It was a cool day, so she sealed herself inside, clicked on the power, blasted her favorite XM station, and let herself belabor the truth she could not unhear. James and Danika were passionately in love, with no reservations, in a way that left Lauren with no reason to believe it was a passing thing. When did it happen?
That didn’t matter because it was clear she had just lost the love of her life and her best friend in one moment of fateful eavesdropping. The devastating truth had been revealed because her comb had slipped from her bag and landed near a vent, which turned out to be the perfect sound conductor to the door of the men’s locker room.
Her thoughts took her again to the horrid moments when she crouched in that dingy spot under the sink, which capsule of time was now burned into her memory.
As she reached for the wayward piece of plastic, familiar honeyed tones floated to her.
“Please… James.”
In the loaded pause that followed, the first cracks had formed in Lauren’s illusion of happiness because she could hear lips traveling over soft skin, so clear the pair might as well be standing right in front of her. She could even feel those lips—because she knew them.
The voice repeated the words as if the speaker were trying to get Lauren’s attention.
“Please, James… She’s just down the hall. We need to be careful until we can figure out a way to break this to her. It’s going to crush her.”
“She’ll see the truth of it, Danika. We’ve been hiding this for too long, and it’s unhealthy—for all three of us. It’s time.”
“But James. We’re all she has. How can we do this? I love you, and I want to spend my time with you openly, but I love her, too.”
There was regret in his sigh and the words that followed.
“If she cares about us, and you know she does, she won’t be selfish. We didn’t ask for this to happen and even tried to stop it.”
More sounds of passion punctuated his angst while they drove nails into Lauren’s heart.
“It will hurt at first,” James continued, “but she’s a reasonable human being. We can’t continue living a lie and wasting our lives trapped in the wrong combination.”
Danika’s breathless voice rose slightly. “You’re delusional if you believe this won’t ruin the friendships we’ve treasured since high school. You’ve known her the longest. Do you really think she’ll stick around after our betrayal?”
That was when Lauren reached her threshold of pain, when the bile started its molten rise to her throat, choking her, and her first reaction was to head to a toilet. At least she was past that first ugly moment.
The music blasting from her car speakers helped her think. She became aware that the clear skies had turned to rain. It seemed appropriate to be surrounded by rivulets of water—like tears. Lauren’s skin was clammy, and she touched her stiff face with icy fingers. Is this what shock feels like?
The only positive thing she could glom onto was that she’d made it to her car without being noticed. She sank deeper into her leather seat to make her presence less obvious and rubbed at her sore heart. How was she going to face them again?Should she confront them? She didn’t see that going well. She would make a fool out of herself and accomplish nothing.
The unreality kept reverberating. James had been her best friend since kindergarten. He understood her better than anyone, even Danika. They were aware of their importance in her life. The three of them had been inseparable for the last five years, working, partying, traveling together, and cycling twice a week at this studio she would never be able to return to.
Her resentment flared. They were the ones who hid behind their lies. It should have been them facing her and suffering through a confession. But her heart wouldn’t hold onto the anger, filling instead with hollow devastation, even as she attempted to contemplate a different future. Could I leave this place? Could I start over somewhere else?
None of them had lived anywhere but this small town. She doubted she even had the skills to make new friends or find a new lover because she had only ever needed the two people she left whispering together in the studio.
She texted Danika with trembling fingers. The screen of her phone blurred through the stubborn tears she could no longer stem. It took her a few minutes to reread her message before she sent it. It was important to get it right because she did care deeply for them and always would. “I’m not feeling well, my love. I’ll see you at home later. Enjoy dinner out with James—for both of us.”
This drama came from a NYC Midnight writing challenge where I needed to incorporate a comb and a cycling studio. Keep in mind that these short story platforms are challenging not only because of the random prompts and genres but also because they must be written in a short format in a short period. I was pretty happy about my little love triangle and the impact on Lauren’s life just from dropping her comb.
If you were a giant god sentenced to eternal torture, how would you entertain yourself during a reprieve?
You may know the story of Prometheus, the lover of mankind who gave us fire and endured a similar punishment exacted on him by Zeus, but here is the lesser known story of Tityus. Tortured for being a cad.
In the lull between new moons and the vulture’s next meal, only one thing eases this giant god’s torment—inflicting torment of his own.
###
Tityus gave only half a thought to punching the giant birds in their wrinkled bald faces because doing so was futile. He knew this because he’d done it a million times over thousands of years, and it hadn’t yet stopped the beastly vultures from chewing out his liver every twenty-eighth day, starting precisely at six p.m., Eastern European Time.
It was now seven.
The voracious creatures will finish digging into his side in exactly one hour, after which Tityus will endure more agonizing pain with the regrowth of his immortal organ, only to have the endless punishment repeated at the next new moon.
In the lulls between, the giant often wondered who suffered worse torment: the birds who were sent to Hell to eat the same meal every month for eternity or Tityus, who had to provide it.
He decided that punching the bobbing heads would make him feel better. Caving in half their ugly faces was immensely satisfying, as was their distressed flapping of wings and distorted screeching through shattered beaks.
Yes. It was well worth the pain of extra flesh tearing away from his body by the force of his blow. It got better when the vile birds flew off to find a ledge and repair themselves.
A sound between a moan and a sigh seeped from Tityus, echoing through his stone and moss-covered grotto deep below the base of Mount Parnassus. Zeus might be liberal in handing out sentences to his dozens of offspring when they went astray, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping track of every single one, always watching, always ready to condemn.
The giant dared to hope his father had witnessed his act of bored defiance.
Since he’d been given a bonus reprieve, he took the opportunity to recline more comfortably on his loamy pallet, which stretched beneath him across his nine-acre earthen home.
Tityus picked up the remote and flipped through the programs his sister had selected for him to view on an eighty-foot screen hanging on his southern limestone wall. Only recently had Persephone produced the ingenious device to give him a diversion between bouts of torture.
Thinking of his sister made the giant god smile. Sephie was the only one who believed he’d been goaded into his crime of passion by Hera and pleaded his case every chance she got. Even the goddess who bore him and the one who raised him hadn’t taken his side, though both had reasons to blame Hera for their problems. It seemed everyone stuck together when it came to condemning him, but not Persephone. His sister’s loyalty and affection never wavered.
