Final Print

This week’s six-sentence story, based on the word TERM, was supposed to be a lightheaded one. That said, I have been reading The Stand, and so again, we have gone dark. This week we meet Joe, who violated the terms in conditions with dire consequences.


Joe was a healthy 32 year old man in the prime of his life, with a great job, a beautiful home, a wonderful wife, two amazing children, and less than a week to live.

The worst part was, that it could have gone on like this for years, him living the perfect life, but with an act of hubris he had ruined it all.

In the early days, the deal he had made weighed heavy on his mind, making him question his every decision, was this within the bounds of the agreement, would that violate a term or condition?

Eleven years later he had become sloppy, time dulling the terror he had felt in the circle of mushrooms as he was told what fate would befall him if he was ever to renege on the contract he himself had negotiated.

With distance, he started to doubt that it had happened at all, a vivid hallucination brought on by the drugs to treat an illness he never had, the last damning consequence of what the Doctor’s called a misdiagnoses of the highest order.

He had held onto that foolish belief until this very morning, when he looked out upon his garden of death, a coffee in had as he surveyed the leafless trees, wilted flowers, yellowed grass, and the only thing left alive was a circle of mushrooms, mocking his arrogance, letting him know that his hour had come round at last.


Part of the continuing saga, of why we don’t mess with the Fae.

Eye of the Beholder

This is my response to the six sentence word prompt of MUNDANE, by girlontheedge. We have returned to Faerie this week, where the fickle nature of the Fae is shown, when they choose to give Casey exactly what she wants. Poor Casey.


When Casey stepped into the ring of mushrooms and demanded visitations, she crossed into another world where she had experienced wonders beyond compare; she seen the greenest of all grasses, waterfalls that ran in rainbows, and flowers so beautiful that there were not words to describe them.

When she returned, finding only seconds had passed, she had believed that she had been given the gift she had so rightly deserved. Her art went from average, to extraordinary, as buyers lined up for a chance to bid on her glimpses into the strange new world she nonsensically called “Otherland”. They called her a visionary, and her contemporaries wondered how she could so easily let go of such extraordinary work, as it was said she didn’t keep a single one for herself.

No one saw the toll it was taking, as she frantically filled canvas after canvas, trying to recreate something that hovered just out of reach at the very edges of her memories. She mixed palate after palate, but could never quite recreate the colors she had seen, this world lacking the pigmentation required, and each time she finished and saw the pale imitation she had created, she wanted it out of her sight immediately, it’s very presence mocking her in her failure.

What at first had seemed a gift, now seemed a curse, torturing her for her arrogance, leaving her longing for a place she could not return to, and now unable to see anything but dull lifelessness in the mundane world that surrounded her.

You Can’t Go Home Again Part 4 – Conclusion

If you are confused, where part 3 is, please go back and check my Sunday late posting. This is a six sentence story concluding my Faerie stories You Can’t Go Home Again. It also managed to get the word dotage in, which has been stuck in my head for 3 months.


It took years, but Grace eventually learned to be happy in this new time, with a small job, then a GED, and then in the strangest of twists, the written word. Though she never wrote with the speed and fluidity expected of her, she spent her spare hours writing of the Fae, singing their praises to be more honest, and when her social worker found one of her pieces, things exploded from there.

Her work was called spectacularly detailed, marvelously realistic, and she could never explain how she came up with it, or the darkness she had left out. Soon she was old, three score and 5 years had passed, and she was more of this time than she was of another, but her sister still weighed heavily on her mind.

She realized in her dotage that this was her punishment, for rejecting the hospitality offered to her, and she could only hope that the fair folk would accept her attempt at redemption, as she walked into the forest, to a place she hadn’t seen in so very long.

She stepped into the circle, a crone bearing books, and out of it a starving maiden, joyous, and so Grace returned to her sister, knowing that their were far worse things that could happen than going hungry.

You Can’t Go Home Again Part 3

In a truly spectacular failure of the week, I wrote this last Sunday and never posted it. I would just not post it at all, but I am writing part 4, the conclusion to this for this weeks challenge, and you are going to be a little confused if you didn’t read part 3. Oops.


She knew that she had been lucky to be found by Delores, who took her in, fostered her, and took her to her many medical appointments for her “head injury”.

She knew not to speak of the fair folk, and without an explanation of how she came by her dress, or manner of speech, there was no way for her to refute the claim of injury.  The adults often spoke in hushed voices of something they called a cult when she didn’t know something she should, like what electricity was, or what a car was, or how to write with the proficiency of a trained scribe.

She didn’t like this strange new world, where everything moved so fast, yet so slow at the same time, and where she was expected to have the confidence of an elder, while not being trusted to so much as feed herself.   She had 14 years to her name, and if it weren’t for her father’s passing, she would have been wed with a babe of her own by now, but when she told that to Delores it only made the woman look sad, then treat her more like a child.

She was given pills to make her happy, but the only made it all fuzzy, as she mourned a life long gone, a family long dead, and the feeling of belonging she had once had.