Little Writings. Some Rants.

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//Feels Like. Short Prompt

rain drops

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Hey guys!
How’s it going? Sorry I haven’t posted much lately, I’ve been around and around with a ton of life changes. Things are going well so far!
After a lot of editing, I decided to post up this one for ya’ll, I really hope you like it!

This is a bit of a sad one, heads up! There are some trigger warnings relating to car accidents. So read at your own discretion.
Every time I hear this song, I get the same kind of visual play in my head, so I took the time to write it down.

Please listen to the song before you read, or even as you read. It’s one of my favorites!

I claim no ownership to the song, only the short story.

********** Read the rest of this page »

Fault.//Lessons.

It’s not your fault.

It’s okay for a child

To love someone older

To look above with

Glistening eyes

And feel at home

Feel special

 

It is not your fault.

It’s not okay

For an adult

To indulge in those feelings

Regardless of how close

They say

You are

To being one

 

It’s not your fault

For being mature for your age

It is okay.

It is not okay

That they

Took advantage of that

 

Midnight vaping and a cooking Coors

At 24

Reminds you

(Makes you angry)

That it is not your fault

That four years of life

Was absolutely wasted;

It was his fault.

 

Featured photo: Photo by Renan Benedito from Pexels

//Rant, Story Time: Minor Traffic Violation, Award-Winning Confrontation, and Excellent Parenting

upset-3082819_960_720

Robbin Higgins, open source content. All Rights Reserved

Hey folks.
Today is a deviation.

Sorry to say, this is NOT the update to Battle Buddies. This is NOT a Story of Seasons Fanfic, and this is NOT The Book.

This is a self-bashing, contemplative post of mind spew. Prepare yourself.

Read the rest of this page »

The Magnitude of a Star

Hubble Telescope, NASA, Carina Nebula.

Featured image is a picture taken by the Hubble Telescope of the Swan Nebula. All rights reserved.

——

Hey folks, I’m alive, see?
Here’s another short from The Book. I hope you enjoy it!
If you’re interested in reading more, please see previous posts under the Science Fiction header.
Be sure to check out FairiesRoamWriting Facebook. Feel free to share!

A friend and I have been running various prompts using one-liners in order to hold ourselves accountable for writing.
This takes place sometime between the pick up and Beginning of an Aftermath
and features flashbacks of Merrikh’s past, and tidbits from Between the Stars.

—————-

How do you quantify the magnitude of a star?

Silence echoed an answer in the gentle artificial breeze as Merrikh sat, staring up at the stars through the boughs of scarlet trees. Unseen giant fans moved the air through the expansive room, rustling the floating embers of his unruly hair. His elbows rested on bent knees, neck straining as his gaze followed the slow movement of their propulsion through space.

 

It was a hypothetical question. Rhetorical. For instance, you could measure a star’s mass or its temperature. You could measure how far its warm fingers reached out into the vacuum oblivion of nothingness. A star was something tangible. However, the energy it exudes is far from what most would consider tangible. Most.

Merrikh’s gaze shifted to his hands as fire licked out over his knuckles. He smiled wistfully, closing his hand over the flame and retracting his energy. Tangible, eh?

He sighed and stretched his legs out, leaning back against the trunk of the tree he sat beneath, intertwining his fingers on his lap. Read the rest of this page »

//Solar Plexus

This is a short passage that takes place in The Book. You’ve probably seen posts about it. This is all my original work. Please do not copy or redistribute without (easily-attainable) permission.  This is from Hazel’s point of view, pre-relationship, post-world-end.

If you like this and want more, please like and subscribe! 🙂 Comment for me, as well. What are you scared of?

******

 

She could almost see it, like fireworks behind closed eyelids, sitting cross-legged there in the training room across from the man himself. The cement floor was warm from the heat that radiated from his body, still gleaming with sweat; broad shoulders lifting and lowering with the sweet cool air. She’d peeked a few times to his chagrin, and had since lulled herself obediently into some semblance of meditation. And she could almost see it.

She could almost feel it again; the fire that leapt between them in the air, grasping tendrils reaching through atmospheric particles towards her as she skittered, breath heaving through aching lungs.

On Earth, they would have probably called it PTSD, the icy fingers that stroked her blood vessels as her legs churned calories–and suddenly she was fleeing her nightmares. The first few times, she screamed and ran painfully into the cargo crates built into an obstacle course through the long-former storage room, she woke up in cold sweats in the night. She whimpered and suffocated over and over, overwhelmed by fizzing spectres in the corners of her small cabin, particle hands reaching toward her and ghastly mouths open in fierce hunger. Read the rest of this page »

Walnut//Poetry

You know those guys,
You’ll know the ones I mean.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders.
Football players, baseball players, wrestling.
The whole shebang.
Family athletes.
The ones that stand tall in the hallways
Walking tall.
But they’re quiet.
And they’re uncertain.
Their friends are loud.
They laugh hesitantly, cracked smiles.