She also understood how critical viewing a pair of humans suffering misguided love was in sustaining him between bouts of torture. The entertainment distracted him from the looming specter of gnashing vulture beaks and the indescribable agony when his tormenters slurped up strips of his flesh like so many earthworms wriggling beneath his home.
###
It took the better part of the first week growing back his liver to make his choice. Tityus was lost in the pleasure of planning his victim’s torment when a leafy vine began winding its way up his leg.
Since his limb was the length of a stadium, it took time for the greenery to get close to his face, but Tityus was patient as always while he waited for Persephone to make her appearance.
The vine stopped its horizontal travels at his hip, then shot straight up as it thickened into shapely limbs that stretched into a torso. A lovely neck and face appeared next, and soon the dulcet tones of the Queen of the Underworld chimed through his grotto.
“Hello, Brother. That gleam in your eye must mean you’ve made your selection.”
He dialed back his voice to keep from blasting his sister off his hip. “I have, though each couple was as tempting as the other. Thank you for that. Choosing was half the fun.”
She clasped her hands together and grinned. “That is what I hoped for. It has been too long since you’ve enjoyed a good vacation. I’ve been pleading your case again, brother. Father thanked me for the reminder that retribution against his children harms humans, too. But then, he got that look.”
“Ever my champion, dear sister. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Well, your horrid eternal torment does not fit the crime you were tricked into and didn’t even complete.” Tityus shined his affection on his sister with his moon-sized green eyes and nudged her into his palm with a forefinger.
She made herself comfortable before finishing her outburst. “It is agony each time your groans shake the Underworld.”
“You are too good to me, Sephie, a balm to my soul. Won’t you stay a while?”
“That is why I’m here.” She reached out and patted his thumb. “I will convince Father soon. Meanwhile, you deserve a reprieve from toying with your humans.” She sank into his palm, propping on her elbow and resting her head in her hand, her vines twining into a canopy and anchoring themselves around Tityus’s fingers. “Now, who did you pick?”
“If I only have time for one show, this pair has the potential to give us a top-rated performance.” Tityus clicked the remote, and the giant screen came to life.
The sibling gods peered down at the two people crouched in a square pit at the center of an archeological site near the west bank of the Nile.
###
Sarah had no clue what she did to Nathan’s insides when that earnest concentration scrunched up her pretty brow. Parts of him clenched enough to be uncomfortable when she pushed her glasses higher on her pert nose, smudged with red dust. Not only did his heart thump erratically, but he almost groaned out loud.
That embarrassing prospect broke the spell. He cursed under his breath. If she could read his foolish thoughts, she would for sure request his replacement. He took heart that his dig partner had given him a few hopeful signs.
Nathan returned his attention to the pottery shard they were carefully easing out of the three-and-a-half-thousand-year-old soil. This newest section had turned up an amazing cache of tools, human bones, two delicate cat skulls, and three nearly intact clay jars.
He peered closer at the shard, brushed away a few more flecks, and hiked a brow. He nudged Sarah.
“What does this say to you?”
“I saw it too, Nathan,” she said in her sweet, yet husky voice, which got him going again, “and I’m thinking what you’re thinking.”
Her excitement washed over him.
“We could be confirming our theory,” she said. “Do you agree?” He was struck by her glittering aqua eyes and gave himself a mental shake before answering.
“It’s harder to deny when we add this to the rest. But Sarah, we’ve been breathing the dirt in this six-foot square hole for eight hours. Let’s secure our finds and get out of here. It’s time to celebrate with a night out in Luxor.”
“You want to finish the day’s work without cataloging these beauties—without even deciphering these symbols first?” She cocked her head. “Have I worked you that hard?” He laughed.
“I just need to get clean, then go sweat at a club with dancing and liquor. Morning will be soon enough to inspect our treasure.”
“I suppose getting sweaty for a different reason would be a nice change of pace. You’re on.”
But those words passing through full pink lips and the vision of Sarah writhing on a dance floor forced him to stay crouched for a minute longer as he battled waves of yearning.
Maybe torturing himself with a carefree evening in her company wasn’t such a grand idea… On the other hand, it could be his long-awaited opportunity.
###
Tityus paused the video. Small boulders slid down the embankment behind them when he spoke. “You can see he’s got it bad and has no idea she’s been exploring her sexuality. I’ve got a few maneuvers planned to help her decide things.”
“Can I assume her choices won’t include Nathan?” Persephone’s amber eyes gleamed.
“That’s the plan… after we squeeze more entertainment from them first. You did well, Sister. I can smell his pathos.” Tityus closed his eyes and inhaled the moist, earthy air. It caused a cyclone to whirl a path around them and rattle Persephony’s flowering vines.
“Abundant suffering is in store for poor Nathan,” Tityus continued. “That, and the chaos of their confusion, will go a long way in helping me endure my next round of torment. I’ve already conjured hours of lush images for my dreams.” He cracked an eye open. “We might even enjoy collateral damage. We’ve got a third party involved.”
The silence that followed the giant’s cessation of speaking left a vacuum in the subterranean chamber. Crickets sounded in the recesses. Frogs croaked near the waterfall, and a shiny beetle whirred by on heavy wings.
The walls shook again when a thought made Tityus chuckle. “Is our uncle aware of your new penchant for misguiding love-struck humans?” The Queen of the Underworld let out an undignified snort.
“Hades does not care how I occupy my time, only that he can call me to him whenever he wants. Speaking of the demanding one, I feel his pull. I promise to be back for another installment. But don’t wait. You can catch me up.”
Tityus was used to Persephone’s spontaneous appearances and abrupt departures and didn’t mind when the forest of greenery disappeared with his sister in a wispy puff. He clicked his remote to open the next scene.
###
Nathan was sweaty just as planned, but he’d never had so much fun getting into this state of bodily dampness.
Sarah arranged for several friends from the university to meet them at the discotheque. For the past two hours, the girls made it their mission to keep him jerking and grinding on the strobe-lit dance floor. He’d finally pleaded for a break to cool down and freshen up.
Revived and happy with the results—he looked damned fine if he said so himself—Nathan pushed his way through the crush of dancers and back to the bar where he’d left his charming companions with another round of drinks. When he was close enough to spot them through the crowd, he came to a dead stop, his heart plummeting like a stone.
