Cannon a short story

 The wait, it was the worst part of war. Ben and his men had held their current position in the wood since well before dawn.

Younger inexperienced soldiers were apt to get antsy, but it had been long enough in one spot the more experienced men had begun to shuffle feet. Ben dismounted his horse to walk among them.

One of the men moved his musket from left to right as he let out a nervous breath. Ben walked down the line and clasped the man’s shoulder. “Stay strong, the time is near.”

As if on que rider barreled through the wood to their position. “Lieutenant Benjamin Mason.” Ben stepped out of the ranks and nodded. The rider tipped his hat to him. “You have orders to support the 22^nd, sir.”

Ben mounted his horse and gave the order. The wait was over they were to fight. The men fought to keep their lines as anticipation grew with each step. Ben’s hand slipped into his pocket one more time before they reached the field.

He pulled out the photo of his wife and son to look upon them. He hoped it would not be for the last time. With a breath to steady himself he pushed the photo back into his pocket.

A priest rode across the front line. He recited a prayer of absolution to prepare their souls in case they fell during the battle. Some of them crossed themselves others muttered personal prayers, or made promises of what they would do if God let them live through this day.

The sound of gunfire and men’s shouts began to fill air as the moved closer. Soon the sound of the wounded could be heard, the thump of some of them falling to the hard earth. One of the mounted officers near Ben took a shot in the throat.

Ben dismounted to blend with his men; officers were always the first picked off if Johnny Reb could manage it. His pistols in hand he ordered the men to take positions in the trenches and fire at will.

Several fell before they could get to the lower ground. They cried out as lead tore into their flesh. Ben felt something hot burn through his coat into his shoulder. Then his shirt being soaked with his life’s blood.

He pressed his bandanna to it as he continued to call orders down the line. He looked out into the wheat field in which they fought.

He could hear Confederate officers shout orders to their troops as they took more of the field. Ben could see them fully now they were in a greater number than when he had last met them. He waited for the volley to begin.

The twelve-pound Napoleon cannons would settle the odds in favor of the blue. The Federals were out of range for the Rebs artillery, one fact of the day Ben was more than thankful of.

The enemy still approached, but no volley had begun. Ben looked back, the two cannons were unmanned. His heart fell, he knew this battle would be over quickly if they couldn’t thin out that line. 

Ben turned to the trenches as Confederate fire began to rain down. “Charlie, Dawson with me.”

The two men, didn’t hesitate to move away from the trench. Ben ran with them to the artillery wagon. He pulled the sack of primers and attached it to his belt as he gave orders. “Charlie, you’re on the nose. Dawson you run munitions. Do not pause, gentlemen. I want as constant a fire as we can get.”

Both men nod. Charlie ran up with the first ball. He set it into the tube then shoved it back with the rammer. Ben punctured the powder bag through the vent before he dropped in the friction primer.  

Charlie watched Ben hold his shoulder as he set the sight in place and take aim. “Lieutenant, are you hit?”

Ben moved back cord in hand. “I’m fine.” He let go of a deep breath as he nodded to the men. “Ready! Fire!”

He pulled the cord. There was a hiss as the powder ignited. A second later came the blast, sulfur and smoke filling the air. The ground shook under their feet. Ben shook his head to combat the ring in his ears from the explosion.

With in seconds they were rewarded with screams and calls of the wounded. Ben called out. “Reload!”

They readied again, and again, they caught an easy rhythm as if they were a full crew. Smoke billowed through the wheat field, made it hard to visualize targets. Ben focused on the light of the enemy’s muzzles and the sound of gunfire.

The battle felt as though it had gone on for days, instead of hours. The day had faded into dusk when they heard the Confederate officers recall their men. When they were out of sight, the men cheered. More for the joy that they still took breath than for the victory.

Ben surveyed the damage. He was thankful the cannon had dulled his hearing. This night he would get a reprieve from the cries of those fatally wounded, as they called out for someone to take their final words home.

Ben took count of his men as they began to slowly emerge from the trenches. Their number appeared reduced, but most were still with him. He could see many had been wounded. It brought memory of his own injury and the pain back to his conscience mind.

He attempted to push it back as he joined them, though loss of blood made him unsteady. He swallowed hard as his eyes landed on a fallen rebel. A deck of cards had fallen from his pack and been scattered through the blooded wheat around him by the fighting. Next to the dead man’s hand lay two aces and two eights.

Ben’s omen, he knew it was a taunt. He turned toward the surgeon’s tent and spoke to the omen, fate or whom ever was listening. “I owe nothing, I carve my own fate.”

Rudiarius

His blade sang as it cut through the air of the arena. The gladiator growled as its edge sank into the

flesh of his target. A soft spray of warm blood spattered his chest and arm as he turned to meet the next opponent.

 He could smell the fear of the Murmillo even though the opponent was the one to advance. His lip curled as he watched his fellow gladiator swing the trident in an effort to intimidate.

He easily stepped back from the sharp points. The trouble with pole arms and using them for their length is the time it takes to reset for the next blow. He took full advantage of the Murmillo’s position and stepped into the fighter as the gladiator’s blade came down upon the wrist holding the trident.

The Murmillo cried out in pain and tried to back away, but the gladiator wasn’t going to give his opponent the chance to get any footing. He grabbed the leather strap of the Murmillo’s arm guard and gathered his strength as he drew his other arm back. He drew in a deep breath of the Murmillio’s sweat and thrust his sword forward.

The Murmillo gasped as the blade sank into his fatted belly and thrust further up into his heart. The gladiator held the Murmillo close as he drove the blade as deep as the man’s body would take it.

