TIWC #2: The Dust Pixies, Part 2

September 16, 2016September 19, 2016 | Allison

Welcome back to part 2 of Grace’s TIWC and part 2 of The Dust Pixies! I’m so glad you guys liked the last part! (Click here to read it.) Thanks so much for your sweet comments. ♥

Grace, I used all three prompts and included “pencil” in my story. 🙂

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Father wasn’t exactly pleased to hear that I had met a human. “You did WHAT?! Mae, sweetheart, you know how dangerous that is. If the humans find us they could destroy our whole colony in the flick of a duster!”

“But Father, she was nice! She was like Lyri, like one of us.” Lyri is my best friend. She’s dark haired and quiet, a lot like the human girl – and just the opposite of blond, boisterous me.

“Mae, honey, humans just act friendly way to trick you. They’ll only hurt you if you try to befriend them.” Father firmly latched the corral gate to contain the excited dust bunnies and looked me straight in the eye. “I don’t want you to ever get close to a human again, do you understand? You may think this girl can be trusted, but she can’t. Dust pixie history is filled with massacres and deaths caused by traitorous humans. Don’t let that happen, Mae. Now I mean that. You are not to visit that human ever again.” Father gave me a serious look that told me he meant what he said.

I nodded sadly. “Yes, Father. I understand.”

I glared at the baby dust bunny who had caused all this mess. “You,” I said angrily, “are in big trouble.” The bunny just twitched its nose and peered at me mischievously, its eyes twinkling. My heart melted. “Oh you little rascal!” I squeezed the little fluffball and smiled.

I told Lyri all about it the next day. Her family lived under the piano – in fact, Lyri was an excellent pianist, having taught herself from the piano books the humans left open.

Lyri listened wide-eyed to my harrowing account. “You mean you actually talked to a human?”

I nodded proudly. “I want to go see her again, but Father says absolutely not.” I sighed. “Someday, though, I’ve got to find her again. Someday for sure.”

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One year later…

I bounced over to Lyri’s house and rapped on her door. I stared at the “No. 2” imprinted in black upon the yellow pencil-planks, just as I always did while waiting for Lyri to answer. And as always I marveled that the words were nearly erased by dents from human teeth marks long ago. Humans must be strange creatures indeed to chew wood!

Suddenly the No. 2 swung out of sight and I found myself staring instead at Lyri’s excited face. “Are you ready?”

“Nope, are you?”

It took Lyri a moment to realize I was teasing. That was the thing with Lyri – she always took things so literally.

“Ha ha,” she said sarcastically, “very funny.” Lyri and I had both been looking forward to this Collecting since forever. Finally we were old enough to scavenge for string, cracker bits, matchboxes, and the countless other human leftovers we dust pixies used every day. I hitched my dust-bunny-wool collecting sack higher on my shoulders, Lyric gave her lilac wings a quick stretch, and we set off.

We lost no time in slipping into the secret entrance behind the fireplace. Long ago the dust pixies had found that the best way to get from one side of the house to the other was to travel through the walls. The narrow, vaulted stone space between the walls was lit by candle stubs, many of which were nearly burnt down. Lyric and I gathered up the wax drippings to melt down into future candles. At last we came to the end of the tunnel; I peeked cautiously out the peephole in the wall.

“All clear,” I whispered.

Lyri and I stepped out of the dark tunnel and into…

Oh no. Something long and yellow was rolling towards us. It was labeled “No. 2.” And it was dented with human teeth marks. Human.

Lyri clutched my hand and we shrank back against the baseboard. I lifted my trembling face up, up, and saw the same dark hair and wide gray blue eyes of the girl I had met last year on Round-up day. We had to get out of here. Father had warned me.

“Lyri, get back in the tunnel,” I breathed. But already the human had stooped down to get a closer look at us. We cowered together in terror, hearts thumping together. I could hear Lyri gasping for breath.

“You came back,” the human girl whispered with a soft smile on her face. “I knew you would. Please don’t be scared; I won’t hurt you – I promise. I just want to be friends.”

Friends. Father’s voice echoed like an alarm in my head “Humans just act friendly to trick you. They’ll only hurt you if you try to befriend them.”

“No,” I gasped. “We don’t want to be friends with a human. Go away.”

The girl shook her head, gently but firmly. “I won’t go away yet. I have to know who you are. You remind me of something, something familiar, something I can’t quite remember… Who are you? What are you?”

I gulped, but obediently answered the giant’s question. “I’m Mae, and this is my friend Lyri. We’re dust pixies…”

The girl cut me off with a sudden cry. “So that’s what you are,” she whispered in awe. “Dust pixies. Of course! And that little dusty thing that you were carrying when we first met must have been a dust bunny!” The girl was growing more and more excited. “I should have known! It’s really you. Oh, I can’t believe it! I’d almost forgotten about that day!” She took a deep breath and continued in a calmer voice, “I’m sorry. Let me explain…”

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Duh-duh-DUN! 😀

I hope you enjoyed this part! Have you found any evidence of dust pixies in your house since you read the first part? 😉

***Allison***

P. S. True story: I set out to find a picture of a chewed up pencil on Pinterest. Nope, no luck. On the web in general? Not quite what I was aiming for. Did we have an actual chewed up pencil in our house? Nuh-uh. So guess what I did? I chewed one up myself. Ta-daa!

A VERY EXCITING DEVELOPEMENT!! + TIWC #1

September 8, 2016 | Allison

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY! *Gasp, wheeze, puff* I have… 1,002 FOLLOWERSSSSS!!!!! OH MY GOODNESS! HOW IS THIS HAPPENING? THANK YOU GUYS SO VERY, EXTREMELY, TERRIFICALLY, ETC. MUCH! *Takes a deep breath*

Phew. Guys. This is sooo amazing! I don’t know what else to say. Wheeeee!

Of course I’ll have to do something exciting for this, right?! Let me think… Ooh, maybe a giveaway! I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do yet, but trust me, I’ll do a celebratory post soon and tell you what I’ve decided then. Do you guys have any suggestions? It’s really hard to talk normally and not shout…

*Faints from excitement*

Maybe we’d better move on to the already planned part of the post or I’m going to explode.

Ahem. I’m participating in Grace’s lovely Think to Ink Writing Challenge! This is my first entry. Grace, I used all three prompts and included “pencil” in my story. 🙂 I bolded (is that even a word) the spots where I used the prompts.

