NaNo 14: Story 2

My first two stories this month have stretched longer than anticipated, so I’m not sure if I’ll actually reach thirty stories…for now, I’m more focused upon writing good stories. (And if I must, I can reach thirty with a mad-dash of flash fiction at the end.)

This story was inspired by a dear friend who has given me prompts in the past: both prompts were serious in nature, but magic seeped into the stories nonetheless (inspiring “Sunday Sails Away” and “The Man Behind the Camera,” respectively).

This time, the prompt they gave me began with magic–and since they shared so many magical moments with me in the past, even more magic slipped in and the story found a place within my mythology–in fact, it tethered to this series of tales another story idea I’ve had for probably a decade or so, and in writing this, it has become my first contemporary tale in the mythos. (Yes, some of this mythology continues today, in this world.)

As promised, here’s the beginning and ending.

Ash sat at the edge of the post. A soft touch on the back of his hand turned his gaze downward: A small spider crawled across him.

Ash watched as the four winds rose into the air, no longer bound by the Sky God, no longer controlled by the key–completely free after millennia of imprisonment. And then, like waves of the auroras, they darted toward the horizon, each of them returning to their ancestral homes. Ash’s knees wavered and he fell to the ground. He had awakened the winds and defeated the Storm King–but at what cost?

Inspire my next story by clicking here.

Cloud Cover

Neil crouched with his camera tilted high, snapping pictures: puffy white clouds tumbled through the heavens, somersaulting in shades of pink and vermillion, silver linings curved around voluptuous breasts and fingers stretching through the sky to touch them.

In his dark room, Neil dipped blank pages into one solution after another, their liquid tombs undulating as they sank to the bottom, splashing along the sides of every bin. Soon he hung them on a taut piece of string strung from one side of the room to the other like a thread of lightning marrying the heavens to the earth. The saturated paper dripped, splashing like raindrops beneath him. Soon this wouldn’t be the only rain he could create.

A Storm’s Coming

Wanda pulled herself under the water and felt the blue waves poking down from the surface. In another second she broke the surface, gasping in the salty sea air, and grabbed hold of the massive stone that jutted up through the waves. She exhaled forcefully and pulled herself out of the water, but even once she had settled herself atop the rock, the sea foam still washed up to her waist.

She wrung the water from her darkened hair and sat back, braced up on her hands, while the rising sun shown down upon her. By the time Wanda’s hair had dried and blew through the wind in amber waves just as bright as the glare upon the water, she saw her friend Isaac walking up the beach toward her. He wasn’t tall for his age, and not stocky either, but something about his simple smile always filled her with warmth from head to tail.

Stoned

In the dark I turn to stone
& lock the wind within
but finally, finally to be undone
I must move & dance & breathe again

Excerpted from Spoken Word Syndrome

BEFORE THE STORM

FADE IN:

EXT. ROCKY BEACH – DAY.

ISAAC, a red-haired sixteen-year-old with freckles and a strong builds, sits in the sand just past the water’ edge while WANDA, Isaac’s age with amber hair, drifts in the foamy water, holding tightly to a black rock rising from the sea.

ISAAC

Day’s lovely, ain’t it?

WANDA

Always, Isaac, when you say it is.