The crowd stood on their feet and roared their approval. The gladiator was victorious, he had survived the match, he held back his elation until the Murmillo went limp in his arms.

He lay his fellow warrior upon the sands and said a prayer then stood to raise his sword high the blood glistening as it dripped from the edge. The mob in the stands erupted once more and he let their excitement fill him. The roar of his name echoing through the arena.

All at once the mob quieted and took their seats. The gladiator feared another opponent had been loosed, it was not uncommon. The wealthy in their boxes would often pay for another round if their bloodlust had not yet been satisfied by the games.

He turned and readied for the gate to open. Instead of an armored beast he was greeted with the sight of a senator and his wife.

He watched them still wary. Could it be a trick? Gladiators dressed to fit this part for the mob’s entertainment? No, he remembered the senator.

The senator was his master, his owner. He would come to the ludus and watch him train. He dropped to one knee and lowered his eyes.

It was the senator’s wife that stepped toward him, she rested her hand on his shoulder. The sweet perfume on her skin filled his senses. Her soft fingertips rested on his blood-spattered chin and raised his face to meet hers.

She wore a soft smile, her face glowing with pride. “You have made our house proud, your debts have been paid and it is time for you to walk Rome a freedman.”

He heard the words, but surely, it was some kind of hallucination from the heat and excitement of battle.

The senator stepped forward now and took him by the shoulders raising him to his feet. The woman was as lovely as her scent as she handed her husband a leather pouch. The senator thanked her and offered the pouch to the gladiator.

The mob seemed to understand before he did, they erupted once more. Cheers and chants began through

the arena. The gladiator opened the pouch and pulled the concealed object from it. A rudius. His freedom.

No longer forced to fight, it would be his choice to be Rudiarius. His hands curled around the inscribed wooden sword and prayers of thanks fell from his lips to both his gods and his masters. A new kind of victorious joy filled him as he raised the rudius high for all to see he was free.

New York Can Wait

Cynthea walked though the airport and sighs. He’s late, he wanted me to come to New York and he’s late.

Five more minutes she decided to give him before getting a taxi. Then she heard him call her name and wave as he hurried though the crowd. In his hand was a large bouquet of white roses. 

He rushed to her, his arms sliding around her as his lips pressed to hers in a passionate kiss. Cynthea sighed into the kiss hugged him back. Emotions and memories flooded though her.

His fingers curled into the back of her hair as the kiss deepened… and a small child plowed into them skating on his Heelys. 

The boy grabbed around their legs to keep from falling. Connor tried to keep his balance and hold onto Cynthea at the same time. The magic of the moment interrupted Connor peeled the boy from their legs.

The boy’s mother rushed over. “Bobby, Bobby honey, are you alright?”

Connor sighed a bit aggravated. He wanted the moment to be special, it had already been delayed by a traffic accident on the way. “We’re fine too, thank you for asking.” 

The mother gave him a look as though they shouldn’t have been in her son’s way. Cynthea nudged him and grinned. “You’re late.”

He laughed that wonderful staccato laugh and offered the flowers with a hand over his heart. “I’m sorry, there was an accident on the freeway and we were held up for miles.”

Cynthea took the roses inhaling their sweet scent as she watched him pick up her suitcase. She missed him, maybe they should give it another try. Maybe.

They settled in the back seat of the taxi. As they make their way though the streets Connor covered her hand with his and laced their fingers. “Have you missed something, in New York?”

She turned her from her view of the cityscape Cynthea nodded with a grin. “That pizza place on 8^th. I could really go for a slice right now.” When Connor’s head tipped forward to hide his grin, she reached over and gently pulled her hand though his hair. “I kind of missed you too.”

His dark eyes looked up at her as he leaned forward. Their lips almost touching as the cabbie slammed on the breaks. The cab skidded forward on the pavement, Cynthea slipped off the seat into the floorboard and who knows what had been there before her.  “Arrgh… gross.”

Connor helped her up back to the seat and glared up at the cabbie. Not for the rough stop. He opened his back door and handed their fare to the driver. “You’ve got a suitcase with wheels don’t you?”

Cynthea stepped out and looked at him.” I didn’t pack that much, but yes.”

When she turned to step up on the sidewalk, he saw the back of her coat. Connor looked at her softly. “Um, sweetheart… “

She looked back and then tried to see what he’s pointing at. He helped her off with her coat and she grimaced seeing the back. “I don’t even want to know just toss it in the trunk. He can have it as a bonus.”

He pulled off his coat for her, he grined softly as he helps her roll the sleeves up. “This one is cuter on you anyway.”

She grinned and kissed his cheek. “It smells like your cologne.”

They laugh it off and start down the street hand in hand. After about two blocks, Connor slid his arm around her waist and walked with her against his side. She relaxed against him and everything felt right again.

They stopped at the corner across from his building. He reached over and pressed the crosswalk button. “We’re almost there.”

She grinned and stepped forward nuzzling his neck. “Finally.”

He looked down into her eyes; they were dark shimmering pools he could get lost in for hours. His fingertips caress her cheek as his lips brush over hers before….

A car sped around the corner and splashed them with water from the earlier rains. Cynthea squeaked in surprise then looked down. They were both drenched.

Connor swore, he couldn’t even get a kiss in edgewise. The light changed and they could walk across. He took hold of her hand and case hurrying to the center of the street.