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“Mae, get up! It’s round-up day!” My little sister stage-whispered into my ear. I groaned and buried further under my covers.

“Go away, Fiona,” I muttered. Why couldn’t she just leave me in peace… *snore*

“AHHHH! FIONAAAAA!” I leaped out of bed and frantically shook off the freezing cold water. Now I was wide awake and not in a good mood.

Fiona giggled and gave me a wicked grin. “Shhh! Don’t wake up Petre,” she whispered loudly.

“Fiona!” I whirled around to give her a good tongue lashing, but stopped when I noticed the calendar hanging on the wall. Today was marked with a big red circle and a conglomeration of smiley faces. “WHAT?! It’s round-up day? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Fiona sighed and rolled her eyes.

I’d looked forward to round-up day all year. Petre had cried for days when he learned that at 4 years old he was still too young to come along, and Fiona was overjoyed to go on her first round-up trip as an early 10th birthday present.

While I’m introducing my siblings, I’d better introduce myself too. I’m Mae Lyra, and I’m 13 years old. Oh, and one other little thing you should know about me:

I’m a dust pixie.

Dozens of us, sometimes hundreds, live in every house. We live mainly under beds, sofas, and in the jillions of unnoticed crevices around your home. Dust pixies are good at many things, but my family carries on the tradition of one of the dust pixies’ most time-honored occupations: raising dust bunnies.

At the beginning of every spring we release our herds out into the wide world (a.k.a. our humans’ house) to feed upon dirt and grime and to grow bigger and fluffier each month. By wintertime the herds are majorly fluffy and ready to be sheared. There are always a few casualties (and once I saw the mother human wipe out my friend’s whole herd of dust bunnies in one fell swoop when she vacuumed under a bed), but for the most part it’s a profitable business. Dust bunny wool is highly valued in the dust pixie world. It can be spun into thread or yarn, woven to make traditional wool bed covers, and sewn to make the warmest, fluffiest coats and garments available.

Everything in our house is dusty – and that’s just the way we like it. It’s considered unhealthy to wash our natural dust off (that’s why I was so mad at Fiona for dumping water on me). Since we’re pixies, we obviously have wings, but in most other ways we’re like tiny versions of the humans we live with. We build homes and furniture (from the humans’ trash) and eat three meals a day (from the humans’ dropped crumbs). We have jobs, families, and friends. But even though we’re so similar, even though our very lives depend on them, dust pixies are mortally afraid of humans. Who wouldn’t be afraid of huge, lumbering giants that can crush your whole world beneath one foot?

Humans were our main concern as Fiona, my father, and I flew off through the dim light, leaving Mother to fix breakfast for Petre when he awoke. It wasn’t even 5:00 a.m. We still had plenty of time before the humans usually got up, but with humans you could never be sure of anything.

Our first stop was the sofa. Goodness, those dust bunnies had multiplied fast! We herded about 100 bunnies of all sizes into a makeshift corral made from broken popsicle sticks, pencil stubs, and Superglue. One little bunny escaped the herd and hopped off to explore.

“I’ll get it!” I yelled. The baby bunny twitched its dusty nose ferociously as if daring me to catch it, and so the chase began.

“Come back here you little fluffball!” I panted as I flew this way and that. The little rascal had scampered all the way into one of the humans’ bedrooms. Should I go in? The bunny was so close I could practically touch it. Surely I would get it this time! I flew softly over to the bunny, who padded over to the window sill and sat on its haunches, nose quivering, whiskers twitching.

Slowly, gently, I held out my hand for the bunny to sniff, then grabbed it. It was so soft, like a stuffed animal! Petre would have loved it – but he would have had a coughing fit for sure. My brother was one of the very few dust pixies who were actually allergic to dust. Yeah, kind of unfortunate when dust is your life.

I cuddled the ball of fuzz close and prepared to fly back to the corral when I heard a rustling noise coming from the bed.

Oh no. Not now. Please don’t wake up now!

But she did. This human was a quiet, dark haired young woman of about twenty, but that was all I knew about her. We dust pixies didn’t stick around for such juicy facts – it was too dangerous.

The girl sighed and sat up in bed.

No! No, don’t get up!

She got up. And what’s more she came over to the windowsill. The bunny and I dropped low, using our dustiness as a natural camouflage. Unfortunately, the girl was a good housekeeper – the windowsill was spotless. She propped her elbows on the windowsill and stared out at the fading night sky. Perhaps I could have escaped had not the bunny chosen that moment to scramble out of my grasp. She looked down with a dreamy expression on her face when she heard the scuffle. The girl saw the “clump of dust,” and bent down, frowning, to flick it off. Her eyes widened when she saw that we were no mere clump of dust.

We both sat there, staring at each other in fear and surprise. She didn’t speak, she didn’t make a sound, but the wild look in her eyes told me exactly what she was thinking. Am I still dreaming? She bent down even closer and stared at me with huge blue-gray eyes. When she blinked, her eyelashes brushed my face.

“Please,” I whispered, “please don’t hurt me.”

When she heard my voice, the girl jumped back and clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. Nope, she wasn’t dreaming. She stood there, breathing hard, then answered in a slow whisper.

“I would never hurt you… whatever you are. I’ll just close my eyes and you can go back to wherever you live – I won’t peek, I promise.” The girl squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

I was amazed. This human was actually kind! I whispered a heartfelt “Thank you,” caught up the baby dust bunny, and flew out of the room as fast as I could.

Boy, would I have a story to tell my father.

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This was so much fun to write! I love creating alternate worlds like this. 🙂 I’m probably going to continue this story as TIWC progresses.

Oh, and I combined and edited this picture and this picture to make the photo of Mae and the dust bunny. I love how it turned out! The bunny in the actual photo looked like an real life dust bunny – kind of like Willow! XD

Did you like the “dust pixies”?

***Allison***

P. S. I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE I HAVE 1,000 FOLLOWERS! AAHHHHHHH!

Beauty from Ashes, Part 2

September 6, 2016November 12, 2018 | Allison

Beauty from Ashes is a short story I’m working on. It’s kind of a hybrid story between Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast because fairy tale medleys are fun. 😀

I’m so glad you guys liked the last part! (Click here to read it if you haven’t yet.) Thanks for all of your sweet comments. ♥ Are you ready for Part 2?

