Foggy Night: A Sixty Second Story

{Prompt: "Come with me" a soft voice whispered from the night}

It was cold, too cold. The fog wrapped itself around me, seeking and searching for any weakness I might portray. But all I could do was run, run until I couldn't run any longer, they would find me. They always did. 

A Mischief of Magpies 

My name is Sable, and I see Magpies like other people see ghosts. 

It all started the night my mother died, I found her on the floor of our bathroom. A Magpie sitting on the windowsill, a bottle of pills clutched in her hand. I was seven years old.

One for sorrow,

The next time I saw them was the day my Fiancé asked me to marry him. It was the happiest day of my life. He had taken me to the local fair and proposed atop the ferris wheel. Only thing is he forgot I was afraid of heights. I spilled my drink all over him, and the ring. It was only after we got off the ride that I noticed the Magpies sitting on the fence.

Two for mirth,

I saw three at my wedding, sitting on the empty seats, chuckling to themselves as I said my vows. Not one of them stole a decoration, not even the rings. I suppose that must have been their blessing.

Three for a wedding,

The night I brought my newborn daughter home from the hospital, there they were. Sitting atop the roof of my house. At night they stared in through her window, watching over her like guardian angels. 

Four for birth,

The day my son's baseball team won their first trophy, the Magpies circled over their heads. Shading him from the sun with their wings. Protecting him from all harm.

Five for silver,

When I watched my daughter win Olympic gold, the magpies sat two rows in front of me.  Cheering for all to see. They watched her every competition, every training.  They were there for her when I couldn't be. 

Six for gold,

The night I cheated on my husband for the first time, the magpies watched from the window. Not moving, not saying a word. I closed the blinds.

Seven for a secret never to be told,

The day my son married his wife they circled the gazebo. Cheering as they said I do.

Eight for a kiss,

The day my daughter was diagnosed with cancer I prayed that they might let her live. I didn't want to see  a solitary Magpie at her funeral. When I stepped out into the courtyard they stared at me from the bushes.

Nine for a wish,

The night I  lay dying, I asked one last time. I wanted to see the birds that had haunted my mind. They came, one by one, flew into my room and onto my bed. All these numbers running through my head, I had just one thought as my mind slipped into the abyss:

And ten for a bird you must not miss.

I Am Not Pretty

I am not pretty. I am not a purple pansy who shivers at the cold nor a monarch butterfly painted with gold. I am not a summers breeze or a friend who fills your mind with ease. You mistake me for a doll, smile always on my lips. A glorious apparition filled with helpful tips. I am not a giggle or the rustling or the leaves. I am not pretty, for that is only what the eye sees.

You mistake me sir, for this is not about my looks. It is simply an observation, like counting pebbles in a brook. My appearance has nothing on my mind, a beautiful creation that only a loving God could design.

I said I am not pretty, for that is right don’t you see? But I am beautiful, beautiful as the raging of the sea. I am the crashing of the waves the anger of the wind. I am beautiful and tragic, I am cruel but I am kind. I am not a gentle breeze I say but I am cold and I am sharp. I am the the beating of war drums not a melancholy harp. I am beautiful like the ice that shimmers in the sun. But I will cut you in an instant, and you will not be the only one.

So listen closely my friend. Read until the end. For I am not pretty which is a fact you like to ignore. However I am beautiful, beautiful as a war. 

The Fae and Her Fee

Not long enough ago, just too far away, there lived a young fae. Or at least so they say.

Now this Fae wasn’t sweet nor was she kind. She was small and petite, she played tricks on your mind. She’d ask for your name, and give you two cents. You’d think it a game and barter three pence. She’d ask for your name with a gleam in her eye. You’d give her your last, and ask for more pie.

For Fae food is legendary oh don’t you see? So she would say yes, but for a small fee. And you would consider, such the fool that you are. What more could she want, you to lasso a star? She smiled and laughed and giggled along, you never suspected that you might be wrong. But finally she told you her small little fee. She wanted a key, not so big around. She wanted the key that opened the town.

You foolish boy, didn’t you hear? A Fae’s favorite part is having you near. You tasted her food, you gave her your name. You gave her an non-refutable claim. She owns you now, you must do as she says. It’s over now boy, you ruined it all. It’s over now boy, your city will fall.

Bleeding heart

I am tired of being a bleeding heart,
Pouring out my soul with every word.
With each injustice my logic does depart, 
My righteous anger forever stirred. 
Battle after battle, all the wars I wage.
Battle after battle, my blood and tears combine.

Bloody and vicious as the middle age. 
They say sour fruit stems from a sour vine. 
I stand up and scream, with froth on my lips, Anger burning beneath my porcelain skin “Viva lé revolution. Shatter the chains. Break the whips”
The longer we wait my patience wears thin.

They say that if you want peace prepare for war, Haven’t enough injustices been done? So then what reasons are we waiting for? Til we die at the wrong end of a gun? 

I am tired of fighting for those who give up so soon. Those who leave their dreams untouched. So do not wake me til the clock strikes noon, or to your weapons feebly clutch. 

For demons do not dance at dawn, 
But in the darkness of the night. 
And we soldiers, we must carry on. 
We soldiers must prepare the fight. 

But I am tired of the blood, I am tired of the pain. I am tired of the flower’s wilting bud. 
We, my friends, are trapped in a hurricane. From which I can not see an escape.So let us lay and sleep my friend,
As the coming dangers take shape. 
Let us lay and sleep until the world we must defend.