Cynthea was thoroughly aggravated now. This was an omen that this whole trip was a bad idea. When he stopped half way across the street she wasn’t in the mood for anything else. “Connor…”

He stopped her speech when he turned and pulled her close. His lips pressed to hers gently then deeper until her arms wrapped around him. They kissed passionately in the middle of the street. Their hearts racing, cars honking, people yelling and whistling.

Cynthea didn’t hear any of it only the beat of his heart the feel of his kiss. This is why she fell in love with him. He made her feel as though there were nothing else in the world.

Everyone else wanted to interrupt their moment. He was going to take it right there and the rest of New York could wait.

Woman in the Woods

It was nearly dusk and he was completely turned around on the forest trails. He hoped he was going in the direction of the cabin. After a few more minutes walk he could hear the  soft swoosh of water rushing over rocks.

His lungs took a calming breath and let it go slowly. There wasn't a creek anywhere near the cabin. He was lost. The canteen was almost empty, he should fill it while he had the  chance.

With the sky turning a pinkish gold overhead he made his way off the trail toward the soft splashing sounds. As he moved closer a soft voice humming blended into the sounds of the creek. Maybe another hiker and he wasn't as lost as he thought.

He stepped through the brush toward the song to the rocky edge of the creek. His hand gripped a hanging tree limb to keep his footing on the moss slickened stones as he picked his way along the edge. He kneeled on a flat rock and watched bubbles float upward as he held the canteen below the water line.

The bubbles calmed as the last of the air was replaced with refreshing cool liquid. He capped the canteen and cupped his hands to scoop up a drink and bathe his face and neck. As his hands dipped under a face appeared in the water not his own.

With an unmanly yip he jumped back and looked behind him. No one was there. He sighed and shook his head. "I've been out in the sun too long today."

As he stood the humming became louder, clearer. He turned and saw a young redheaded woman, she sat on the rocks at the creek edge with a washboard.

He blinked, was she there before? Maybe he was just too tired from the long walk to notice. He watched her pick up a large bar of soap and rub it up and down the board as she continued her song, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

She had to live near by. "Excuse me.... Miss?"

She picked up a shirt from her basket and started to scrub up and down over the washboard. He stepped forward and lost traction on the damp stones. He hit the ground  hard enough to see stars. His eyes watered with the ache in his head as he sat up.

The woman had stopped her song and now looked at him as she turned the shirt and continued to scrub. She turned back to her work as she spoke. "Does it hurt?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "Not really, I think I just showed how much of a city boy  I am." His lips curled in a soft grin. "I'm completely turned around on these trails. Do you live near the campground?"

She glanced up for a moment then rinsed the shirt in the creek and examined it carefully. In the dying light he could see the white shirt was still stained. She sighed and began to  scrub it up and down the board again. "I live in the wood."

He raised a brow at the short answer. Maybe she was one of those Rainbow People he was always being told to be cautious of. They traveled to different areas sometimes camping out in the forest like a wild hippy commune. Maybe she her family was a bunch of cannibal axe murderers on the run or weird apocalypse get back to nature groupies.

If he was lucky she had a phone and he could call for help before she went all Blair Witch on him. "It must be nice to live out here in the quiet. Could I use your land line to call someone to pick me up? My cell is useless out here and I am totally lost on these  trails."

She continued to push and pull the cloth over the board. "There is no phone."

His spine tingled as he moved closer to her, more carefully over the rocks this time. He  made a silent promise to pay more attention to signs and maps next time if hiked. "There's no phone? Could you give me a ride back to camp? I'll be glad to pay you for the gas and trouble. I'm sure you get a lot of lost hikers up here."

She held up the shirt, in the dying light, the dark stain glistened. He thought it looked larger than it had before. The woman seemed satisfied as if it should be worse not better."You're not lost, Thomas." She began to sing a little louder this time as she worked the cloth once more.

He swallowed, how did she know his name. He rubbed his arms as gooseflesh covered them and chill filled him to the bone. "I really need to get out of the woods, my friends are going to wonder where I am. Is there someone that can give me a ride to camp or town?"

The woman's lips curled ever so slightly. "Soon, he will come for you, Thomas."

She stood her hair flowing around her as she turned and pointed. "Don't worry so, you're not lost."

Thomas felt a knot of fear in his throat as he gazed down the line of her finger. His knees felt weak as he walked back to where he had slipped. He looked down at his own face, eyes open, blankly staring at the rising moon. Blood still glistening covered the rock beneath his head. "No... this... isn't real."

She put a dainty blood speckled hand on his shoulder. "Some fairy tales are very real, Thomas."

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his pulse beating in his ears. "Who is coming for me?"

She turned and picked up her basket with its bounty of stained clothing from those she had called for today. Silently she stepped back into the wood disappearing from sight.

He looked up and down the rocky bank as hoof beats began to fill the empty night air. Thomas stood frozen at the sight of the black coach drawn by a demon horse with red eyes. As the coach drew near he could hear the woman singing again. Only now the soft  sweet song had turned into a wail.

PARTICIPATES:

1. C. Lee McKenzie Beautiful
2. Erica Damon Penance'
3. J. Q. Rose Sorry
4. Elise VanCise Lady In The Woods
5. Barbara Lund Spooky Space
6. Angela Wooldridge Quiet Neighbours
7. Katharina Gerlach Australian Dream
8. Karen Lynn The Waves at Midnight
9. Sherri Conway Ants
10. Elizabeth McCleary Over James Henry Wilcox Dead Body
11. Canis Lupus The Picture
12. Peg Fisher All In the Fall, a Fractured Fairytale
13. Bill Bush Trapped
14. Benjamin Thomas Autumn Cascade
15. Crystal Collier Emily’s Ghost
16. Viola Fury 911

Old Lady Creeper's Meat Pies

“What do we do now? You told me nothing could go wrong and look what’s happened.” Kurt pushed and  

shook the basement doors again. “We’ll just go in and get the ball, he said, nothing will happen, he said, the old lady isn’t even home, he said.” 