I don’t know when it was that your eyes drew to me
As if you pleaded for me to crack open that hard exterior.
Or maybe you were longing for something that I had.
Sometimes I remember those eyes
I don’t think you ever wanted anything from me
I don’t think you were interested in me.
I think you were interested in what I had.

Maybe you secretly watched Japanese cartoons.
Secrets.
You’d never be able to tell another soul.
Maybe you played video games
Talked loudly and laughed with people across the world
In that way you’d never laugh with
those broad shoulders
And tall hallway walks.

Those eyes pleaded with me to find your secret.
Or that’s what I like to tell myself
when I remember
The way you looked across the room
The loudness in your gaze.

“Set me free.”

I wonder where you are now
I wonder if you grew up well.
You never mixed with me,
I don’t even remember your name.
We weren’t friends.
We weren’t crushes.
We were people.
Trapped.
Free.
Sometimes I think I see you
Walking across campus
Hesitantly.
Cracked.

I wonder if you ever cracked
I wonder if it ever set you free.

//Musings. Frustrations. The Whole Shebang

So, took a look at The Book for the… well, maybe second time this summer outside of figuring out backstories and worldbuilding. (Check out some of that here.) And yknow what I figured?

Well… I’ve mentioned in previous posts that there were specific bridges I knew I’d struggle with crossing, but I’d handle those when I got there. In another post, I may have even mentioned that I’d met that bridge, and decided to edit around it for the time being.

 

Well…

I need to rewrite it. Entirely. From the ground up.

There’s no other way to thoughtfully progress the story past the bridge, because the bridge is literally blown to pieces before you even cross it.

 

But I’m starting from the beginning. I’m tearing down walls and rebuilding them. I realize that this is NOT the first time I’ve done this, and with just about 60,000 words (48k of the book currently and the rest in backstory which I can drag in), I have a LOT of material to work with. I guess that’s the head’s side of the coin. The tail’s side is that just about 60,000 words is a lot of stuff to rummage through and pull out the best of.

So, excuse me as I print out 30 double sided pages at a time and sit on my living room floor with scissors and glue sticks as I paste parts here and there into a notebook.

I get it, such a waste of paper, Poppy!! How could you!? I know, I know, it kills me a little too. But the loading times into some of these documents… is brutal. And sometimes I need to see things side to side and NOT on a screen. It makes my brain light up in prettier ways.

So, when I mentioned there might be more sneak peeks/back stories (like this.) from The Book, I’m afraid I’ll need to post-pone a lot of that posting (ahaha. Pun totally intended) until I have a more solid visualization of what is real and what is.. well.. fiction, as far as the end-product goes.

If I sat down and did this, and worked through it with a criminal, superpower level focus, I could probably rack together these strings and pull the book out in maybe a few days. That’s how much content is staying, as far as I know currently. And likely, it would be much longer than it sits. Dude, I have skills. And plans. Except I only wish I had that superhuman focus. Somebody get me some Adderall. And prayers. Lots of prayers. And patience. Oodles of patience.

Anyways, if you want to see more of what I’m up to, please check out our new facebook page! 🙂

As always, with love and smiley faces,

Poppy

Fairies Roam Facebook?!

*ahem* Yes, it’s true. Fairies Roam Writing now has a facebook page! If you’re interested in seeing and following what we’re up to, go ahead and visit our website here.

Look forward to seeing and hearing from you!! 🙂

Another Dream

There was once a camp counselor who loved training her children. She was an undergrad in physical therapy, albeit ironically because she was on the heavy-set side; but she always enjoyed teaching the kids at camp every year how to move their bodies in a way that was safe and fun. She’d worked at this particular camp every single summer since she’d graduated high school, so many years ago.

This year was a little different. This year, they’d gotten a new counselor. This young man was about the same age as herself, but he was the most attractive thing the counselor (we’ll call her Jamie.) had ever seen. He had striking black hair and glittering green eyes, he had broad shoulders and thick biceps. He was a walking dream.

Jamie was pretty certain that this young man (We’ll call him Trent.) and herself would have fairly evenly nothing in common. But as the days began to pass of the month-long summer camp, they began to talk and find that they had a lot in common.

It came to be that Trent confessed his love to her beneath the awning of the cafeteria during a sudden rainstorm after all the kids had trundled into their cots. And so, they began a hesitant relationship.

A week passed, then two, and the camp was drawing to a close. There was a softball tournament coming up as the final activity of the camp, and the whole grounds were excited. Jamie was in charge of teaching the little girls how to throw and catch the softballs. Trent was working with the boys.

They’d spent so much time together since that fateful night beneath the cafeteria awning that neither had slept much, and some of their duties had been shirked in lieu of spending time together. However, they didn’t know much about each other.

The truth was, Jamie had a big secret.

And that big secret was that at a certain point during the year, though it was never exactly the same, her face turned absolutely grotesque. Her ears would wind up, her nose screw and bubble, her eyebrows turned downward. She became what most people would call a part-of-the-year goblin. Her hair, normally a plain brown, would turn a drastic red that would curl past her hip and tangle atrociously. She likened herself to an ugly troll-doll.