Sarah sat on a stool close to her friend, whose lips were pressed against Sarah’s ear. At first, it looked like Eman was just trying to be heard in the din. Then, he noticed their clasped hands. Eman’s tongue darted into Sarah’s ear, and Sarah laughed, pulling back, her eyes glittering with excitement—and something else.
How could I have had things so wrong?
The shock wore off in the next instant, but that only let a whole slew of other confusing emotions overwhelm him as he stood there gaping until the thought of what he must look like penetrated the fog.
Before Nathan could move, Sarah caught him acting like a statue, and her smile turned into a frown. Eman followed her gaze, held up the drink she had waiting for him, and grinned, clearly having no idea his world had just collapsed.
Nathan’s arm went up in a halfhearted answer, and he somehow got his legs moving again.
An hour later, hunched over his third whiskey, crushed between the chattering girls at the table Eman snagged for them, Nathan wondered how he was surviving his bitter disappointment and the suffocating nightclub. On the upside, he no longer doubted how deep his feelings went for Sarah.
The alcohol had at least numbed the sharpest jabs to his heart, but despair continued buzzing nauseatingly in his ears. Nathan would have no clue how to answer if anyone asked him what the girls had talked about for the last hour, and he didn’t think he was even nodding at the right places anymore.
He had to get out of here.
“Will you be good getting Sarah back to the site, Eman?” he said, breaking out of his stupor. They each turned to him in surprise. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to call it a night and head back.”
“Are you okay?” Sarah said as she laid a hand on his arm. “Maybe you should have a coffee first.”
That was sound advice, but the thought of watching Sarah and Eman whispering together another minute made him want to throw up.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow. Don’t be late.” Nathan attempted to smile at his lame humor, but judging by Sarah’s furrowed brow, his face must have looked as wan as he felt.
He slapped a few bills on the table, mostly to ensure Sarah had enough to get back if Eman couldn’t drive her.
“Enjoy the rest of the night. It was a pleasure meeting all of you.”
Sarah looked like she might say something, but nodded and turned to her friends without another glance his way.
Nathan barely managed to keep his shoulders from slumping in defeat as he headed to the exit.
###
This time, the flowering vines trailed down the side of the cavern before finding purchase on the giant arm sticking out of the earth. The writhing greenery tickled, waking Tityus from a satisfying dream about Nathan’s puny human heart being crushed to a pulp.
He cracked open a giant green orb and waited for Persephone to materialize on a dirt mound covering his shoulder.
The more Tityus buried himself in the earth, the better he dreamed. He didn’t dwell too much on the reasons for that, though Zeus would be the first to say he had a mother complex. Tityus wouldn’t deny it. He was born of Gaia, after all, his giant newborn self nearly breaking his mother in two on the way out.
Persephone, wearing her favorite skull crown, leaned on her beautifully turned mahogany staff to peer into his eyes. “Well? Was it as entertaining as you hoped?”
“Better.” The rumbling word rippled the damp soil covering him and tossed up handfuls of pebbles.
“What do you think Nathan will do now?” Persephone said as she steadied herself. “Can he endure working with Sarah? Keep his job? Wait! Do you think he’ll give up his precious career?”
“You made it in time for the next installment,” Tityus said. “When Nathan left the club around two in the morning, he was in a state of mind perfect for the rare Luxor mugger to take advantage of. The thief robbed him and beat him senseless. That event alone will get me through the next liver donation. Sarah is about to discover he never made it back.”
Persephone raised her cupped hand, and a bloodred mist swirled in her fingers. When it dissipated, she was holding several bunches of purple grapes, the size of which no human had ever seen. She plucked half the fruit off one and tossed it into Tityus’s mouth before asking him a question.
“Is he alive?” Tityus nodded as he chewed. “You realize having him harmed could make your plans go the wrong direction,” she pointed out. Another enthusiastic nod jolted her off her feet.
“Gambling on humans finding their way despite our interference is what makes this hobby so satisfying,” he said after swallowing his second bunch of grapes.
His sister picked herself up and smiled. “Then, let’s get comfortable and watch.”
Tityus clicked his remote, and the shadowy, moss-covered grotto walls brightened from the desert scene as if a portal had opened over ancient Thebes.
###
The morning sun lit up the endless waves of sand and gleamed off an enormous pyramid. The archaeological encampment was tiny in its shadow.
A lone figure crouched in the pit under an umbrella, working meticulously at an eye-level spot in the strata. Part of her attention was clearly reserved for listening because the anxious archaeologist kept bobbing up her ladder at the slightest sound to scan the dirt track meandering toward Luxor.
“Hey, Charles,” Sarah called out, her voice overly loud. “Have you heard from Nathan?”
A man crouching in the adjacent pit answered her. “Not since you asked me fifteen minutes ago. But I’m concerned, too. I sent Jack to hunt for him. I’m sure he must have holed up in a hotel room to sleep off the whiskey. You know what a lightweight he is. We should quit worrying.”
As soon as that last word drifted over the sand between them, the crunch of tires had them both springing up their ladders and peering over the edges of their pits.
Back in the grotto, Persephone, nestled in the dip of Tityus’s shoulder, voiced an observation. “That must be Jack with Nathan. If I’m wrong, I’ll find you eight victims for next month’s programming.”
Tityus stopped chuckling when he spotted a golden eagle much too large to be natural, swooping over the dig site. It wheeled between the tents and landed delicately on a clothesline strung with camp blankets.
“Uh… Sephie, dear. Do you think…”
“Yes,” she drawled. “It’s Father. Hell’s Gate! How does he always know?” She barked out a laugh. “Never mind. Stupid question. We’re better off working on plausible deniability.”
They looked over the scene again to find the car had arrived at the encampment and parked under a cover. A burly, bearded man stepped out of the driver’s side, opened the door to the backseat, and helped out a slighter man clearly in pain and struggling to move.
“Nathan!” Sarah shouted. Swift and surefooted, she scrambled up her ladder and ran to the car.
The eagle made another pass over the scene. Tityus and Persephone eyed each other when a screech that could only belong to the powerful Olympian who was their sire sounded all the way to the grotto. The humans carried on, oblivious to the mythical winged creature in their midst.
Sweat beading his brow, Nathan straightened and faced Sarah as she came to an abrupt halt and gasped. She slapped a hand over her mouth but dropped it in the next instant.
“Oh my god,” she bit out. “What happened?”