Pete gave his friend a shove. “Shut up! It’s not my fault the wind blew the doors shut.” He gave the other boy another shove to the side. “Stop acting like a baby, they probably just need a good shot of elbow grease.”

Kurt scoffed, “Yeah, my sister can bench press more than you in weight class.”

Pete gave him an evil eye, then rubbed his hands together and pushed on the cellar doors. When they didn’t give he put his back into it, added a grunt or two for good measure. The doors rattled a bit but didn’t budge.

Pete looked to Kurt panic started to rise in both the boys. “Holy crap, Kurt! We’re gonna die down here!”

Kurt swallowed, then stomped his foot. He wasn’t going to end up in one of Old Lady Creeper’s meat pies. “Shut up, Pete.”

After a few panted breaths of musty basement air, Kurt squinted as he tried to see in the dark. “There’s got to be another way out of here. We never see the old hag leave ‘cept to go to the Piggly Wiggly.”

Pete started to search with him, both boys took a tentative step further into the dark room. He swallowed. “Do you think this is where she stores the bodies? You know… the ones for the pies.”

Kurt gulped hard and elbowed his pal in the side. “Don’t be stupid, that stuff is just stories to scare kids like us.”

They took a few more steps into the dark, Kurt squinted again and peered into the dark corner. “Hey, it’s the ball.” He ran over and picked it up. “Pete, here’s stairs. We can get out of here before Old Lady Creeper gets home.”

Pete yelped when his hand hit the edge of a worktable. His hands crept along the surface. “Yeah, I’m too young to be a pie.”

He took another few steps, his hands felt along the table for guidance. A box turned over onto his hands and he froze in place. “K..k…Kurt…. “

Kurt was done with this freaky place, the old lady would be home soon. She’d call his parents, he would get grounded and miss the carnival this weekend. “Come on, stop being a baby.”

He walked over to Pete and grabbed at the items that lay over his friend’s hands. It felt…. No, it couldn’t be…

The sun had started to shift and shine into the tiny filth smudged window. Kurt held up one of thet hings. He swallowed hard and started to tremble as his gaze fell on a skeletal hand. Kurt dropped the hand as Pete joined him in a high-pitched girly scream.

They ran full steam to the basement doors the force unjammed them. When the double doors flew open, they ran for the closest house, the boys emitted that girly scream all the way.

Mrs. Caraway walked down the stairs taking care with her bad hip. When she reached the bottom, the old dear gave out a long breath of relief. She set her Piggly Wiggly woven market bag by the deep freeze and looked over at the worktable.

There were skeletal remains scattered over the surface. With a deep sigh, she walked over and started to clean up the mess. She dropped a skull into the box on top of a witch’s hat and pumpkin tablecloth. “Damn kids, always getting in here and making a mess of my holiday decorations. Maybe I should start putting more mince pies on the window sill.”

Ketching up with K-U for Blogging from A to Z with One Word/60 Seconds

This is going to be a multi-letter post starting with K for Ketching up. I know I know it's not

supposed to be spelled like that but hey, making up words worked for Shakespeare. :)

The following Ketching-up entries will be from my One Word/60 Second list. What's One Word you ask? Well, it's actually a fantastic site OneWord.com. You are given a single word with a 60-second timer. You are to write as fast as you can what that one word inspires. It's a great way to warm up your muse or even shake a bit of writer's block. Maybe even get a good story starter or prompt to save for later. Okay, now I'm going to Ketch-up, I hope you enjoy the following OneWord/60 Second entries. 

L-Local

Instead of staking out the local chop shop he could be out with Gina, or Lola. Oh yeah, Lola. He popped the lid off his coffee and tossed it onto the dash with the rest of the night's collection. Maybe this one wouldn't taste like used oil.

After seven hours of crap coffee and no action, he watched the sleek sedan pull up to the garage door. The detective took a tentative sip and sighed as a big man stepped out of the car and straightened his coat, the hood he’d been looking for. He regretfully tossed the first decent cup of java all night out the window and flipped on the flashing lights. At least his wasn't the only date night to get ruined. 

M- Mystery 

The clatter of a coffee cup being set on the desk brought his attention from the files long enough to grunt thanks. This was one hell of a mystery, he had no idea where to start the search for this dame's sister. She was like smoke in fog, and he was one puzzled gumshoe.

N-New

The gun trembled slightly in his hand, this was his first day in uniform on patrol. The leather of his new holster still shiny. He was supposed to be sitting in the coffee shop eating donuts not in the middle of a face-off with a gang punk and an AK pointed at his head.

O-Optimism

Have some optimism, there’s a silver lining to every dark cloud. That’s what my mother would say when we were frightened of the creatures in the dark. She couldn’t see them so she didn’t think they existed. Even now as I cower under the covers, a grown woman I find myself whispering those words. Could there really be a silver lining to the dark shadow looming over my bed?

P-Panel

Looking down he saw a wooden panel loose on the desk. The jutting corner begging for discovery. Gently he pried at it with the tip of a pin. The panel fell to the floor revealing a compartment. Reaching inside he pulled out a diary, the first line read…. “My God,what have I done?”