Just to refresh your memory, here’s an excerpt from the end of Part 1:

But the worst part was, I had promised, and my promise was backed by the terrifying threat of the Beast’s roar. I had to go back tomorrow, like it or not.

Oh. No.

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Beauty from Ashes

Part 2.

Furious rage could not even begin to describe Druscilla and Lady Tremaine’s feelings toward me when I returned home single-shoed with only Anastasia’s roses in hand. I thought they would explode into tiny pieces. Even my frantic, tearful excuses and description of the Beast did little to calm them. I was sent to bed without dinner (though I had barely had lunch), and given twice as many chores for the next day.

When I awoke the following morning, I was more exhausted than when I went to sleep – Beast had tormented my dreams all night. By late afternoon it was nearly time to meet the Beast and I still had chores to do. I whirled the duster up and down the banister, polished the table in 30 seconds flat, and shooed a herd of dust bunnies frantically out the door. I could hear feet clumping down the stairs, but I didn’t wait for further instructions. I was out the door and in the forest in the time it takes Anastasia and Druscilla to pick out their cereal bowls.

I had one last chore – gathering those twenty white roses for Druscilla. This was the chore I dreaded most, for to complete it I had to meet the Beast once again.

I timidly entered the clearing, glancing this way and that for signs of the Beast. Nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief and started picking white roses, much faster this time. But just like the day before, I had only barely finished when I heard twigs crackling.

The Beast was here.

“I’m here. I came,” I managed to gasp as I cringed under his imposing glare.

“I see you succeeded in snatching a few more of my roses,” Beast frowned impressively. “I thought I had taught you a lesson the first time, but apparently you are slow to learn. WHY are you STEALING my ROSES?” Beast bellowed.

“I’m so terribly, terribly sorry, Sir Beast, Sir. I – I didn’t know they were your roses. You never told me!” I whimpered. “It’s just that… my sister needs these roses, I – I mean she wants these roses, very badly, and if I don’t bring them my mother is likely to shut me up in the house. Which means I can’t come back to see you.” I looked hopefully up at his face, searching for any signs of relent. Though his expression was harder than a stone chopping block, his words surprised me.

“Very well. You may take them on one condition: you must serve me for twenty days – one day for each rose. Meet me here each evening and I will put you to work. Or, if you would rather not…” Beast shrugged, “leave the roses – and your other shoe – with me.”

This was hard. Would I face the fury of my stepsister and stepmother and go barefoot for who knows how long, or face the Beast every day for twenty days? I buried my face in my hands in agony. I knew what I had to do, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

“I will serve you for twenty days,” I whispered at last.

A tiny spark glimmered in Beast’s eyes. It looked almost like… hope, or gladness. But he only grunted and said, “Very well. Your service starts today.”

My shoulders sagged. I was far too tired to do anything properly, much less to serve the demanding Beast. But all I said was, “As you say. What is my task?”

******

Half an hour later I dragged myself home, picking bits of moss and leaves from my dirty dress and clinging to a handful of limp white roses. The Beast had ordered me to make a couch from wood, leaves, and moss. It was backbreaking work that he could have accomplished far easier than I, but he never lifted a finger to help. All he did was stare at me – or more like stare through me – the entire time, as if he were prying open my heart and searching for secrets. The Beast was a strange creature.

He only got stranger the next day. He sat on his couch and asked me question after question – who were my parents? Where did I live? Did I have any siblings? Was I good at sewing? Dancing? Painting? And many other questions, some normal and some unsettling. When I asked him why he wanted to know all this, he only shrugged and said that if I were to be his slave, he had better know some of my background. Secretly I wasn’t so sure. The Beast didn’t seem like one to care where I came from or who I was, as long as I did the things he required.

Instead of voicing my doubts, I began to question him. What was he anyway – a huge, hairy human or a talking animal? And if an animal, what kind, and how did he learn to speak? Where did he live? What was he doing here? How could I be sure that those rosebushes were really his? But though I bombarded him with questions, he remained stubbornly silent.

“Go on,” I prompted him, “it’s only fair that a slave should know something about her master. Why aren’t you answering my questions?”

Beast answered soberly. “Ella, girl, I do not answer because you would not believe me. The time has not yet come for you to know these things. I shall tell you soon enough, when the time is right and not before.”

I cocked my head in puzzlement. This was strange. It was like my father was talking to me. The Beast sounded almost wise, almost kind… Almost, but not quite. I shook my head. Would I ever understand this creature?

In the days that followed, I did a variety of tasks for the Beast. I brought him mushrooms, nuts, and other good things to eat from the forest; I tended his rosebushes; I entertained him with stories and sang to him songs from my childhood; and sometimes I simply walked through the trees with him, answering his questions and talking with him.

A strange thing began to happen. Each day Beast seemed to soften, each day he seemed more like my friend and less like my master, until finally we walked and talked and laughed together as naturally as a brother and sister. I could not fathom how this astonishing change came about or whether it was on his part or mine; I only knew that instead of dreading the daily meetings, I soon looked forward to them eagerly.

My eyes were bright with tears as I walked the familiar path to meet the Beast for the last time. Oddly enough, I would miss him very, very much. Who else could I pour out my troubles to? Who else would cheer me up when I was weary of life?

Who else would be my friend, the best friend I had ever had?

Beast looked sad and nervous too. There was an uncomfortable pause, then Beast said softly, “I have one last question and one last task for you, Ella, my dear. They will be the hardest of all.” Beast lowered his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. “I want you to answer honestly – you know me well enough to know that I will see through a lie.”

Beast reached out and held my trembling hands in his. My mind was racing. Why was he so anxious? He was frightening me. What was he going to ask me? I could think of nothing that qualified as “the hardest question of all.” He’d asked me everything, everything already. What was there left to ask?

Beast swallowed hard and looked me straight in the eye.

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Mega-cliffhanger! Mwahahaha, I’m so cruel. XD It’s too bad you already know the background fairytales, or it would be super suspenseful. 😛

Oh, and since I couldn’t quite find a picture of Ella as I imagine her, I drew one. I think it turned out pretty well – except that her eyes are a little too big. XD I meant them to be big, but not that big. XD Also, this is not how Ella looks in her normal daily life. She looks like this when… well, you’ll see. 😉

I hope you enjoyed this rather long second part of Beauty from Ashes. There’s more to come!