Embarrassment emphasized the damage on Nathan’s face, but his voice was dignified. “I had a run-in on the way to the taxi stand and woke up in an alley with my pockets inside out. Thankfully, Jack thought to check the police station.”
This time, the humans looked up when a screech rent the air. They each watched, eyes wide, as the majestic bird of prey disappeared over the horizon.
“You scared me to death, Nathan,” Sarah said with a hitch as she turned back to her colleague.
A pale Nathan was growing wobblier by the second.
She stepped closer and softened her words. “I know what I did to you last night. I’ve been confused about… things. I’m really sorry. Today… Somehow… Well, everything is clearer. Will you forgive me?”
Hope bloomed on Nathan’s face, though his distorted lips and a puffy black eye turned the expression ghastly. He cocked his head. “What are you saying, Sarah?”
“Eman is off to Cambridge. We said goodbye last night, for good. You’re the one I want to be with. Can I hope for the same?”
The burly Jack cleared his throat, effectively returning the couple to their surroundings. “While it’s clear this exchange is doing Nathan good, he’s about to drop where he stands. Are you ready to have a lie-down, kid?”
Sarah raised her shining face to Nathan, wrapped her arm around his waist, and guided him to the med tent.
The warmth in her eyes was the final death knell for the giant’s precious hiatus. Tityus punched the button on the remote violently enough to crush the entire thing, and the desert view went dark, throwing his grotto into shadow.
Persephone was already turning wispy with her disappearing vines. “I am sorry, Brother. But you understand that I must return to Hades. I promise to do what I can to cool our father’s wrath.”
Tityus wanted to cringe at the bitter irony and miserable resignation creeping into his rumbling laughter as it trailed after her.
“You will do better for me by staying clear of Zeus for now, and away from here, dear sister. But don’t wait long for another visit.”
In the lull left by the departing Queen of the Dead and her greenery, Tityus settled his ginormous body beneath the earth where he clung to his last comfort—his dreams of unrequited love suffered by miserable humans—as he waited for the next new moon and the vultures to circle… The End… Until the next new moon…
The End… Until the next new moon…
I wrote this for a contest. I absolutely adore this premise. My friend, Lucky Noma, was inspired to write his version of the tortured giant and how he might wreak havoc on mankind for the sole purpose of providing a diversion. Stay tuned, because Lucky and I are planning a Tityus anthology.
What story would you come up with for this bored giant’s entertainment? Let me know in the comments.
If you would like to support an independent author who loves to share her stories, this story along with an eclectic anthology of more fun tales is available for $1.99 at your favorite bookstore. Thank you!
~ Mareduke is the last of his kind, and if the humans have their way, no dragons at all will exist in Kassia. Then, he meets two remarkable beings intent on changing his fate. ~
New Artwork!
I hope you enjoy this story I submitted to a contest where the prompts required a dragon meet a toddler in the forest, and the followed from the encounter. This was a joy to write.
Mareduke’s bloody, scaled head froze mid-dip. He reeled his tongue back in and stared at the child across the water. A long, cool drink was critical to his state of near-death, but he gave it up to inspect the reflection cast into the mountain lake by the tiny person on the grassy ledge.
An image of a girl, not much more than two, wrapped in a cloak, wavered over the gleaming surface. The sun glinted on that spot as if shining a beacon on the proof he sought. He raised his eyes to the embankment again.
The toddler was real, and she was staring back.
His snort displaced the water below his face. She would just have to watch while he drank because he was losing blood faster than his magic could heal him. There were too many wounds. Enough to end him if he couldn’t hydrate and rest.
The humans’ trap this time was multilayered and rigged with an exorbitant number of blades that had pulled Mareduke further down a natural pit with every move he made. They must have spent weeks designing all the intricate hazards.
He had come close to losing his head to a saw blade, and a broadsword had missed his heart by inches when it lodged between his ribs. But when he quit panicking long enough to halt the agonizing plummet, he was able to gather his magic and break free with enough momentum to gain altitude and escape the armed contingent of dragon assassins waiting for him on the surface.
He had spit his wrath at the failed murderers as he flew away, but they jeered at him when his usual rain of fire barely amounted to a drizzle and his wounded body listed sideways. He didn’t care. At this stage of life, he was accustomed to the humans and their collective superior attitude towards him and his dying species.
Still, he couldn’t understand their brutal solution to his thievery. He wasn’t there to hurt them, just grab a meal, a plump sheep or two, only because they had a penful of the tasty morsels too tempting to resist. Why did all humans insist on trying to kill him before his time? As far as Mareduke knew, he was the end of the line, and the idea, when he let himself dwell on it, that humans couldn’t share the whole of the Kingdom of Kassia with even one of his kind offended him.
The dragon had pushed himself to get to this refuge where he could recover his strength. He was surprised he had made it. Maybe it was the loss of blood that brought him this tiny vision because humans rarely came to this lake so high in the mountains, and a child would never survive the trek with or without accompaniment. Yet, it was getting harder to deny he beheld one standing at the water’s edge alone, appearing as if she were on a picnic.
He settled on his haunches, resting his chin on his front paws to better observe her. She hadn’t made a sound, only sticking her finger in her mouth as she looked around before focusing on him again.
This was the most bizarre thing he’d experienced in his young dragon life. What was she? He presumed she was human, but she could be anything. He considered how he might find out since neither of them could speak to the other.
Mareduke examined her for clues. Her cloak was made of fine, blue-dyed cloth with a glimmer weaving through that spoke of magic. Her wavy mop of strawberry-blond hair and clothing appeared clean, though her feet were bare.
That made him wonder if she was cold, but then he thought not. It was mild this time of year, even at this elevation.
While he sorted her out, she made herself comfortable as well, plopping down on a fluffy tuft of grass, her stubby legs sticking straight out, toes wiggling as they stretched toward the water. She got busy plucking nearby wildflowers until she gripped an entire bouquet in her small hand.
In between peeking at him, she observed other bits of life in her immediate vicinity, her finger returning absently to her mouth. He watched in amusement when she sniffed the pungent flowers, and her nose wrinkled. Still, she offered her collection a happy smile.
Mareduke grew more entranced when nature began to react to the tiny being. As it had done to her reflection earlier, sunbeams coalesced above her, dust motes dancing around her head like tiny fairies. Two bees drifted toward the flowers before darting at the nectar. Butterflies flitted around her smiling face.