Q-Quiet

The room was quiet but for the sound of water dripping from the corner. It was dark and damp, smelled like dirt, a basement maybe. She twisted and pulled at the ropes on her wrists. A sound from the corner made her pause. Scratch.. scratch...the rustle of paper or maybe cloth then a large rat ran across her feet. She gasped and wiggled her feet as much as the ropes would let her. There wasn't much time left, she worked harder and managed to loosen the knots just enough. Her hands trembled and pulled furiously on the other bonds until the door creaked and a sliver of light crept toward her. He was back.

R-Routine

A routine day in the shop was all I wanted. Just a normal unbothered day of customers, dusting antiques, and inventory. Until the crate arrived, until I opened it. The contents would change everything I knew. No more routine days in the shop.

S-Secluded

This part of the jogging path was secluded from the park. Usually, she enjoyed her run in the quiet of the night, but something about the thick copse of trees on each side made her feet move just a bit faster. She felt eyes bore into her back as she broke out into a full run. Her breath panted harder as footsteps began to echo hers from behind. They were getting faster, closer. She didn't dare glance back. Run just run, she told her feet, and they might make it out alive.

T-Trapped

The door slammed shut, he could hear the bolt slide into place. "Damn." There was always a reason those mysterious notes say come alone. It was a trap, his gut was right instinct had been right but he came anyway. Now he had two options, wait for his captor to kill him or search for escape.

U- Unplanned  

He stepped back and gazed at the blood spattered on the wall. The victim had been removed but evidence of his violent death was painted dark red across the wall like a high gloss white canvas. The pattern of spray and dots seemed geometric, a kind of unplanned art. Or was it? Maybe the killer fancied himself Monet or Van Gogh. Maybe Dali, the bastard was definitely mad. 

There we go all Kaught up. Oh, you really didn't think I'd stop with Ketch did ya? :D Now it's your turn to try a muse wake up with One Word. Pick one of these words above and time yourself writing for 60 seconds. What did you get? 

Grave Dancer

It was dark in the chapel, a new moon shed no light in the old abandoned building He sat on a pew moved under a window he watched and waited. Tonight he was prepared with camera, recorder, extra batteries, and a thermos of hot coffee to combat the chill of the night.

His hands wrapped around the tin cup absorbing the heat as he took a long sip. It was almost time, almost. He was afraid they wouldn’t come, he wouldn’t see her again. That it had been all a figment of his drunken mind.

Every night since that first one he had waited to see her again. He glanced back out the window he saw a glow fill the ancient graveyard. 

The glow was a soft bluish green like the ocean. The air felt damp heavy as he tossed aside the half full cup to get up on his knees for a better view out the broken window. His camera was in hand as he searched the worn headstones for her. 

The earth below a few of the stones shifted as a mist formed above them, taking shape. Arms stretched toward the sky as feet touched the ground. The figures yawned and moved as if waking from slumber.

He watched from his perch in the window holding up his camera to get the proof he wasn’t mad. They were real. The women there were like wisps of wind, ethereal. He could see them clearly in their ivory burial gowns, their skin fair as fine porcelain. But there was a touch of dream about them as they moved. Shifts in the misty glow would show them transparent.

His interest focused on one as she turned her skirt swirling the brittle leaves over her grave. She seemed to dance to some silent tune, perhaps only her kind could hear. Suddenly she stopped and walked back to her tombstone.

A cream colored rose lay on the aged marble. A soft smile of wonder slowly spread across  her pinked lips. She touched the petals gently as if it would fade away. When it didn’t she picked it up and brushed her cheek against the silken petals before she inhaled the sweet scent. 

  

A few of the other spirits began to gather to see the flower. Some searched their own stones. She smiled and held it out for them to sniff and touch lightly it had been so very long since anything but decay grew here.

The wind blew leaves around them, though their delicate forms. One jealous spiteful spirit marched over. Around her, the mist seemed darker, and aura of her cruel days in flesh perhaps.

Her hand closed over the petals and crushed the flower leaving only the stem in the sweet spirits hands.

The others began to walk away to play on their night of freedom.  The dark soul raised her chin and moved as far from them as her existence would allow. 

He watched wanting in that moment to run out and tell her not to be sad. The expression of loss on her sweet face was almost too much for his own heart to bare. How was he to know something as simple as a rose would cause so much.

Out the window, he saw her chest rise and fall in a ghostly sigh. The spirit knelt on the dead grass and picked up every petal, caressing it lightly in her hand. When they were all gathered she sat on a cracked marble bench and marveled.

She could still smell the sweet fragrance; the petals were still soft like her favorite velvet gown. She held them to her face and smiled. A petal escaped, slipped through her fingers to float into her lap.

She stood and watched it float gently to the worn earth. Suddenly she raised her hands and spun around tossing the petals in the air. As they fell around her catching on her hair and dress she danced in them.

When they had all fallen she gathered them to dance again in the glow of the mist. Her gown flowed around her, arms gracefully moved through the air, her dark hair flowed free around her shoulders lifting as she turned.

There was no sound but a soft rustle of leaves but he could imagine her joyous laughter. Something made her pause and look up. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and sighed. She gathered up her petals and carried them lovingly back to her grave.

She held her hands over it then slowly turned her palms letting petals fall like soft rain over her stone. With a gentle smile, she yawned and stretched as the mist appeared to grow thicker. Soon the others were in their places as well the mist began to fade until a glimpse of the sun could be spotted over the trees.

There was no more dancing the only evidence of the night being the cream-colored rose petals strewn over the darkened marble stone.

