Seasons’ Change, a story for the Giraffe Call.

It was going to be Autumn soon.

Cameron could feel the shedding, even in human form, the tail changing, the teeth trying to rearrange in a jaw that wasn’t even, technically, there. Season changes were always like this, and it would just get worse until the first full moon of autumn.

It was time to move from the lake cabin up the mountain to the cold-is-coming place. When the change had first started happening – just as high school was ending – Cameron had tried to live with people. There was, rumor went, such a thing as a extrovert shapeshifter, a social-creature creature-feature.

That had lasted exactly one year, one cycle of the changes, three hundred sixty-five days of trying to be two things at once while the second thing kept changing. There might be extrovert ‘shifters, but they were not like Cameron.

Packing bags didn’t take too long. Longer was fighting the urge – two sets of urges. The dam wasn’t perfect, but, then again, it didn’t need to be. It wasn’t like Cameron was leaving behind a beaver family here.

(The bear had wanted a family. Then again, the bear got spring).

If the dam was gone when summer came again, well, the beaver could rebuild it. Right now, the wildcat wanted something else. Wanted to chase a mouse, the cabin had mice. The lake cabin almost always had mice (the mountain cabin wouldn’t dare).

At this point in the season change, it was a toss-up whether the cat or the beaver would get the skin. Cameron let go of the shape, and let them battle it out.

A wildcat padded into the cabin, sniffing out the trail of a mouse…

…and came nose to nose with another wildcat.

Want more words, or just really like something you read? Drop some money in the tip jar!

(the tip jar is a kitty for reasons)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/789679.html. You can comment here or there.

Any Given Apocalypse – You Do What You Have To

Aug22

To Three-Word-Wednesday (Today’s words are Impulsive, Morose, & Sparse)

You did what you could with what you had.

There was no running water, so you carried it in buckets, or ran a hose from the creek. There was no indoor lighting anymore, so you used candles, if you had them, flashlights, if the batteries still worked, or lamps, if you were lucky.

And that was the comforts. The necessities were harder. But you did what you could with what you had.

You burned what you could for heat, and tried not to think about cancer or the ozone layer too much. You huddled all of you in one room; in the coldest nights, all under one blanket. Privacy was a luxury for warm days, and you were none of you too clean, anyway.

You ran through every can in your pantry, every bag of grain, trendy or plain, and told yourself the bugs were protein. And when it was nearly gone, you started looking to see which of your neighbors had left, or died, or just not kept a gun, and raided their pantries too.

You did what you had to for what you needed, and tried not to think about how scarce resources were going to turn into complete rarities before long.

You learned to make every day, every hour, every minute of daylight count – shoring up your shelter, bringing in burnable material, repairing weapons. You learned to take five minutes of quiet time as your vacation, and learned, usually a harder lesson, that there was no room for being impulsive.

You did what you could with what you had; you did what you had to for what you needed. You tried not to get down about it all. There was no point at all in being morose and mopey about the hardships of life – you were alive, after all, when so many weren’t.

You tucked in for the night by candlelight, close to your family, and remembered, as you huddled near the fire for warmth, that any count of your blessings started with we made it and ended with and we can do what we need to, to keep making it.

Amen.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/786024.html. You can comment here or there.

Flying-Squirrel’s Freedom (or Fetters)

Aug22

Written to

lilfluff ‘s prompt

Farley woke fuzzily. The fetters were fixing him firmly in place, pressed against some sort of stake in the ground.

"Fuck." He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and shifted his arms. A series of dull aches and sharp pains greeted the movement. The webs between his arms and body were stretched badly. His hands were bound above his head and behind the stake; his ankles were bound similarly. At least he was on his knees. That gave him a little bit of slack – a little. Not nearly enough.

Where was he? Bound to a stake, that much was clear. But… oh. A mast. Farley swallowed around a lump in his throat. This wasn’t going to go well. If the pirates…

"Eeeee-ah!" Farley jerked his head around, trying to look behind him, and got nothing but more pain for his efforts. That shout. He knew that shout.

"Diiiiiiie!" And that one. Farley struggled against the chains in earnest now. The Fondly sisters were very good fighters – very, very good fencers. Unless the pirates that had him were of the Natashon Clan, they didn’t stand a chance. And, in a manner of speaking, neither did Farley.

The Fondly sisters were very friendly. Very, very friendly. And, while Farley wasn’t the sort of squirrel to stay in one place – he was a flying squirrel, pretty much your definition of flit-about – well, the Fondly sisters had a way of making their wishes come true.

"Dieeeee… aw, you died."

Farley fought harder against the fetters.

Further fic: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/808481.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/785071.html. You can comment here or there.

It’s You

Aug21

From dailyprompt, 2014-08-21: “it’s always you.”
For #FridayFlash – it’s Friday somewhere!

It’s you. It’s always you.

I stand up, I answer the door. I don’t bother to look through the peephole anymore, because it’s always you.