***Allison***

P. S. You only have until September 10th to submit questions for the Sisters Q&A! I’m sooo excited to answer them. 🙂

P. P. S. I have a good idea for my first entry for Grace‘s TIWC! 😀 The deadline is the 8th, so I’ll post that soon.

Beauty from Ashes, Part 1 (+BIBPC)

August 27, 2016September 6, 2016 | Allison

Hello, hello! How are you lovely people doing? (Isn’t that sort of a rhetorical question though?)

I have some writing and photos for you today.

First up, Beauty from Ashes. Beauty from Ashes is a short story I’m working on. It’s basically a medley of Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast, ’cause you’re never too old for fairy tales, right?

I’m still looking for a picture that fits my idea of Cinderella. Hopefully next time I’ll have it.

Enjoy the first part!

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Beauty from Ashes

Part 1.

“Cinderella!” a whiny voice rang out from upstairs, “Come up here at once!”

I sighed. It was all I could do not to run out the door; not to run, run, run, and never come back. I would never have to answer to my stepsisters again. But I wouldn’t survive and I knew it. Even though my life was miserable here, at least I had a life, if you could call it that. I heaved my tired body up the winding staircase. With every step, the arguing voices grew louder.

“I said I wanted roses first!”

“Did not! You stole my idea!”

“Oh no I didn’t. You just won’t give me credit for anything, Anastasia!”

“That’s because you never have any good ideas! I’m going to have roses, whether you want me to or not. So there!”

“Motherrr!”

I could hear Lady Tremaine shushing her daughters. “Now girls. If you are ever to impress the Prince, you absolutely must control your tempers. Anastasia, you will have red roses, and Druscilla, you will have white ones. Listen to Mother, dears. Don’t be like that nasty Cinderella who never obeys anyone.” Lady Tremaine directed this last remark at me as I entered the room. Anastasia and Druscilla instantly forgot their enmity in their mutual delight at my poor, embarrassed face.

Lady Tremaine didn’t lose a beat. “Cinderella, go fetch twenty red roses and twenty white roses for your sisters. If they are to have dried flower crowns for the ball, we must start preparing them now. Go, child! Don’t just stand there looking stupid! Away with you!”

The girls snickered and turned back to their preparations. Oh how I wished I could join them! As the date of the Prince’s ball drew ever nearer, our household was in an uproar over the various preparations necessary to present Anastasia and Druscilla at their finest (which wasn’t saying much). But though I had begged and pleaded, Lady Tremaine refused to let me go to the ball. It was an unnecessary expense, she said. But the King had ordered all eligible maidens to come, I protested. She only scoffed at this, saying I was hardly “eligible” with my dusty, ash-stained face and dingy clothes. I chose not to point out that all that could be fixed with a bath and a new gown. I knew when I had lost. I knew because I always did lose and always had lost, ever since the day my father died.

I stomped outside, gritting my teeth to keep from exploding. At least I got to visit the forest. I picked my way sluggishly to the two lush rosebushes in the middle of our woods, trying to drag out my freedom. When I arrived, I plucked the roses as slowly as possible, carefully avoiding thorns. I had only gathered the red roses when a crackling noise made me freeze in mid-pluck. Some great animal was snuffling and stomping its way through the woods. It drew nearer and nearer to me, but I was afraid to turn around. My heart pounded madly in my chest like a captive bird desperate to escape. Finally the crackling stopped. The beast was so close I could feel its hot breath on my back.

I just had to turn around.

Immediately I wished I hadn’t. I was face to face with an enormous beast – what looked like a cross between a bear and a lion.

It was by far the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. My breath came in ragged gasps; my sweaty hands clutched the roses as if to protect them.

Then the beast spoke.

“Who are you?” it questioned in a deep, growling, voice. If I hadn’t been terrified out of my wits before, I was now. A talking bear?

I gulped. “M-my name is Ella, Sir… Sir…”

“Call me Beast,” it snarled.

“My n-name is Ella, Beast.”

Beast growled menacingly. “Very well, Ella, give me one of your shoes.”

I blinked. “Excuse me? But, Sir – I mean, Beast, these are my only pair! My mother will be furious! Please, may I give you my hair ribbon or-”

“Your shoe. Give it to me.” His voice left no room for doubt. I passed him one of my forlorn slippers with trembling hands. He nodded and continued, “If you want this back, you must return to this place tomorrow at this time. Or else-” he opened wide his mouth and roared like a lion.

I shielded my face with my arm. Sweat plastered my yellow-gold hair to my head, and tears streamed down my dusty face. “Yes, yes Sir – I mean Beast. I will do that. I promise I will. Please, please may I go now?” Beast nodded his huge head.

I lost no time in racing back to the safety of home, sobbing with terror all the time. When I was halfway there it occurred to me that I hadn’t picked any white roses. Nevermind. I was NOT going back there, no matter how angry Druscilla would be.

But the worst part was, I had promised, and my promise was backed by the terrifying threat of the Beast’s roar. I had to go back tomorrow, like it or not.

Oh. No.

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There! I hope you liked that! It was a lot of fun to write. 🙂 More parts are coming up soon!

And now for my BIBPC entries. I know the first one is late, but since Megan is my sister, she’s already seen my photo. Yay for sisters! (Unless the sisters in question are Anastasia and Druscilla.)

BIBPC #4 – Category: Broken

OH MY GOODNES IS HE NOT ADORABLE?! Oh. Right. Perhaps I should explain that the bunny isn’t “broken” like that. It’s just a technical way of saying “spotted.” And you thought… Shame on you! XD

This is one of our five baby bunnies, a. k. a. cuteness itself. I believe my brother Logan chose this one. He named it “Higgledy Piggledy” for some strange reason. Don’t look at me! XD Never fear, a bunny post is coming up soon with lots more juicy details and fluzzy pictures.

BIBPC #5 – Category: Old Things

Last night we acquired a few lovely, ancient books from my great-grandma. One is called “Human Use Geography.” I find that quite funny. Human Use? As opposed to what, penguin use? XD But seriously, it’s a really neat book! There are notes and names and scribbles all throughout the book, and some pages are practically falling out.