Part of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge for the letter G. Be sure to visit the linky list on the site by clicking on the badge below for more great blogs to follow and read all through April!

A Ship by Any Other Name

Hamilton signed deeply and stretched as he sunned on top of the crates. It was a quiet morning on

their journey. That thought triggered something, it was too quiet. He sat up and looked at the old steamer’s top pipe, not a single puff of smoke.

The water was calm as glass. “Jacob, didn’t you notice the engine’s kaput?”

Jacob sits up from his nap on the bow and cocks his head to listen. “Damn, when did she fail?” He points his finger. “And don’t go sayin I let’er down you didn’t notice either.”

The other man sighed and hoped off the crates and opened the engine doors to have a look. “Just grab the tools and let’s have a look. At least the water is calm today and not trying to tinker about in here with rolling waves.”

Jacob opened a hatch on the deck and pulled out the tool box. As the hatch fell back into place he heard a hard knock against the bottom. He opened the hatch to see what tipped over, but nothing was amiss. With a shake of his head he thought, "I've been at this job too long, now I'm hearing things.

He set the box next to Hamilton who was checking valves. “You know Ham, this tub has given us one issue or another every time we’ve been out. I’m beginning to think that old tale is true.”

Hamilton paused to raise his brow and looked at his partner. “What old tale?”

“You know, the name Amelia. You never give a vessel a name ending in the letter a. It’s bad luck.” He pulled out a ratchet to tighten one of the valves that seemed loose.

Hamiton scoffed. “I never pegged you for a superstitious nit.” He added a bit of grease to the piston. There was another large knock on the bottom of the boat.

Jacob looked at the other man. “Did you hear that?”

Ham shook his head. “Hear what? The only thing I’m interested in is the sound of this old girl belching to life. Turn her over will ya.”

Jacob went back to the helm and pressed the button. After a couple of tries, the engine gave a sputter and puff of smoke as it came back to life. Jacob let go a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He put his hand in his pocket and gave the rabbit’s foot a pet for their fortune.

The steamer rocked side to side as if it caught a rough wave. The men grabbed hold to keep their footing. They looked around and out at the water, it was still smooth as glass. The engine couldn’t have caused that. “Let’s get her moving.”

Jacob pulled the lever to slow ahead. The steamer groaned a bit like she was stuck on something then moved forward. Once they were underway, he added a bit more speed. His heart pumped with a faster pace as well. “What in hell is going on Ham?”

The other man shook his head. “It’s nothing, probably just one of those great whites. You know they love the coastlines.”

Jacob nodded, but his gut knotted and twisted all at the same. The deck lurched under his feet again as the bow tipped upward then down. There were more knocks now against the sides of the hull. Like something wanted aboard and were pounding the sides to come in. Or push its way in.

Hamilton slid from one side to the other as the steamer rocked again. He gripped the railing to keep from falling over the side. His mind froze in shock with what his eyes took in as they fell over the edge.

He crossed himself with a trembling hand. “Dear God in heaven.”

Tentacles writhed against the hull of the steamer. The vessel lurched again. One of the large tentacles slung over the bow and began to wrap around.

Jacob cried out in fear and ran to the back of the steamer to jump into the water for a possible escape. When he had climbed the top of the rail a large mass rose out of the sea.

Smaller tentacles writhed in the air; they dripped water and ooze on Jacob and the deck. The mass shifted and an eye as large as the man before it opened.

Hamilton yelled. “Look out, get back Jacob.”

Jacob tried to rush backwards but slipped in the muck dripped from the beast onto his back. It wouldn’t have mattered, it was too late. One of the smaller arms whipped down, wrapped around the man’s leg and dragged him into the air.

The beast shifted again, This time it opened a large beaked mouth. The beak was razored with sharp teeth and a serpent-like tongue which flicked out to sample its find. Jacob struggled in its grip.

Hamilton made his way to the helm. He pulled a revolver he’d fastened there in case of pirates. He wished this were pirates. aimed and held his breath as he fired into the mass of the beast.

The beast only twisted now angry. Tentacles launched out of the water and latched onto the steamer and began to rip into the deck and hull. The smaller arm that held Jacob hovered above the beast's maw. The beak snapped shut then opened wide for its morsel.

Hamilton cried out as his shipmate was devoured. There was no escape the beast had the steamer tight in its grip and it was too large to attempt to abandon ship. He knelt and began to say his final prayer.

Three weeks later….
Old man Gimley sighed as he lit his pipe. He picked up a weathered chunk of wood from his desk and walked down to inspect a new steamer for the Hart Line.

The foreman stepped off the ship to greet his supervisor. “Afternoon, Mr. Gimley. What do you have there?”

Gimley looked at the wood and sighed. “Confirmation of what happened to our missing ship. They found a bit of wreckage, no survivors.”

The foreman shook his head. They’ve had a run of bad luck lately. “The Amelia? That makes four in the last eight months. The Nina, Susana, and the Mina all lost. Mr. Hart is not going to be pleased.”

Gimley nodded as he handed the chunk of wood to the foreman and stepped aboard to begin his inspection.

The foreman turned to the boy in the sling painting the name. “Change that name Tucker.”

“To what sir?”

“Whatever you like just make sure there is no a on the end!” The foreman looked at the wood in his hands and the battered letters on it. Maybe some superstitions have a bit of truth to them. “Poor girl, you and the others were cursed from the start.”


Part of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge for the letter A. Visit the site for the linky list to visit more great and creative blogs as we journey through the alphabet this April. 