4:35 p.m., every day. I get up, I answer the door. I take the package, I mutter thank you, and I close the door. There’s always a package. There’s never a conversation.

I open the package, of course. It’s from you, and it wouldn’t do to ignore it. Flowers, food, socks. I unpack it all carefully. Blue socks, because it’s me, tie-dyed and organic, because it’s you. It’s very you.

It’s always very you.

I put away all the presents, very carefully. I eat the food, slowly, savoring every bite. I put on the socks – my feet are cold, so cold. You always know what to get for me. That’s very you, too.

When I’m done, I throw out the packaging. It wouldn’t due to leave it sitting around. I make sure to put the box in the recycling. You’d like it better that way.

I try very hard not to notice that yesterday’s box isn’t there. Recycling, I tell myself. Like my feet are cold because the socks were missing this morning. Like I have a vase for the flowers, even though I only have one vase.

The doorbell will ring again tomorrow, and I’ll answer the door. It will be you. It’s always you.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/784514.html. You can comment here or there.

Temporary Add-On Landing Page for One-Off Stories

Aug20

Stories for which I have no setting

Main Landing Page here

T is for The Impossible (LJ) – part of a time travel story
People Talk (LJ) Modern World/realism
“I can Write 150 more words.” (LJ) (Fluffy not-yet-porn)

Sci-Fi

Supply Exhausted (LJ) (sci-fi-ish)
Not the Man (LJ) On Identity (modern/Sci-fi)
B for Bizarre Beetles (LJ) Bugs and Bugs – Scifi-Modern

Horror

Through the Glass (LJ) Horror
Sharp Bits (LJ) horror?
Hard Choices (LJ) Horror

Fantasy and Fairy Tale

The Three of Guldenton (<a href=http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/861314.htmlLJ) Fairy Tale
Trade (LJ) Prince/Pauper, modernized
Q is for the Queen’s Quilt (LJ)
The First Step (LJ) Don’t venture off the path.
Time of Testing (LJ) Testing for Witches
Omens and Ill (LJ) (Might be in the same world as the oracle whose god got irritated. (here))

Stores and Doors

Gone Rummaging (LJ)
Through the Door (LJ) 2-part story involving magic portal

Closing Up (LJ) An Antique Store closes

O is for the Open Order (LJ)

Modern/Urban Fantasy
Romance was never this convenient to handle (LJ) High school and magic don’t mix well
He Couldn’t Fail (LJ) Urban Fantasy
Except (LJ) The one who doesn’t fit in
D is for Dungeon (LJ)
Talking To… (LJ) …oneself?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/782679.html. You can comment here or there.

Through the Door

Aug1

After Gone Rummaging

If asked, I would have said I stepped through the door on a whim, on a fancy – it’s a pretty door, so let’s see what’s on the other side.

I would have said I hadn’t expected anything to happen. It’s a door frame standing on its own, in the back of a garage sale in the back of an old yard.

I wouldn’t exactly have been lying, although I wouldn’t exactly have been telling the truth. Certainly, I picked up the silver letter opener on a similar whim as I stepped through; this could come in handy.

In handy where, why, you ask?

Why, on the other side of the Door, of course.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/760496.html. You can comment here or there.

The Three of Guldenton

Jun6

I asked for prompts regarding Variants here for The MicroPrompt Giraffe Call. This is written to Rions’s Prompt here.

“You don’t want to go there.”

The vagrant stood at the crossroads, leaning heavily on his staff and turning, slowly, from traveler to traveler.

“You don’t want to go into the mountains.”

“And why not, old man?” He looked weak, and frail; he could not stop them if he wanted to. And yet the travelers waited for his answer. “That is the way to Guldenton, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it’s the way to Guldenton, but you’ll not make it going that way, no.”

“And why not, sir?” One among those travelling had remembered their manners.

“That’s where the triplets live, you see.” The man sat down, spry as a child, cross-legged at the center of the crossroads. “That’s where the three live that caused all the trouble.”

To a body, the travelers sat, forming a ragged half-circle around the old man. None but the child noticed that they stayed, every one of them, on the side of the crossroads away from Guldenton; none but the child noticed that they hadn’t meant to sit down.

“The triplets?” It was not the child that asked. “The triplets, sir?”

“Ah, you have not heard the story yet, I see.” The old man leaned forward, grinning his toothless grin. “The story of the three born to Guldenton gold, the three born on the moonless night, the three born of the storm and the rain and the morning dew.”

They were born, (he continued, and only the child noticed that it had begun to grow cloudy) in the last days of spring on the night of a black moon. Three of them, the first born to the strike of midnight, the second born to the lightning’s blast, and the third to the first rays of sun.

And they were born identical in every feature, their skin dewy and their eyes wide, lovely the way children always are, lovely more than children ought to be.

And yet (and here his voice dropped down low, and only the child noticed that they all ducked, every one of them), yet they were different, so very different in their natures.