Tamám Shud: A Lost Story 

"It is finished." Fawke whispered, her voice floating away on the wind. Dain wrapped his cloak closer about him, trying to ward off the biting cold of the mountain snow. 

"We need to go!" He shouted to her, "the King's army is getting closer." When again she didn't move he reached for her arm, stepping forwards to stand beside her.

"Fawke," He said gently, "Meric's time had come, you did everything you could."

"Who I am to argue the wishes of fate?" she countered, eyes never leaving the shallow gravesite "He served his time on the earth well. May he rest in peace." 

She touched the top of the mound of stones reverently, 

Dain nodded slowly, "Im sure he will, but right now we need to leave." He turned, and began to make his way down the slope, his tracks being quickly covered by fresh powder.

But Fawke didn't follow, she stood on the ledge looking out over the eternal white beauty of the mountain. She could almost hear Meric's voice in her head, warning her of the dangers of such a beautiful place. She smiled, he was right about one thing, the most beautiful places produce the most deadly poison. She patted the pouch that hung at her side, in it she carried enough blue crow berries to decimate an empire. 

"Fawke!" Dain called from behind, his voice barely audible above the roar of the wind. 

"Farewell my old friend" She murmered quietly, turning slowly away. "Goodbye is never the end."

A Broken Heart

{Prompt: A broken heart is the worst, its like having broken ribs. Nobody can see it, but it hurts every time you breathe.}

"I'm so sorry," Detective Hanagrine laid a soft hand on my shoulder. "She was dead by the time the paramedics arrived."

All I could do was nod numbly, it was too late for apologies. They were too late.

"If you remember anything, please give me a call." She said, gently pressing her business card into my palm. With those words she and her partner withdrew and left me alone in my living room. 

Do you know the worst part about not knowing the killer? The only person to blame is yourself, or the cops. neither of which could have known what was going to happen. 

Do you know the worst part about knowing the killer? You're not sure who's side you're on. 

I loved her, I loved her with all my heart. I loved her so much that it was hard to breathe, hard to think. She intoxicated me, she stole my soul and I had no intentions of asking for it back. I was addicted to her...

But then she died. 

Emery said she was hurting me, abusing me. But I was addicted.

The last time we spoke I fought with her. We screamed and yelled... She promised she would protect me no matter the cost.

When she walked in on us she decided that the cost was worth it. 

As she was lead away by the police she screamed that she had done it for me... Sometimes I still look down at my scarred wrists and wonder if she was telling the truth. I wonder if I loved the wrong person. 

Lonely Forgotten Place

There is a long forgotten place, a place I like to hide. Come along with me, for I will be your guide.

It’s far away, deep within the recesses of my mind. Come along with me, for in there you are blind.

It’s a lonely open space, with daisies in a field. It is not a weapon, not a thing that I can wield. It is, perhaps, a cage.
It protects against the wars I wage.
Yet sometimes I become afraid,
Sometimes I do not wish that I had stayed.
One day the doors may swing closed, and I will be left forever enclosed within these walls that threaten to keep me in.
As I shout “but there is a war yet to win!”
I am afraid my friend, for all good things must come to an end.

And how much more do I deserve this fate, then that man there, standing at the gate?
My anger burns against this man you see?
For I thought he was good, but oh he wounded me.

I do not blame him, or at least so I say.
But my own jealous flame that I tended to each day.

I was selfish, don’t you see?
I was selfish, little ole me.

Why is it that one so broken and so bruised, is the one that is so often refused? “I didn’t even ask him!” I scream out with a roar. I didn’t even ask him, and yet I wanted something more.

I built this cage all on my own. I lined it’s walls with spikes. So why do I bemoan my misfortune when it decides to strike?

I am a lonely little girl, within her walls of stone.

I am a lonely little girl, sitting all alone.

Lover of the Sea

A little girl stands upon on a hill,
Her skin exposed to the cruel wind’s chill. Her eyes uplifted to the grey horizon, she waits and watches the sea men die in.

For a hundred years she has stood alone, waiting for the man she called her own.
For once upon a time he promised, long ago when the sea was calmest, that he would return to her one day. But then that poor boy sailed away.

So she waits and so she stands,
His beating heart still in her hands, and so she watches the stormy horizon. So she watches the sea men die in.
Her prayers have always been for naught, for that same night his ship was caught. It sank in the swells and sunk down to the deep. And there her lover lays forever asleep.

Take caution from this tale, you girls who love the sea. Take caution from this tale, or you will be just like me.

For I am the girl alone in the hill. I am the girl whose stubborn will has not allowed me solace. For somewhere in a world so flawless, my lover once came home.
My lover would return from the foam, from somewhere tragic he once did roam.

Kintsukori

I am but a piece of broken pottery, stitched together with gold.
I am not a wizard ancient, nor a hero long foretold.
I am but a lowly peasant, chained with my humble abode.
A missed opportunity, a prince within a toad.
The waters of my tears grow stagnant, my complaints forever old.
I do not own a sword or a treasury of shimmering gold.
I attempt to say that I’m content within this life I live.
Moving ever onward, so much effort left to give.
My dreams grow ever grander, they take flight before my eyes.
Yet somehow I still hope that with them I may rise.
But then life reminds me of what I have been told.
I am just a piece of pottery whose cracks are filled with gold.