OneWord 60 Seconds: Gears

She slathered more grease on the actuating arms and a few of the more rusted teeth of the gears. "I'm not sure this is going to help. This piece of junk has sat far too long without any care."

She closed the cover of the mammoth war machine and stepped back. "Punch it Louis!"

He turned his cap backward and pumped diesel through the veins of this metal creature. When Louis pressed the ignition switch the gears and plates trembled before breaking their bond of rust and years of dirt.The armored suit took one step then another.

She let out a yell and raised her  grease smeared arms in victory.  If they can revive a few more of these beasts, the allies may yet have a chance.

OneWord.com is a website for getting the muse warmed up. Each day you get one word and sixty seconds in which to write what it inspires.This is my entry for today's One Word. What's yours? For more of my past One Word entries, check out my One Word Profile EliseV.
Your turn, 60 seconds. Go!

No Regrets #FridayFlash

Snow blew in flurries, the cloak whipped back from her shoulders. With a gasp, she clutched it back close around her body. This was no day for a woman to be out, much less a country to be at war.

The weather made her job harder as blood stained snow crunched under her feet. The wind howled drowning out some of the faint cries of the men who needed her aid. A chill ran up her body as an icy hand clutched at her ankle under her skirt.

She looked down and swallowed softly, the young face half torn and bloodied by his enemy. His coat was blue a Union soldier. She was told to pass them by, they only had time for their own today.

Sarah pulled her foot from his loose grasp and started to move on.

The Yankee attempted to rise as he reached that trembling hand out. “Please…”

The plea tore at her soul as her mind replayed the doctor. His arthritic finger shaking in her face at dawn this morning with warning their supplies were dwindling. “To hell with that ole sawbones.”

Sarah turned back and knelt beside the young blue coat. “Easy, now. I’ll do what I can.”

He lay back in the snow, soft white mixed with blood, soot, and gunpowder. Carefully she tried to find his wound. By the way his face squinched and scrunched as he moved there was something far worse than the cuts and scrapes on the side of his face.

The poor boy was already blue enough to match his coat in the winter air. She tried not to open his coat too wide and lose what little warmth he had. His body shivered hard as she found the cause of his great discomfort.

She drew her fingers back from the wound and saw the blackened blood. Her heart sank lower. This ‘man’ couldn’t be more than sixteen, too young for wars against brothers. Far too young to die.

Sarah ad seen the cantankerous physician diagnose many soldiers with a wound like this one. The blood stained black meant the Federal’s internals had been damaged. All they could do was make comforts, take his last words.

Heaviness filled her for not the first time today. Sarah buttoned his coat back and gave the young man a gentle smile.

His eyes held the knowledge of his future. His hand trembled, flakes of ice fell from the digits as they wrapped around hers. “Write my mother, tell her I was brave.”

Sarah nodded once as the snow began to fall again. “What is your name, where does she live?”

He blinked snowflakes from his eyes as he took a ragged breath. “Thomas Lee Brunell. My parents live in Boston, George…..” He had to pause as his body heaved and coughed speckling his lips with dots of red.

Sarah smoothed back his hair and tried to calm him. “Shh, be still now. I’m sure your ma and pa are most proud of their brave son.”

Thomas gave her a smile, for a moment it softened those frightened hazel eyes. “I was, I fought well. I have one regret, I never kissed a girl.”

She smiled softly at the surprise in his pained expression. Many men have made confessions and requests as she tended them. None were so innocent as young Thomas. “Do you have a girl you’d like to kiss?”

Thomas gave her a slight nod, and tapped his watch. She opened and held it up for him to see the photo inside the lid. “She’s lovely, Thomas.”

“Her name is Sarah.” He paused to gather strength. “She’s waitin, for me.” It was plain in his expression he realized he wasn’t going to get that kiss with the pretty girl in the picture. His regret.

Her heart clenched for the young man. She brushed his cheek gently with her fingers. “My name is Sarah.” She pressed a soft kiss to his lips and felt him smile with the delight.

His grip tightened for a moment then the fingers uncurled from her hand. Sarah looked down at him, “Don’t leave me, Thomas.”

The hazel eyes were still, but there was a sweet grin on his face. Her breath caught as she placed his hands on across his chest. Sarah stood and gathered her meager bag of medical supplies. Sarah moved to the next call for help.

Now and then, she would glance over as the snow covered the young Federal, he had passed with no regrets. If she survived this war, Sarah swore to live without regret. The memory of a bittersweet kiss to remind her. 

Autumn Signs

Quiet was the day, the only sounds being the rustling of trees in the wind, the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. Autumn the season of change had begun.

These woods have changed since his first walk through them so long ago. Saplings now become tall trees, their leaves turning golden as they fall to the earth.  The sun peeked through the wood setting the trees a glow.

The hollow of a pine filled with acorns, a woodland creature’s winter store. Soon the mild temperatures would turn into bitter cold winter. Snow replacing yellow and orange leaves on the branches.

The sound of a heavy branch falling caught his attention. His heart sped as he stepped off the trail to inspect. Such paranoid caution had kept him alive for so long.

Creaking of wood in the stiff breeze led him to the source. A large oak, trunk blacked and split from a summer storm. Lightning had carved a dark line down the thick trunk to the roots.

As his fingers traced the scared bark it felt like a sign, a sign of dark days ahead. With a sigh, he turned back to the trail perhaps he can pretend the earlier peace of his walk was never disturbed. Change was coming but not yet, he would enjoy the quiet autumn day.

Flash Fiction: The Mission

A glance at the tower clock said it was almost time. Fingers drummed nervously on the café table. Stop, he admonished himself mentally. He couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself. Not now.