This would also have been a good photo for the “Broken” category. Broken is often quite beautiful, isn’t it? We’re all like old books in that way, I guess – broken but beautiful. 🙂

***Allison***

A Sunset Story

June 23, 2016 | Allison

Guess what? Today you get pictures AND a story. I know, I’m so generous. XD

I raced outside and up a hill to take pictures of the brilliant sunset tonight. I wish you could have seen it! It was so orange and pink and just gorgeous! But I suppose my smaller-than-life pictures will have to do. (Note: The sunset was way prettier in real life. 😉 )

-Allison 001 (1024x768) — This picture captured the colors about the best.

I edited this one:

I also took pictures of a sunset when we went to my grandparent’s house.

Now that your mind is saturated with pictures of sunsets, here’s a little story I wrote. (Yes, I did use Esme from WordCrafters 2. 😀 ) I’ve been wanting to write something like this for a long time. Enjoy this little tidbit of a story!

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Esme lay on the hillside, staring up at the sky. A little kitten breeze played around her. It pounced on her face, batted her clothes, and ruffled her hair with soft, invisible paws.

Esme gave a sigh of contentment as she lay there with the breeze for company, watching the sun step down from its stage in a brilliant finale. The sunset was like a giant bonfire, and the puffy golden clouds like marshmallows toasting over the blaze.

Esme closed her eyes and imagined what it would feel like to sit on one of those clouds. It would be warm and soft and springy, just like a perfectly roasted marshmallow. She would nestle deep into the softness and let the colors of the sunset wash over her. The colors would feel good – tingling and throbbing with energy. If she jumped from the edge of the cloud, she would fly – she would soar over the fire in the sky, over everything and everyone.

Esme opened her eyes. She had landed back on her hillside. But Esme liked it up there with the clouds. She closed her eyes again and floated up to the clouds. This time she imagined how a sunset would sound if it were music. The notes would start off smooth but bright, like blue sky just beginning to turn rosy. The music would build, louder and louder, higher and higher, crashing in great golden waves over everything it touched. The notes would play so fast that they all blurred together into one glorious, chaotic crescendo as the sunset burned brightest. Then, gradually, the music would fade with the fading colors. The happy, throbbing tune would turn slow and mournful as the sun breathed its last. A few sweet notes would linger – the sun’s last golden tears – then the music would stop.

As Esme walked back to her house with the kitten breeze tagging along, she could still feel the softness of the cloud surrounding her and hear the sunset’s wonderful music playing in her ears. She was flying again, over the grass instead of the sky, but flying. Soaring home.

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That was so much fun to write. 🙂

See ya later, alligators! (Or would you rather be unicorns or dragons? Speaking of which, I shall soon show you one of those, though I’m sorry to say, it’s not actually alive. Actually I’m not sorry! XD )

***Allison***

WordCrafters 2!!!

June 1, 2016August 5, 2016 | Allison

~If you signed up to participate in WordCrafters 2, please read this post!~

GUYS, IT’S FINALLY HERE! I’m ~~just a tiny bit~~ HUGELY excited, as you can tell. 😀 I hope you are too! We need to go over a few little things, and then I’ll give you the character profiles.

For the sake of the other participants who are eagerly awaiting their turn, please try to send in your story within 3-5 days of the last chapter being written. If you’re on vacation or you’re too busy to write, the next person in line can take your place. If you just can’t write your chapter, I can take you off the list completely, but I would appreciate if you tried your best to participate since you signed up in the first place. 🙂

Try to make your chapter less than 1,000 words and end your it with somewhat of a cliffhanger to give the next person a start. Click here to read the whole WordCrafters 1 story for examples.

If you have a blog, send me a link to your chapter. If you don’t have a blog, email me your chapter.

If you need to refresh your memory on the complete rules, click here.

Now, ready for the good stuff? I came up with a starter idea, and Josie wrote this wondermous first chapter! Definitely check it out. I will add her chapter to the “WordCrafters 2” page which is under the “WordCrafters” page. Make sure you know where the page is, because that’s where you can read the story as it grows so you know the background for writing your chapter.

And now for the character profiles! These are the main characters you will be writing about. Guys, I had entirely too much fun creating these. 😀 I hope you like them as much as I do!

Sorry Vivi and Pippin, but I just couldn’t resist putting two pictures of Esme on because they were so pretty. 🙂

Esme (Esmeralda) Kokani:

{via}

Esme is a gentle soul. She is very timid around strangers, but loves being with her friends. She is kind, tender, and affectionate, but also a bit vain and fragile – she’s afraid of getting her hands dirty or her dress torn. Although she is easily frightened and often cries about small things, in true trials she is amazingly strong. Esme loves animals, especially baby animals. She can’t stand to see anyone be in pain, but she’s squeamish at the sight of injuries. She is a brilliant artist with a vivid imagination. She always carries a small bear in her pocket to comfort her, but she is too embarrassed to tell her friends about it.

Esme is small and slender, with long, straight black hair; dark brown eyes; and creamy skin. She is eleven years old.

Vivi (Vivian) Brown:

{via}

Vivi is always on the go. “Vivacious” is the perfect adjective for her – she seems to have an endless supply of energy. She stands up for her friends if they are bullied or looked down upon. Vivi is athletic, outgoing, and very smart, but sometimes her strong nature gets the better of her and she becomes bossy and overbearing. Vivi also has a short temper; she never cries, but easily gets angry. She is very strong, both mentally and physically. Vivi shares Esme’s love of animals, but she prefers the big, noble animals like elk, bears, wolves, and eagles. She is a very good nurse.

Vivi is short and wiry, with shoulder-length, wavy blond hair; gray-blue eyes; and tanned skin. She is thirteen years old.

Pippin Merlin:

{via} I couldn’t find a very good picture of Pippin, but this is sort of him. Just imagine that his hair is curlier and he has a huge grin.

Pippin is always ready with a grin and a laugh. He often plays pranks on his friends, but he is tender-hearted and quick to comfort his victims. Pippin is easy-going, funny, and loyal, but he sometimes unintentionally hurts people with his frank comments, and is always accidentally getting himself and others into trouble with his lighthearted pranks. He is prone to spouting off terrible puns. He hates being called “Pippi.” Pippin is always prepared – he adores wearing clothes with lots of pockets which he stuffs with a conglomeration of useful and not-so-useful objects. Pippin is an optimist with an eager sense of humor that lightens every situation.