A few woodland creatures crept close. A rabbit rose on its hind legs above the grass, wriggling its nose in her direction. A pair of doves settled in a branch and cooed. A doe and her fawns watched it all from the shade of a tree. Squirrels, hedgehogs, and even a young fox made an appearance. None of the creatures paid attention to Mareduke, their fascination centering on the pleasant child.
Mareduke thought that even with her mysterious aura, she had parents somewhere who were worrying about her. But what was even more curious than her origin was how she had come to be here.
The dragon froze when something crashed through the trees.
The life clustering around the child scattered, leaving her blinking at their sudden absence. She stood and turned towards the growls and cracking branches. A mountain troll was nearing, clearly unconcerned with announcing his presence. Typical. They stink, too. Mareduke should have smelled the vile creature long before he heard him, but he’d been distracted.
He needed to decide what to do about the child directly in his path. The troll would sooner snack on her than look at her, and the only thing to stop the voracious brute was Mareduke, but he was still weak from his injuries.
When the bulbous head popped out from the trees, Mareduke wasted no more time thinking. He flapped his wings and, in two strokes, landed between the oncoming threat and the helpless toddler.
The troll’s red-rimmed gaze fixed on Mareduke as he bore down on him with a club gripped in both hands. The ground shook under them as the beast closed in, his roars deafening.
Mareduke laid his wing over the ground and motioned for the little one to hop on. But she just stared at him as if unaffected by the approaching menace.
The absurdity of his situation made Mareduke want to snort in protest. Here he was, a perpetual target of human violence, getting ready to lay down his life for one of their offspring, if that’s what she was, because she couldn’t grasp that it was imperative to climb on.
He inhaled with everything he had in him for one good burst of fire, even as he indulged in the stories they would tell of his sacrifice on behalf of the enemy. That glorious notion deflated a bit when he remembered there was no one but a baby to witness his death.
Still, he drew in his breath. If he were destroyed, she would have no chance at all. He launched his fire. The paltry flames stopped the oncoming troll—for all of ten seconds.
The child tucked beneath him tapped the bottom of his chest with a fist so small he could barely feel it. But it got his attention. She smiled at him and clapped her hands, and Mareduke experienced an entirely new sensation. The air turned heavy, then seemed to curl in on itself.
His stomach lurched, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were in a flower-covered meadow surrounded by jagged mountain peaks. He didn’t recognize the mountains, and there was no sign of the troll.
###
When Mareduke’s world stopped tilting, he took in his surroundings. A hut squatted near a giant oak tree with a stone fireplace taking up an entire end. Smoke curled from the chimney. There was a garden with neat rows of vegetables. A milk cow poked its head through a half door in a miniature barn as it chewed its cud. A raven cawed from the roof, and the child’s face split into a wide smile.
She waved at the bird, which squawked louder, stretched, and flapped its wings before flying to the ground and landing at the dragon’s feet, where it proceeded to change into a tall, bearded man in flowing robes.
“Well done, Eliana,” the man said, smiling down at the child. “You found him.” He peered up at Mareduke. “Can you understand my words, dragon?” Mareduke dipped his snout, and the man continued, “Judging by your copious wounds, your guardian was nearly too late.” Guardian?
Mareduke glanced at the small, grinning face, catching the flicker in her blue eyes.
“Have you no knowledge of the Western Woodland Fae?” the man asked him. Mareduke cocked his head, and the man explained. “The fairies who guard all living creatures in Kassia, though their relationship with dragons is the most sacred. One like Eliana is born every eight hundred years, give or take, with a special affinity for dragons, and a destiny that compels her to do all in her power to preserve the species.”
When Mareduke continued to stare, he added, “You must have raised yourself, young dragon, just as I theorized. You are truly alone, then?” Mareduke bobbed his snout. “What is your name? Wait, allow me to place my staff over your heart. I will be able to hear you in my mind.”
Curious to experience this, Mareduke allowed it. The oaken staff was strangely warm and comforting, which made it easy to respond. I am Mareduke. Will you please tell me who you are and where this is?
The man stepped back and said with a poignant smile, “Eliana. Meet Mareduke, quite possibly the last of his kind.” His smile brightened. “Though Eliana and I harbor hopes that won’t be the case. Don’t we, child?”
The tiny person laughed and said his name in a musical child’s voice, and the sound struck a chord in his heart.
“I am Pantheos, young Mareduke,” the man said after a bow and a sweep of his staff. “An old wizard, retired from the academy where I spent a lifetime studying dragons and their history, all in preparation for meeting up with little Eliana here when it was time. Your time, Mareduke. Finding you is one part of our task. The other is to find your mate. If we don’t, then all hope for the dragons is lost. What do you think about this purpose?”
Mareduke snorted and shook his great wings as the staff again touched his chest. It was liberating to have a voice, and he spoke. I hatched alone and believed I would die alone, accepting that fate marked me as the last of my kind. I never considered that another dragon waited for me somewhere. Can it really be possible?
“We have evidence she exists, or at least existed,” Pantheos said. “Her name is Cindra.”
All at once, Mareduke’s weakened state got the better of him, and he plopped on his haunches.
“Please, forgive my thoughtlessness!” the wizard said.
He pointed his staff at the well behind them, and a splash sounded from a bucket dropping into the water, followed by a creaking when the wizard’s magic operated the crank to pull it back up. Pantheos stepped to the well, retrieved the bucket, and brought it to Mareduke, repeating the process Mareduke supposed until the wizard was sure he wouldn’t keel over.
As he lapped up the sweet water, Eliana settled on his front leg close to his head and patted his cheek.
He flinched when a voice spoke in his mind, sounding anything but childish.
I am sorry you suffered such abuse today, Mareduke. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the part of Eliana that always exists, and I am very pleased to meet you. I would have found you earlier if my information had included your foray into that village. But everything Pantheos and I knew of you pointed to the lake once you ventured out for food.
He tilted an eye at her. Your kind must hatch fully developed, like dragons. Otherwise, how can you sound like a grown person? Her little-girl laughter lifted his heart, and he was sure his healing sped up by a day. She explained more.
I am an old soul, aware of my occupation inside this organic being who must grow in a mother’s womb before existing. I am both child and your spirit guardian, and my entire purpose is to see that you survive to have offspring of your own. But we must first find a way to make peace between dragons and humans.