The mission was about to take place, delivery was crucial. Crucial to national security, maybe even global from the impressions he got during briefing.

After one last sip of the pungent tea, he pulled a few dollars from his wallet and tossed them on the bill. Standing, the young man glanced again at the clock in the square. It was time.

Knowing the importance of this meeting made it difficult to keep a strolling pace to the park. He wanted to hurry and be a hero to his country. An unknown hero, since he was one of the “men in black”.

Focus man, focus. To keep his concentration on the task at hand he began to sing the instructions in his head.

Near a tree by a river, there’s a hole in the ground. Where an old man of Aran goes around and around.

It had taken him a bit to decipher the cryptic message. It all snapped into place once he found the tree. Behind it a river gently flowed with children on the bank skipping rocks along the water’s surface.

An old man with a thick Irish accent called out to them in the shade of that great oak. The table in font of him filled with all sorts of whirly gigs to catch the wind and spin around.

The young man took a deep breath. This was it, the moment he’d been training for.  Hand around a small pistol in his pocket, he approached the table of wares. “Good afternoon.”

The old man gave him a slight nod. “Afternoon. See anything you like there?”

He picked up a bird shaped pinwheel. “This one I think. Reminds me of something.” He gave a pause and made eye contact with the old man. “The blackbird sings on bluebird hill.”

The old man nodded and took the offered money for the trinket and doled out the spy’s change. “Thanks to the calling of the wild. You must be a wise man’s child.”

His heart sped, this was it. The old man knew the code phrase. The hand in his pocket moved away from the gun to a key ring. “Indeed, thank you.”

Blood thumped in his ears as he pulled the ring from his pocket slowly.  Without breaking his pace as he walked away, dropped the keys into the hole by the great oak tree.

It was hard to keep the grin off his face until he’d exited the park. Success, he’d done it.

The old man pulled the keys from the hole and sighed. Why did H.Q. insist on testing the rookies like this? The wig came off, revealing jet black hair. This was the last time he’d forget his keys in the office.

Forgotten : Blogging from A to Z Letter F

photo: Old Shed by Elise VanCise 

The old shed stood amongst the wild growth. The paint is worn, siding rusted with time, telling the world it’s been forgotten. What secrets are inside these simple four walls? Old tools, holiday decorations, toys now outgrown or boxes of memories. Or perhaps secrets better left forgotten. 

Canvas: Blogging A to Z Letter C

The brush gently moved over the worn canvas bringing back the vibrancy of the colors. The long hours of 

restoration extending the life of the vision before him. In a way she had been captured too. Ethan sat back and stretched, he’d been sitting for hours at the easel. The beautiful woman rendered before him was a familiar face.

One he had thought he’d forgotten. “How cruel can our memories be? To block something for so long, and then let it all rush back in a moment.”

Lightly his fingers traced over the long hair of the woman in the painting. She was so passionate. He could still feel the press of her lips on his as he closed his eyes. Those sweet kisses soon turned to curses.

He was to blame, of that there was no doubt. She thought he had eyes only for her and really he’d had eyes for Selena, her sister, and a few other ladies of the square.

For being so giving with others she had him cursed. Something he laughed at until the next sunrise.

A glance at the clock made him sigh. He covered the canvas to protect it during the day. He could feel the dawn coming, Ethan wondered if this is what vampires felt as the sun began to break the edge of the sky. 

He walked out onto the balcony and watched the sky begin to turn from darkness into brilliant light. The world waking. A familiar tingle began as the first rays touched land. Slowly he began to fade. The brighter the sun became the less of him there was to see.

When the last of night had been sent on its way Ethan had gone back to his canvas. His physical body was taken not to be returned until sunset. During the day he hung above the mantel. A modern looking man in a Renaissance decorated room. The brass plate on the frame says Ethan Osborne 1437.

To live forever, days trapped in a canvas world. Night brings freedom to walk the earth. That is his curse for breaking the heart of a witch.  

Bite : Blogging from A to Z Challenge

“And then… I bit him.” She dipped her head and covered her face with her hands to hide the rising color in her cheeks.

Mina gently pulled Susan’s hands from her face. The poor pup had turned scarlet to her ears. “Honey, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He probably thought it was sexy.”

Susan shook her head violently. “I bit him. Not a nibble or nip. It was a solid bite like a crazed flesh eating zombie bite.”

It was becoming more difficult for Mina not to at least grin at her friend’s plight. “It really couldn’t have been that bad.”

“This morning he still had teeth marks and it was bruising. Oh, Mina, I don’t know what happened. Once minute we were passionate and tearing each other’s clothes off then… chomp. You’re my guide; you’re supposed to have all the answers.”

Susan flopped back on the sofa, sure her lover would never speak to her again. “He just smelled so good, not good as in nice cologne. Good as in a juicy burger with the works good.”

She sat bolt upright, eyes wide and heart suddenly racing. “He won’t be infected will he?”

Mina remembered her own transition, it was hard, but she was older and had experience in the world. Susan is a young girl entering the netherworld. She was still ruled by impulse. Mina took the girl’s soft hand in hers patting the back of it gently. “No, he won’t be, even if you broke the skin.”

With a gentle smile she wiped a tear from her pup’s cheek. “We’ll be laughing about this next week. You’ll see. After your first full moon all those urges to eat your boyfriend will fade.”

Susan’s expression grew horrified. “What if it doesn’t?”

Mina grinned. “You wouldn’t be the first bitch to eat her mate. Now go freshen your make-up we have shopping to do.”