Pippin is tall and lanky, with curly red hair; twinkling hazel eyes; and freckled skin. He is sixteen years old.

Which character is your favorite? Mine might be Esme, but I love them all (since I’m their creator XD ).

*Drum roll* It’s time for the list! (I’ll also add this list to the WordCrafters 2 page.) This is the order in which you’ll write your chapters. Aria, it’s your turn to write a chapter now!

1. Josie

2. Aria

3. Grace

4. K.A.

5. CutePolarBear

6. Zielle

7. Nicole

8. Clara

9. Loren

10. Anika

11. Hayley

12. Katie T. (thewritingpegasus)

13. Daisymermaid

14. C.

15. Thegirlofmanyfictionalnames

16. Lily

17. Megan

18. Lainey

19. Chaespeedreader

20. Bella (Book Sweet)

21. Suzy

22. Danielle

23. Misty

24. Rebekah

25. Bella (Many Marigolds)

27. Maddy (K. A.’s sister)

26. Allison

If you have any questions at all, please drop me a comment!

ARE YOU EXCITED?

***Allison***

CWWC #9

May 31, 2016 | Allison

NOTICE: This is the last day to sign up for WordCrafters, guys! *Runs around with flashing lights and sirens* Okay, done with that. XD

Ahem. The. Last. CWWC. Challenge. Often I got pretty stressed out trying to finish my stories in time, but I loved how the prompts inspired me to write creatively. Sometimes I didn’t know how the story was going to turn out! Thank you so much for hosting CWWC, Loren! You did a great job. 😀 (By the way, I put several of my longer stories on a page called, uh…”Stories” up there with the rest of my pages below the header. I put each serial story on its own page so you can read it all at once instead of in little parts.)

Loren, I used the three prompts from this challenge.

I had to kind of rush for this, like usual, but I hope you enjoy it! 😀

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Rose the Runaway

Rose closed the book with a sigh. She scrambled to her feet on top of her bed, and held one arm above her head dramatically. She lifted her voice:

“Oh, that I should live to see thee so, dearest Evelyn. Why dost thou turn from me, thy life-long companion?” Rose shook her head at the thought of what poor Genevieve must have felt when she spoke that heart-rending passage. How could Evelyn have turned away from Genevieve? Especially when Genevieve had all of the qualities one could desire in a book heroine. She was brave, kind, and especially beautiful.

Rose wistfully recited another passage from the book: “Genevieve’s slender throat was milk-white, vying with the chain of pearls around it in purity and beauty. Her dreamy, violet eyes, so large and round, looked on everyone with gentleness. Her full, red lips spoke naught but love, and her slender, soft white fingers were filled with tenderness at every touch.”

Rose heaved another sigh from the depths of her nine-year-old soul. She gazed at herself dolefully in the mirror. No milk-white throat for Rose; hers was definitely brown. No dreamy, large violet eyes for Rose; only small gray slits peeping from under a heavy brow. No full red lips or soft fingers for Rose; her lips were pinched and thin like the rest of her, and her fingers were short and rough. Rose’s cherished dream was to grow up into a beautiful lady, as virtuous and charming as the best of heroines – like Genevieve.

Her second dream was to have a life worthy of a heroine. Rose figured that her life so far couldn’t have been more boring if it had tried. She hadn’t fallen off a cliff, graciously rescued her worst enemy, put out a fire, fallen down a well, or even broken an arm. The most exciting thing in Rose’s life had been when her family had moved across the street. And there was nothing heroic in moving if you didn’t have to change schools or move away from your friends.

But Rose was determined to do at least one exciting thing in life. She was going to run away from home. Once, when she was seven, Rose had tried to run away and promptly raced back to her house after meeting a large, growling dog; but this time Rose shouldered her pack resolutely and trotted off through the night. She had consulted several of her favorite books, finding out just how a heroine should go about running away.

“Our heroine, Rose, makes her escape,” Rose murmured into the night. “She sets off bravely, with only a few supplies in her knapsack. Will she be strong enough to survive?”

Rose tramped across two fields, crossed an empty highway, and headed up a hill.

“She has made it this far; our heroine will not give up now,” Rose spluttered between huffs and puffs. “Her legs ache with the strain as she climbs up the steep mountain. She shields her eyes and squints at the glaring snow topping the mountain. She gasps as her worn shoes hit the frozen powder. Can she make it?” It was the middle of summer, and Rose wouldn’t climb a mountain for her life, but that didn’t stop her imagination from embellishing her escape.

“Now the courageous Rose has reached the mountain top. She stands wearily atop it, taking in the view with her big, violet eyes.” Rose was getting tired now, but she quickly brightened up as her imagination concocted a picture in her mind. There was a picture of her in the newspaper. MISSING, it was captioned. Girl, nine years old. Light brown hair. Please call if you have any information of her whereabouts. Her father and mother knocked on every neighbor’s door, but always with the answer, “Sorry, I can’t help you.” This was something like it! Now she was really living like a story character.

By the time Rose crossed two more hills, she was exhausted. “Our heroine will just take a short rest before going on…” Rose yawned and cast her eyes about for a correct, bookish place to sleep for the night. There was now stack of hay, old barn, or abandoned house, but Rose decided a willow tree would do for shelter. She slipped off her knapsack and used it as a pillow.

“This is the life,” she murmured with contentment. Soon, however, Rose was not very content. The ground and a knapsack couldn’t hold a candle to her own bed at home. Every time she rolled over, she felt a new rock poke into her side. After an hour, Rose raised tragic eyes to the sky, and moaned.

She had to face the facts: she would never make a good runaway, not when she couldn’t sleep on soft grass for the night. Rose’s shoulders drooped as she picked up her knapsack and started for home. But though her eyes were downcast and she tried to look properly mournful, Rose was secretly glad she hadn’t made out to be a good runaway. Who would want to live on wild nuts and berries when you could have pancakes for breakfast any day?

Rose crossed a hill, then another, and another. And another. And another. Rose didn’t remember that there had been so many hills when she had crossed them the first time. Suddenly she stepped out into a clearing with a white farmhouse and a barn sitting in the moonlight. Rose was certain she hadn’t passed that spot before. A large lump rose in her throat.

She was lost.