So when it came that she had exhausted herself so thoroughly in spending time with Trent, she found herself beginning to change a little earlier than she’d expect.

Of course the camp knew about her condition, and it was no surprise to them. Nor to many of the children who had attended many years as well.

However, Jamie absolutely did NOT want to let Trent in on this awful secret.

She began to fear that Trent loved everything about her that he saw on the surface. Maybe in all that time they’d spoken, they’d not touched the very inward parts of what made them who they were; so they loved the thought of one another.

When it came to the softball game, Jamie hadn’t seen Trent for days. This was quite unusual and Trent was afraid that she had gotten sick or worse–that she wasn’t feeling their relationship. They’d seen each other every single day for hours, would spend hours into the night talking. So to go without even three or four days was alarming to Trent, who was beginning to invest serious thought into what they would do after the camp ended.

Jamie was terrified that if he saw her the way she was, he’d run screaming. That he’d find her grotesque and never wish to speak to her again. Trent was terrified that he’d said something wrong, or let her in too much and she found something displeasing.

On the one side of the field stood Jamie in her troll-esque appearance, on the other stood the striking prince. The boys and the girls were playing a competition against one another for a final cup.

At first, Trent thought she’d shirked her responsibility off on another camp counselor to stay away from him. His eyesight, you see, was pretty awful.

But as the game progressed and much head tilting had occurred, he began to realize the truth.

Half-time came about and he marched across that rustic baseball diamond and took her face in his hands and kissed her, before all of the counselors and children, who let up a whooping cry.

When they ended the kiss, he was very upset. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, frustrated.

And she told him she’d been afraid of what he’d think.

He faltered a moment, remembering his fear as well. He cracked a smile and shook his head, “From now on, I want to see all of you, always. I want to see the bad, the good, the funny, the sad, the happy, the ugly.” He ran a timid hand over his scalp and grinned sheepishly, “Because that’s the only way to love someone, isn’t it?”

Beginning of an Aftermath

pickerings-triangle-2500

Pickering’s Triangle Wisp credit: Rolf Geissinger

This is a scene from the Book I’ve been writing, mentioned in previous posts. This is not a fan-fiction. These are original characters in an original story from the mind of myself. Please do not recreate or distribute without permission.

Permission is easily attainable by messaging me here: fairiesroamwriting@gmail.com

********************************

 

The human species often retains the remnants of an infantile object permanence; particularly upon visiting a member of a family unit or a space of significance. We expect that when we leave that place or those people, they will enter a pocket of existence undeterred by the axial rotations of a carbon stone orbiting a dying star, unfractured by the endless replication of chromosomes. We expect that when they open their doors to us even years later, they will be just standing from that chair they had just rested in upon telling you goodbye. Often this is characterized by your grandmother marveling at your growth, her house still smelling of the sugar cookies she baked with you five years ago as if they were baked just hours prior. But the pocket of existence is always in our minds: the telomeres shrink, the soccer field is levelled on behalf of enterprise. The sun ceases to rise.

The significant injury of loss is caused by the shattering of this object permanence: you realize all along that those people, that place was never in that bubble of existence. It was all a self-comforting illusion your neurons created to maintain the semblance of reality. A combination of neurotransmitters and stress hormones release; constricting the muscles in your chest and building that ball of sorrow in your throat. The tears flow.

And yet the moment Hazel saw him standing in the door, it was as if he’d never entered the pocket of existence that throttled his body into the lightless abyss between the stars. His hair had never turned to that ashy brown, his eyes never faded, his breathing had never faltered. He stood as certain as any of the universe’s foundational laws: that a body with significant mass will attract objects to it, that oxygen bumping into volatile elements will certainly ignite.

The embers of his hair flickered light against the door frame, his large arms crossed over his chest. Hazel’s breath hitched, and the sensation of an oncoming train roared through her chest, rattling her ribcage as she stared openly at him, jaw sliding ajar.

Within a moment, the illusion was shattered. The initial grief of his passing collapsed around her, and she could clearly hear the crack as reality splintered like glass around her. The sharp edges sliced through her proverbial armor, leaving her spiraling through space like the pod they’d shuttled his body with.

He didn’t smile, and his red eyes didn’t dance in pleasant humor. His eyebrows were drawn in a serious countenance and creases at the corner of his eyes displayed a weariness she’d never seen him wear. The endless nights of tears filtered through her mind’s eye; the dead appetite, the screaming, the labor pains of a birth she should have never experienced alone, the painful gift that burned through her veins and left her without breath if she hadn’t a cautious grip on her own abilities.

“I don’t think I need to introduce you two,” Niv’adde murmured beneath his breath, leaning back against the counter.

Hazel swallowed, leveling her steely gaze at the man. He met her gaze as he always had, with a strength of a thousand horses. “Merrikh.”