“Not done yet!”
Correct, it is not! If you want more – and there is more to be had, I’m certain of it – drop some pennies in the jar.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/727916.html. You can comment here or there.

And on the next day… a short story of beginnings

Apr18

I asked for prompts to the theme of genesis. This is alexseanchai‘s result.

“In the beginning of the gods’ creation of the heavens and the earth…” Heressa’s voice was quiet as she read, dropping lower with every word. The children fell quiet, too, until the soft slip of her voice and the crackling of the fire were the only sounds. “The world was ice and steel, empty of life.”

She made the globe with her hands, the shape of the ribs of the world. “And onto the ice and the steel, the gods brought earth, and from the earth, they brought plants, and from the plants, they brought animals.”

“And when the animals and plants had run all over the globe, the gods brought down humans made from the gods’ bone and the gods’ spit, and then they left. And here we have lived, humans on the world of steel, ever since.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/706123.html. You can comment here or there.

People Talk

Feb21

So, the writer in my attic, K Orion Fray, has a writing-inspiration e-mail that she sends out, which includes a writing prompt.

This writing prompt was: Take a piece of gossip you’ve heard lately, or think of something that could likely be gossip. (The boss is sleeping with his intern, a coworker is stealing from the till, John and Nancy are seeing each other behind John’s wife’s back, Carol is having a baby—but with who?) Flesh out the details that you “know” about the scenario. Then take ten to fifteen minutes and write a story told from the point of view of the gossip’s center. (For example, if you are writing the last prompt, write from Carol’s point of view.) Decide if the rumor is true or not—or if they started the rumor, and why!–and run with it.

This is what we got

People talked.

It was part of the nature of people, Brida supposed. They got together, over the coffee pot, over the water cooler, over a pile of papers, and they talked.

And, while their talk might start out being about what happened at the Super Bowl or do you think it’s going to flood this weekend, eventually, they ended up talking about other people. Like I hear Kevin’s wife’s pregnant again. Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl? and Judy’s still sick? Really?

And, eventually, why do you suppose Brida moved into town? Do you think she and her husband…?

She and her husband had, of course. Or, rather, John had, and Brida had, as a result. She’d come home after fifteen months away, noticed the signs within a week, and been gone within a month.

The paperwork had taken longer, of course. John had tried arguing, but Brida was rather done with all that arguing. Fifteen months in desert and swamp will do that to you. She’d done everything through her lawyers and, several months later, the whispers had started.

Brida tried ignoring them. It’s not of their business, she told her therapist. Why won’t they just stop talking?

They care, her standard-issue therapist had tried. Brida had just laughed.

They’re bored.

Her therapist had tried again. They’re human.

And what am I?

Prickly.

They’d gone back and forth for a while, back and forth in something that sounded too much like arguing for Brida’s sake, back and forth week after week, while people at the water cooler murmured and she’s so thin and Still sick? Really?

People talked.

It was part of the nature of people, Brida was coming to understand. They talked about things that worried them, things that excited them; they talked to connect.

“I hear Kevin’s wife’s pregnant again,” she tried. “Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/674460.html. You can comment here or there.

Hard Choices

Feb10

Written to kay_brooke‘s prompt to my Giraffe Call here.

Names from Fourteen Minutes and Seventh Sanctum

Content warning: Creepy. Implied slow murder.

“I want you to know, I think this is disgusting.”

The tall woman liked to talk. It was generally an unfortunate habit in bad guys, at least in movies, but this was, sadly, not a movie. This was Londi’s life or, from the looks of things, the end thereof.

“I think it’s pretty disgusting, too.” Londi struggled – uselessly, of course – against the buckles and straps holding her to the table. “So why do you, you know, not do it?”

The tall woman – Eldalene, she’d said her name was Eldalene, although, if she was who Londi thought she was, the papers had been calling her Fang the Frigid – shook her head. “They need to understand. They’re not going to understand without a sacrifice. And if I don’t do it with you, I’m just going to have to do it with someone else.”

“Someone else is okay.” Londi shook her head, or at least tried to. There was even a strap holding down her forehead. “No, no, I don’t really mean that. Not someone else. God. If you have to do this to someone…”

“Very noble.” Eldalene sighed. “So very sweet and so very noble. If there were more people like you out there, this wouldn’t be a problem. They would just see the issue and understand it.”

“What… Oh, you drugged me, didn’t you?” Her tongue was getting heavy. “What do you want them to see?”

“That life is about hard choices. Of course I drugged you. There’s no reason for you to suffer.“

“You’re talking about dissecting me. I think I’m going to suffer in the long run.”

“Hard choices.” There was a dull feeling in Londi’s gut, and she could no longer see the tall woman. “That’s what this is about. The rest of the world is going to see what happens when they ‘refuse to negotiate.’ Again. But you’re prettier than he was.”

“He?” Londi struggled to hold on to consciousness, but Eldalene’s answer was lost in a slow buzzing in her ears.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/662560.html. You can comment here or there.

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