At first Rose felt a thrill run through her. She couldn’t have planned it better herself. What was more romantic and story like than to run away from home and get lost? But after a few moments, she wasn’t so thrilled. She remembered that even though her life might be boring, it was wonderful. She loved her parents and her brother and sister, and she loved playing in her backyard with friends. She loved everything about her life, she realized, except that it was boring. What did boring matter now? All Rose wanted was to flop onto her bed and fall asleep, waking up to the smell of pancakes in the morning.

Rose shuddered, and felt tears burning in her eyes. She tramped slowly past the farmhouse and kept on going, who knows where. After a half hour of walking, she began to see some familiar landmarks. Soon Rose was racing down the lane that led to her house. Oh thank you, God, she prayed gratefully. Her father was walking up and down the road, shouting her name. Rose flew into his arms, knapsack and all.

“Oh Daddy! I’m so sorry! I won’t ever run away again! I don’t care if my life is boring. I love you, and Mommy, and Brent and Julia.” Rose broke off into sobs and let her father pat her back.

“It’s okay, Rose. It will be alright, my beautiful girl.”

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Rose woke to the smell of sizzling pancakes. What a strange dream, she thought, and curled back in bed with her book.

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See ya’!

***Allison***

CWWC #8: Beyond the Looking Glass Finale!

May 28, 2016 | Allison

This is it, guys! I’ve been writing “Beyond the Looking Glass” for every CWWC challenge so far, and this is the last part! I already have an idea for the next CWWC. 🙂

Loren, I used all three prompts from this challenge, plus the one about Ferrymen guarding mirrors. So four prompts. 😉

Remember, this is what happened last:

“It’s known to have many nasty side-effects…” One of which, apparently, is invisibility.

Enjoy!

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Beyond the Looking Glass, Part 8

An invisible Mother is hard to get used to. At each meal the conversation inevitably turns to Mother, and to two questions in particular: Will the invisibility ever wear off? Can we find some sort of cure?

One night we all agree that we will travel to the Ferrymen’s land together. My heart thumps like a wild thing inside my chest as we stand in front of the mirror in Mother and Father’s bedroom. Once again I gaze far down into the depths of my dark eyes reflected in the mirror, pulling with all my might, willing the land to reappear. Yes! I wrap my whole mind around the tiny scene buried deep inside my eyes, reaching for it until the mirror once again shows me a living picture of the land beyond the looking glass. Father, Mother, and I all plunge forward together into the mirror. We land on the other side, in the Ferrymen’s world, surrounded by shattered glass. This time there are three Ferrymen to meet us.

I explain our problem to them. They listen attentively, then huddle into a group and talk together in a strange clicking language. Finally the group breaks up and the first Ferryman approaches me. He signals us to follow him, and he flies over to a small mirror hidden away in a hollow tree. Father, Mother and I join hands once again. We have no idea where the mirror will lead us, but we trust the Ferryman.

We crash through the mirror successfully, and pick ourselves off the ground. We’re standing in a forest. In front of us is a small, round hut, with smoke curling out the chimney. I love it at once – the rounded door, the circular windows, the flowering vines creeping up the stone walls. We knock on the door and a small, bent old man with a thousand wrinkles in his face invites us in. His hair is snow-white and his eyes are ocean-blue. His brown, creased face reminds me of a molasses crinkle cookie.

“Come in, come in, and welcome. What can I help you with? The Ferrymen sent you, I presume?”

I am surprised that he knows but I nod, and explain our problem once again.

“Ah yes, my dear. You have come to the right man. Old Vandaff can get you straightened out.” He leads us into his house, and immediately my eyes are drawn to a wall filled with shelves. On those shelves stand rows and rows of the most beautiful bottles I have ever seen. They are filled with swirls and layers of delightful colors – lavenders, mints, yellows, and teals. The old man hobbles over to the shelves. “Pretty little things, ain’t they?” he asks with a grin. “There should be one here for invisibility…” he rubs his finger over the rows, whispering their names under his breath. “Starweed, lavender mist, nightflower… aha! Here it is: glitteroot. What a lovely plant. Have you seen glitteroot, my girl?” he asks me.

“I haven’t, sir, but it sounds beautiful.”

“Oh it is,” he exclaims. “And when it works its healing, it is more beautiful still. I will show you some glitteroot growing in the forest later. All of my cures are natural and forest-grown,” the old man says proudly. He carefully lifts the bottle from the shelf, pours a little of its purple-clouded contents into a measuring spoon, and mixes the syrup with a bit of warm water. “Come now, Miss Gray,” he gestures royally with his hands, “it’s time for us to see your pretty face.” He winks at the invisible spot where Mother stands and hands the cup into her invisible grasp.

I still can’t get over how the cup tilts up seemingly in midair when Mother drinks. She finishes the cup and… nothing happens. She’s still as invisible as ever. The old man catches our worried looks, and reassures us, “This is only the first part of the cure. We’ll need the lake to finish off the job. Follow me, please.”

We follow the old man down a narrow path. Along the way he points out some of the plants that were in the bottles, including glitteroot. It is a lovely plant, covered from its emerald leaves to its dark purple flowers with sparkling flakes of what looks like glitter. Finally we arrive at a huge lake. The old man tells Mother to get herself completely wet in the water. As she does, two amazing things happen.

The first thing is that Mother appears. Father and I splash out into the water, laughing and crying with relief. Father swings Mother around, and I hug them both. I stop hugging them when I see the water around Mother. Some sparkling substance is seeping into the water around Mother. It swirls around in the water, spreading gradually throughout the whole lake and spiraling madly up into the air around us. Twinkling stars of glitter dance around us as we stand in open-mouthed awe. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

Sparkling stars of light

Dancing to an unknown song,

Singing in a silent voice

Radiant in joyful grace.

Finally the stars fade, and we splash slowly through the water to the old man. He stands there with a look of joy and pride on his face. “I told you it was beautiful. It never gets old,” he shook his head admiringly.

I don’t notice anything beside the path this time. I have eyes only for Mother. How glad I am to see her again! I notice that her eyes are brighter, her smile more sincere, than they had been before the Healing Lily. She is cured at last!

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My parents and I climb the stairs up to the flat roof outside my bedroom window that night. Father had said that’s what we used to do in our old house, when I was little. I had never been out on the roof because the creaking window would have been too loud for Mother before.

