Welcome to this week’s story, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

THE DRAGON GLASS STAR

Little Giant Peridot

Walkin through the mountains

Pickin up the bridge trolls

And boppin ‘em on the head!

– children’s song of the Makers

Peridot was too big for troll-bopping now.  Not that she didn’t still enjoy hitting things (who doesn’t?), or walking.  Now that she was taller than most of the scrubby trees that grew out of the wind-whipped cliffs, the chain bridges that linked the mountain communities of the Makers wouldn’t hold her weight.  The elders said so.

If she wanted to go walking, she had to climb down to the bottom of a valley, wade through a swift cold river of melt water, and climb back up the other side.  Sometimes, like today, she carried cargo, things that were likewise too heavy for the bridges or too tempting for the dragons.

Giants were from birth solitary creatures.  Peridot was never completely alone, though, not in the Giant way, because of her memories of being raised by the Makers.  These crowded her head like a dragon’s hoard, piling on top of one another, sliding, clinking, rolling around in shining little avalanches.  Moving helped to quiet them, as did standing under a freezing waterfall, letting the roar of pounding water clear her mind.

Today, however, she had a delivery to make.  In a pewter box on her back was a ball of spelled glass, black as the night sky between the stars.  Placed on the top of the tallest mountain, above the tree line, above the snow line, above the wind line where there was no more air, it would soak in the sun’s light, becoming almost a small sun itself.  At least that was what the elders said.  They had never been able to test the theory, because they had to breathe.

Peridot unpacked her cargo on the flattest place she could find.  She drove spikes into the rock, forming a circle.  The spikes rang through her hammer, through her bones, into her ears.  Using tongs, she placed the freezing-cold orb into the circle of spikes, oriented to her compass points, and tapped it to life.

Ribbons of light began to snake their way across the black sky, green and blue and more energetic colors, towards and into the orb.  They swirled and eddied around Peridot’s limbs until she stepped away.

This was going to make a fine song, one the elders would never hear.

 

Randall Hayes has published fantasy stories in Take Me There: an Anthology of Speculative Travel, in The Storyletter Express, and in his own newsletter, Doctor Eclectic, at https://randallhayes.substack.com.

https://facebook.com/kate.housersavill.5

 

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s story, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

F6 FLIES

It was another ordinary day.

     Stand from dusk to dawn. Do not sit. Do not daydream. Stare straight ahead. Always remain alert. Be ready for the Deadly Dragons that may come over the horizon at any moment. Prepare to act. Remain silent. The strict directions repeated in their heads by the hour—they had been programmed that way.

     If one of the gifted seven were caught sinking down for a seat, dozing in their standing position, or attempting conversation, the punishment would be severe. They had all learned that as children and been trained not to tire during their twelve-hour shift. So, they stood still, almost trancelike, in their individual protective bubbles, secretly hoping for the dangerous disruption. At least when the enemy came in one of its various disguises, the monotony was broken temporarily. It was then that they were allowed to use their unique powers to defend the city. The city that bustled through a labyrinth underground, below them, not far away but never a part of them.

     One evening, something changed. F6, the Fae always sixth in line and the second youngest, had grown restless. The fading colors of the sky spoke to her in a secretive whisper she had never heard before. The pinkish orange light spread across her bubble like a sparkling grid with hints of purple shooting through it. It shifted in both vertical and horizontal golden lines across the translucent surface and sounded like it was sliding, sizzling, searing, as though the sunlight were trapped there. She reached out her hand to touch the pulsing surface and she felt the sun’s warmth spread up her arm. Then, without looking around to see if anyone was watching her, she pushed. She kept pushing until the bubble began to sway, then roll out of the perfectly straight row. Without stopping to think, she pushed harder until she was running and bouncing over the rough desert terrain towards the fiery ball that was sinking in the distance.

     Behind her, the standing Faes watched in fear and awe. The last they saw of F6; she was a tiny bubble drifting upwards into the fading sky that was quickly swallowed by the darkness of night. Then, F7 (the youngest Fae) wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he began to clap and holler in reckless abandonment—overcome by unexpected emotions.

     His cheers were immediately silenced by a slow tremor that rolled underfoot, rattling the six glassy bubbles. Sirens began shrieking while strobing lights surrounded them. The Wizard’s intimidating voice rattled the air, “This is a Code F2F. Repeat. Code F2F. Fae to Fallen. All Familiars arise, NOW! Activate complete lockdown. Repeat. COMPLETE LOCKDOWN!”

     F7’s mind swirled, F6 hadn’t fallen, she’d flown. Heknew he had only a few seconds to change his course. He raised his hands to the smooth surface of his bubble. Then—he pushed.

     That was the beginning– of the end– of ordinary days.

 

Kate Houser Snare has a bachelor’s degree in English and a master’s degree in Elementary Education. She was an elementary school teacher in both Florida and Virginia (USA) and enjoyed teaching writing/literature to young learners. She loves writing creatively anywhere, anytime, and on anything she can find when inspiration strikes. She had a short story published in “The Ravens Perch” and is currently pursuing publication of her novels. 

https://facebook.com/kate.housersavill.5

 

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s story, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

ANOTHER NIGHTMARE

Gasping, I wake up from yet another bad dream. My heart pounds like a hammer beneath my chest.

They shift beside me. “Another nightmare, My Love?” They ask, running a soothing hand through my hair.

I nod at them slowly and whisper back in the dark, “It’s okay now, Love. I’m fine. You should go back to sleep.”

They smile softly. “Are you sure?”

I nod again and watch them drifting off back to sleep.

Eyes still fixed on them, watching their chest heaving, my fingers grope for the gun in my drawer.

Who was this stranger on my bed?

 

Amian Bent is a writer in her mid-20s and currently pursuing a Master’s in English. As a passionate enjoyer of works of fiction, she has dipped her toes into many forms of writing, which includes poetry, short fiction, and long forms of fiction as well. Currently she is working on her novel which she hopes to publish in the near future. When not writing, she enjoys kicking back with a book or some music.

 

 

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!