How are you speaking to me now, and why not at the lake?
First, you needed to get used to the idea of me as a child, and I needed to observe you. When your heart opened to the possibilities, we were able to connect.
When Mareduke woke this morning with an empty stomach and the misguided plan to raid that village, no one could have persuaded him that by the end of the day, he would no longer be alone.
He puffed out a tiny bit of air to ruffle her hair, making the child laugh. Her ageless voice sounded again.
So long as Pantheos and I draw breath, you will never again feel the bite of loneliness.
Mareduke aimed his snout at Pantheos’s staff, and the wizard nodded, touching it to his chest.
I understand a little now about the soul called Eliana, but please tell me more about the child and how she retrieved a grown dragon on her own and brought us here. His big green eye swiveled back to the tiny being. Don’t you have parents?
“Eliana is my ward,” Pantheos said, “and her powerful Fae magic is why we have this arrangement. It is part of my destiny to help her learn to control her magic and to train her as a guardian. Though her soul has experienced this before, the child must learn how to function in this role. Her parents knew what she was when she was born, and they sought me out. She has a mark, you see.”
The pintsize Fae swept her cloak over her shoulder and showed Mareduke the small dragon’s eye on her forearm. The mark was more proof that he should listen to them, and Mareduke wondered how he could have lived all this time without knowing about the Western Woodland Fae and the guardians.
Trepidation struck him. Eliana felt it and turned to her mentor. Once again, the staff covered Mareduke’s heart, and the dragon spoke his worry in their minds.
If humans are my enemy, what about the danger to those who come to my aid?
“Well, yes,” Pantheos said. “You’ve grasped the tricky part. That is why you do not recognize these landmarks. Eliana brought you through a portal to a place the humans cannot find, the land of the Kassian gnomes. You won’t see them, but the nature-loving beings are all around this clearing, watching, never having seen a dragon.” Mareduke glanced around in interest as Pantheos continued.
“And you’ve addressed the other reason her parents left her in my care. Our best chance to meet our destiny and all the challenges it will bring is to combine our strengths. The plan is for you to help us locate your mate. Time is of the essence because the last known female dragon faces the same hazards as you.
“We’ve traced her territory, which includes the Western Woodlands. But we have not received word of Cindra for some weeks.” After this troubling news, the wizard rubbed his hands together. “Now. Did you consume any sheep in that raid? Or do you require a meal?”
Eliana pressed her hand to Mareduke’s chest and conveyed his answer in halting toddler words as if the ageless one had retreated. “He ate before being caught in the trap. He’s good for a day or two.”
“Fine,” Pantheos said. “We’ll catch you up and plan our expedition while you finish recovering.”
Mareduke’s head was spinning. Yet, everything his new friends said felt right. Eliana felt right, even if her dual nature was a bit disconcerting, and he knew this little glen was where he was supposed to be at that moment.
As for the future, he thought to himself, could there really exist another dragon in Kassia? What if something has happened to this one called Cindra? What if it hasn’t and we meet, and she hates the sight of me? Or worse, I can’t stand her?
He snorted, filling the air with small puffs of smoke. None of that mattered if it meant he was no longer the last of his kind.
###
The third time Mareduke had to insert himself between the villagers and the magnificent silver dragon belching molten fire, he began to seriously question the necessity of pairing up with his own kind.
No one told him female dragons were bigger than males, stronger, and could set half a town on fire with one blast.
And Mareduke had made her angry.
It took two weeks to investigate the leads the three had narrowed down and one more to pinpoint the most likely location for them to find Cindra.
Having left Pantheos and Eliana in a safe place, Mareduke arrived at the south edge of the Western Woodlands just in time to save what was left of a town under attack by the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
Cindra had strategically wiped out the village center and the humans who could best organize a defense. The villagers were scattering in all directions, disappearing into the woods, jumping in the lake, and hiding in rock crevices up the side of the adjacent mountain. And still, she circled her quarry, laying down fire to cut off retreats and destroy crops, livestock, and any other industry critical to the inhabitants’ livelihoods.
His best guess, if anyone were to ask him, was that his female counterpart didn’t like humans. And she just added him to that list, judging by how she bore down on him now, which made Mareduke grateful for his smaller size. She might be a powerhouse, but he could fly circles around her, and he proceeded to do that as he led her away from the village by stages to the secluded mountain meadow where his friends waited.
He just needed to figure out how to calm her down before they arrived.
Did the humans offend you?
He tossed that question her way as he dove under her belly.
She twisted her body and flew backward, aiming fire at him when she had a clear shot. He swerved, and it hit a shelf of snow and caused a small avalanche. He circled a mountain spire, disappearing from her view, then found a spot behind her to try again.
Is this how you treat all your new friends? he couldn’t help asking.
I have no friends, you muddy-colored dragon. Who do you think you are, interfering with my retribution? Flames shot from her nostrils. Are you a coward, hiding behind my back?
Mareduke snorted.
I can’t help that your size shields me from your eyes, even as it blocks the sun.
Cindra roared.
Mareduke had stopped feeling intimidated halfway to their destination, and he continued even as he ducked her fire.
The humans try to kill me on a regular basis. But I am bigger than them, and I don’t believe in using my advantages to harm others.
Well. Aren’t you the saintly one? Is this why you showed up out of nowhere? To protect humans?
Uh… Sort of. My friends and I have heard of you. You do realize there aren’t many of us around?
So what?
Why are you angry?
Why do you care? And where are you taking us?
Hmmm. So, she noticed. He didn’t think anything other than the truth would work, so he went for it.
My friends have been searching for you and want to meet you. They only recently found me, and when they told me you existed, I wanted to meet you, too. I’m Mareduke. Will you be peaceable if I take you to them? They are beings of the two-legged variety.
Since you’ve made me curious, I promise not to harm your puny friends, but I’m not promising to stick around. I have things to do.
Eliana stood in full sight, grinning at them as they circled the meadow and clapping her hands in delight.
What is that? Cindra’s voice in his head was scathing as she emphasized each word. That tiny being is one of your friends?
Her name is Eliana. Mareduke made sure to put plenty of warning in his own tone. And yes, she is my friend.
Where are your other friends?
There are only two. Now, will you land with me and let us explain?
I said I would, and I will.