We unroll a blanket and lay on it on our backs, staring up at the stars. After a while I crawl to the edge of the roof and look down into the velvety darkness. I take a deep breath. The air seems more fresh up here, and the moon and stars look brighter. I feel free. I feel wonderful. I have my parents back, parents I didn’t even know where living. Life won’t be perfect, but it will be good. With Father and Mother by my side, I know it will be good.

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Ahh, you gotta love happy endings, right? Thank you all so much for your encouragement for this story! It made me happy to read your sweet comments. I’ll probably put this story all together on a page soon.

***Allison***

Last AAWC/CWWC #7

May 24, 2016May 28, 2016 | Allison

Misty, I used the word prompt, did a plot twist, and included swans in my story. Loren, I used 7 prompts. I don’t have time to add the pictures, but they were the monsters one, the hunting us one, the muddy forest one, the blue butterflies one, the Here Be Faeries one, the dragon-on-a-branch one, and the shattered glass one.

My commentary is going to be brief because I don’t have much time. (As usual for writing posts. XD )

Remember, Adele has just found her father…

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Beyond the Looking Glass, Part 7

“But… how are you alive? I thought you fell down a chasm!”

“I did. But I fell down here and as you can see, I survived to tell the tale!” Father grins. “The trolls were quite hospitable when they found me, and gathered up countless little things to make me comfortable. I took a while to recover from that fall.”

I remember something from Gwendolyn’s history lesson: “A little over a decade ago…the trolls living in Their land found something, we know not what…”

Now I know what they found – Father! Thirteen years ago Father fell into their world.

Father goes on, “Now I know why they were so eager to protect me: they wanted to conquer the world, and I was to help them. Apparently the troll king was not a favorite with his subjects, but they had no choice but to obey him. He commanded them to capture hundreds of Saepertines from the forest…”

“Wait, what are Saepertines?” I interrupt.

Father raises an eyebrow. “Look around you.”

I do, and see with a shudder the ghostly white, spiny monsters, stooped, terrifying. All this time They had miraculously kept back from Father and me.

“Oh,” I whisper, “you mean Them.”

Father nods. “When I saw a Saepertine for the first time, I was terrified, and when the trolls told me I was to be their Master I nearly fainted. But luckily they were as afraid of me as I was of them – they had never seen a human, you see. That was why the troll king needed me for his plan – they would finish off any troll in an instant. Soon I had them trained to despise everyone except for me and the trolls. All these years I have been trapped here longing for a sight of you and your mother.” His eyes light. “How is your mother, anyway?”

I look down at the ground. “She… she isn’t doing very well. She’s nearly deaf, and…”

Father cuts me off with a cry, “My Susan?!”

I nod sadly. “That’s why I’m here.” I tell him how I came here, and about the Healing Lily.

Father looks relieved. “So she won’t be deaf for long, then. But how are you going to get back to our world? I’ve been looking for an escape route for years.”

“The fairies and Ferrymen will help. They can help me with anything.”

Suddenly I’m jolted back to our immediate situation by the appearance of a soldier at the top of the pit. He, too, is paralyzed by fear at the sight of Them. “Father!” I shout, “We have to save the soldiers!” I realize that during the time I was sitting here talking, hundreds of soldiers may have met their death, falling prey to Them like I almost did.

“They are cunning, they are brave,

They are brutal, they are relentless,

And they are hunting us.”

Father face pales, and after giving me a quick hug, he disappears down a tunnel that must lead to other pits. I swallow hard. The monsters surrounding me evidently know that I am a sacred object, not to be touched, but I’m still frightened. I feel like Daniel in the lion’s den.

Father soon returns with a solemn look on his face. “Some soldiers have gone, never to return, but the Saepertines will reap no more harvest.”

I take a deep breath. “So are we ready to find the Healing Lily? Can you sneak out with me without being noticed?”

“Of course! Jonathan Gray can do anything with his daughter at his side.” He winks at me.

Oomph! I stumble over a log and land headfirst in muddy water. Yuck. By the time we reach the top of the mountain, Father and I are both covered in mud from head to toe.

Finding the Healing Lily is definitely not easy. For half an hour Father and I stumble over rocks and peer down crevices. As I turn to climb down a boulder, a faint glow catches my eye. It’s those butterflies again! I see the same glowing blue butterflies as I did when I entered the fairies’ kingdom. They explode in a glowing blue cloud when I approach them, and reveal the Healing Lily at last! According to Gwendolyn’s description, the Healing Lily is a small, cream colored flower with a brilliant purple center and five long, delicate petals. Yep.

“Father! I found it!”

Leaving the fairies was sad on both sides. Gwendolyn was happy that I had found the Healing Lily, but sad to see me go. Before I left, she flew up to me with a serious look on her face.

“I just thought I should tell you, Adele, that your mother may have to pay a price for using the Healing Lily. It’s known to have many nasty side-effects, especially if the person who takes it is really deaf. Sometimes…”

I quickly cut her off. “Thanks for the warning, Gwendolyn. I’m sure we’ll be alright.” I’m in a hurry to get back, so I race over to Father and pull him away from a conversation with the fairy king. “Goodbye, everyone! Thank you all so much!”

I thought over my adventures as I once again passed the sign with “Here be Faeries” painted on it. So much has happened since I saw that sign for the first time! I will remember this journey forever.

In the blink of an eye the forest disappeared and I’m back at the Ferrymen’s world. The swans are still floating serenely on the lake, and the dragon-bird Ferryman is still sitting on the branch of the tree. At our approach, he flaps down and escorts us to a mirror which reflects his whole land. Father and I hold hands and crash through the glass. I open my eyes to shattered glass shards all around me. The Healing Lily is still clutched tightly in my hands.

Father and I slip quietly down the stairs, where I prepare the lily as Gwendolyn instructed. Halfway through the process, Mother appears at the door and stares at us silently. Father beams at her, but she shows no signs of recognition.

I pour the mixture into a glass, and hand it to Mother. She looks confused, but drinks it all down anyway. I wait eagerly for her to say something, for a change to come over her.

It does. The change is beyond my wildest dreams.

My mother has vanished.

Before I can think, I feel a touch on my arm and a broken voice speaks to me.“Adele, my daughter, Jonathan, my husband! Welcome home!”

I gasp. “It’s known to have many nasty side-effects…” One of which, apparently, is invisibility.

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Duh-duh-duh-DUN! What will happen?

***Allison***