###
Eliana’s toddler charm had little effect on the dragon with the bad attitude, but Cindra’s reaction to Pantheos when he stepped out of the trees surprised Mareduke. She went down on one fore-knee and bowed her head.
“You know who I am?” Pantheos asked her after returning a bow. The silver head bobbed. “Would you be amenable to drinking this potion so I can hear you? It is how I communicate with Mareduke.”
Cindra agreed with another nod, and Pantheos spoke in an ancient tongue as he turned his staff halfway around, then back again, and a bucket of water appeared in front of each dragon. It was only then that Mareduke realized he was parched.
The huge dragon waited patiently for Pantheos to add a few drops to her bucket. As she drank, Eliana stepped close enough to reach out and touch the silvery, scaled face. Cindra ignored her until the small hand caressed the bridge of her snout. She stiffened before aiming a sable eye at the bold child. When Eliana’s laughter bubbled out, Cindra jerked back and rose to her full height.
Mareduke spotted the warmth in her gaze before she hid it.
“I am pleased to finally meet you, Cindra,” Pantheos said.
It is an honor to meet you, High Mage. My mother told me the story of how you came to her aid. Your intervention with the humans enabled her to reach the nesting grounds. Otherwise, I might not be here. Cindra’s visage darkened. The humans killed her not many years later.
“I am sorry. I was informed of the tragedy and tried to find you, but you’ve kept yourself well hidden, other than coming out for those raids that have made you notorious.”
Do you know of my father, High Mage?
“Please, call me Pantheos. Yes, and I was there to help your mother through her despair. You have my deepest sympathies for the loss of both your parents, maiden dragon. That is why my young apprentice and I have not given up our search. It was Mareduke’s abilities that allowed us to finally succeed. It is our purpose to ensure your parents’ fate does not befall the two of you. You are the last of your kind.”
Cindra, after casting a scornful eye at Mareduke, looked down her snout at the toddler, who was still smiling at her.
Who, or should I say what, is this child?
“She is a dragon guardian. Do you know of such ones?”
I’ve heard of these fae. I have respect for her people and leave them out of my reckoning. It is only the humans who deserve my wrath. And you are keeping me from my next engagement. So, I’m afraid I must take my leave.
Mareduke scoffed.
That’s it? You can’t give us any more of your precious time to learn about your other choice?
Let me guess. My other choice involves mating with you. No thanks. I’m fine on my own.
Mareduke’s brownish-green scales glowed bronze, and his emerald eyes blazed with his indignation. A chuff of surprise was Cindra’s only reaction to the impressive sight, and she spread her wings in preparation for taking off.
Mareduke got in the last word when she was aloft.
We might be fine on our own… but should we be?
The last four words were louder in their heads than he intended because Cindra was already a mere speck in the distance. The reverberation elicited a squeal from Eliana as she plopped on her bottom.
It was the ancient guardian who spoke next in a voice covering the distance to the disappearing dragon.
We will meet again, dear friend.
###
Mareduke was not sure why he made the effort to track down the unpleasant maiden dragon … again. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand her pain. Part of him would like to give in to vengeance for the violence that ended his own parents’ lives. But he’d long ago come to terms with his principles over killing. Nothing good came of it.
He thought Cindra might believe that, deep down, somehow sensing that her destructive ways ate at her. Convincing her to change was another matter. Eliana and Pantheos assured him it was worth a try, so they flew with him to yet another human village they had pegged on their map of Cindra’s territory.
Mareduke didn’t want to admit it, but he could feel her in his heart, which assured him they were on the right path. He wasn’t ready to face the idea his sensitivity was due to a mate bond already forming, so he put that thought away.
They saw the blaze rising above the trees before they spotted the silver dragon camouflaged against a low cloud. He sent his thoughts to his passengers.
She is one headstrong beast. But this village was prepared. Do you see the trebuchets lined up around the perimeter? The brave ones are determined to load them even as some die under her fire.
“And it appears half contain buckets of tar, while half are fireballs,” Pantheos observed. “That is quite a defense.”
I foresee those wicked devices causing her death, the guardian said in a grim voice. We must disarm them.
I will not risk you, Eliana. We should put you down somewhere safe.
You needn’t worry about me, Mareduke. We have one shot at a pass while they are focused on her. Let’s go.
The little one was right. Mareduke flew low and fast, knocking the legs out from most of the machines before the humans realized another dragon had descended on them.
The flaming ammunition dropped to the ground, and the villagers scrambled to put out their fires. But they were prepared, tying cloths over their mouths and pulling covers over each spot to snuff out the flames.
Still, Mareduke couldn’t fly to them all fast enough.
“To your right!” Pantheos shouted.
The trebuchets still standing were repositioned, tar buckets set ablaze, and aimed their way. Besides the tar, fire from above rained down from a device before he could topple it. Mareduke twisted and shot up, managing to dodge the tar, but the flames hit his flank, and he faltered under the searing pain.
Hang on! He alerted his passengers. I can get us away.
Even as he listed to the side, he managed to power his wings enough to lift above the machines, but not out of range of a tar bucket, which hurtled towards his chest. If he ducked the wrong way, the flaming missile would splatter his precious cargo. He braced himself for the pain, staying his path.
A silver wing arced between them and the tarry danger. Mareduke roared out his fear for Cindra. The bigger dragon smashed the bucket to the ground with her outstretched wing, which collapsed the remaining trebuchets, but not before her wing was doused with the thick, molten goo. She careened sideways, then crashed to the ground.
The smell of gaseous tar and burning dragon flesh filled Mareduke’s nostrils.
The humans closed in with more tar and torches.
Set us down next to Cindra, Pantheos commanded. Mareduke wasted no time landing in a way that allowed him to shield the injured dragon struggling to stand.
Cindra’s voice, full of pain and frustration, rang in his head, her eyes glowing with admiration.
What are you doing, you murky dragon? Go! Get that child away from here!
Prismatic beams flared from Pantheos’s staff in every direction. The humans stopped to shield their eyes before spotting the source standing atop Mareduke’s back.
“I am the High Mage, Pantheos. I bring a decree from the King who has sworn to protect the last of the dragon kind, provided my apprentice and I find them alive. We have fulfilled our task. These sacred creatures are all that is left. It is not right to destroy them.” He paused, “Or that they exact revenge on you, but that will change. There will be a peaceful coexistence. Eliana and I will see to it. Now, stand down and let us leave with the injured dragon.”
One of the men stepped forward.
“Many have died today. What does King Lathan say about that?”
Eliana reached for Pantheos, who picked her up so she could face the crowd. A beam of sunlight washed over the child. A pair of doves appeared from nowhere and landed on each shoulder, cooing gently. Butterflies likewise appeared, flitting delicately over her head.
The sweet, halting voice of a child sounded across the smoldering village. “There has been much death on both sides. It must end here.”
Though many in the crowd appeared swayed by her compelling tone and peaceful magic, the man called out again, “Until there is a king who will decide differently. My descendants may yet avenge our dead.” “That may be,” the little one said, “if you decide that to be your legacy. For now, let there be peace, and let me go home with my friends. For I promise you, one day you will need them.”
Artwork by D. L. Lewellyn using Photoleap and Canva.
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What happens when a pair of hungry fish keep getting their feeding time interrupted by a stranger lurking in the house wielding a butcher knife?
The day had been exceedingly long, but soon, the family would appear one by one from wherever they went outside of the Oscarsons’ frame of reference, which encompassed a large portion of the living space from their well-appointed fifty-gallon aquarium in the foyer.
The last of the evening sun bathed the entire front of the house but left the back in shadows.
For the fifth time, Mr. Oscarson swam to the glass facing the front door and grumbled, “I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving, dear,” said Mrs. Oscarson in a tone that suggested she often placated her insatiable husband.
“It’s worse today, and you know this because once again, Lily forgot our breakfast. You might think Hank would make sure his daughter followed through with her chores since he constantly talks to anyone who will listen about his prized Oscars.”
Mrs. Oscarson snorted. Bubbles burst from her lips. “You seem to believe we’re not mere decoration.”
Mr. Oscarson was about to expound on his favorite topic when his wife’s tail twitched. “Did you hear that?”
“What? My stomach growling.”
“Hush. It’s coming from the kitchen.”
He did hear something then, like glass falling to the floor, followed by a quiet thud.
From their spot, they could just see the kitchen entry. An object moved in the shadows, made its way through the dining room, and emerged near the foyer as a large, hooded figure.
“Hmmm. That can’t be good,” Mr. Oscarson said.
The man gripped a butcher knife in a gloved hand.
“Oh my,” said Mrs. Oscarson.
He passed their home on his way to the living room and headed up the stairs, his footsteps as quiet as a cat’s. Soon, they heard faint sounds like closets and drawers opening and closing.
When a key jiggled in the front door, Mr. Oscarson, being a fish, completely forgot about the stranger in the house as the pains in his stomach took over all thought. “Finally!” he trumpeted, sending sound waves to ricochet off the glass.
The aquarium was the first thing the family saw when they came through the front door, which was beneficial to the Oscarsons. The impressive fish were clever at drawing attention to their antics.
Sure enough, the head of the house set his briefcase down and stepped briskly to the glass. “Lily forgot to feed you this morning, didn’t she, my beauties? Let’s take care of that right now.”
Hank picked up the food shaker and was about to sprinkle the flakes over the Oscarsons’ waiting mouths when something flashed on the dining room floor that caught his eye. He frowned and set their food on the table.
“Dammit! So close!”
“Settle down, Mr. Oscarson. Hank has more important things to do. Like avoiding a very sharp weapon wielded by a very big stranger.”
“Couldn’t he have given us one shake first?”
The pair watched as Hank inspected the small pieces of glass left behind by the stranger’s boot, then followed a trail to the kitchen. They heard muttered curses. When he headed their way again, he had his phone to his ear, and a voice coming from the device said, “This is 911. What is your emergency?”
“I came home to find evidence of a break-in,” Hank said quietly as he stooped to pick up another piece of glass. “I think someone is in my house.”
The Oscarsons were shocked when he continued up the stairs. “Shouldn’t he at least arm himself? Who does he think he is? Arnold Schwarzenegger?”
Mr. Oscarson was a huge fan. The couple had a full view of the television from the south end of their watery home and enjoyed action-hero binge nights with Hank.
Next, they heard Hank hollering, followed by gasps, grunts, and thuds. Then, then utter quiet.
“I certainly hope not all those ominous sounds were Hank’s,” said a worried Mrs. Oscarson. But it was the stranger who came down the stairs, his knife dripping blood on the carpet.
The big man ducked into the living room when the front door opened to reveal Hank’s better half. Lisa smiled at the fish and stepped right up to the aquarium. She always gave them her smile, no matter how her day went.
Mr. Oscarsons’ empty stomach prompted him to draw her attention despite the danger, and very likely, a dead husband waiting for her upstairs. She answered the big colorful fish’s call, picking up the food shaker just as he hoped.
The Oscarsons once again poked their mouths through the surface in anticipation, but nothing came because the stranger sneaked up on Lisa and shoved the ten-inch blade into her abdomen.
“Oh dear. We should have found a way to warn her,” Mrs. Oscarson said, sounding beside herself as they watched Lisa slump into the stranger’s arms.
He hugged her to him like a lover and carried her up the stairs.
The fish darted around their home in agitation, and Mr. Oscarson finally displayed a sense of horror. “It’s much too quiet up there. What could he be doing?”
The front door opened again, and it was Lily who rushed to the aquarium.
“I am so sorry, you two! I can’t believe I forgot to feed you again.”
She paused when she noticed the overturned shaker but picked it up and was aiming it their way when she spotted the blood at her feet. She froze.
Terror spread over her young face.
The hand holding the shaker began to tremble, but no flakes escaped, much to Mr. Oscarsons’ frustration, which had returned in full force with another tantalizing view of food hovering so close.
Lily’s eyes followed the trail of blood up the stairs. “Oh my god,” she said with a trembling breath. The shaker dropped to the floor.
“Really? Why is this turning out to be the worst day ever?” said Mr. Oscarson as he sank gloomily away from the surface.
Sirens blared outside, and red lights flashed through the windows. The sound of breaking glass came from upstairs, followed by moans and faint calls for help. “My dear husband, it is going to get worse because I doubt any of these busy people will think to feed us,” said the wise Mrs. Oscarson as the first responders burst through the door and Lily cried out for her parents before fainting in a heap—right on top of their food.
Thank you for reading my story. I would love comments if you have a minute to let me know what you think.
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By D. L. Lewellyn 