Forget-Me-Not

Sorry for the delay, I thought I had scheduled this for release….but apparently not. The response to this weeks six-sentence story prompt and a continuation of last weeks story, this was written for the word prompt of CANVAS. I worked it a few times, but it still isn’t quite what I wanted. Tell me what you think?


She hadn’t lost hope, but it was starting to stretch a little, wear thin in places, as she had given her book to a contact heading to the city a month prior, and she hadn’t heard a word since.

She feared the worst had come to pass, not that the book had been seized, or hadn’t made it’s way to the clothier, or even that someone else had bought the fated garment, but that Elsa had not received her message, because Elsa was no longer alive to receive it.

It was improbable, as Elsa was quite well placed due to her family and job, but in these times it was alway a possibility, one far more likely than Elsa getting her message and choosing to ignore it, or of course, having moved on from a wretch like her.

It was another six weeks before the courier arrived again, and Jocelyn’s heart sank when the bag of ill gotten goods was finally emptied and not a single thing had come her way. She turned to leave, drown her sorrows in the near lethal rotgut that passed for a drink here, but before she made it to the door she was stopped by a hand on her arm, and was confused as the couriers empty bag was pushed into her hands.

Jocelyn’s heart leapt as she rushed back to her room with her prize, which she had to turn almost inside out before she found it, the small scrap of canvas bearing an oil painting of a pair of forget-me-nots, done in Elsa’s style, and she began to weep with the relief of it, Elsa still loved her.


Part 1

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.

Out of Reach

This was based on the Six-Sentence Story prompt “reserve” by girlontheedge. I am going to apologize now, because this is incredibly depressing, and unfortunately real world even though it is fiction. It is focused on Christmas and the growing realization that people are having that this isn’t going to be the joyous, pandemic free holiday that people have been expecting.


I held my own opinions in reserve as I listened the boisterous holiday talk around me, not wanting to be the one who soured the mood with a dose of reality. I did not have to wait long, as with each day and each new case announced the feeling of unease grew, and the murmurs changed from joy to discontent at what kind of Christmas we would be having.

The holiday masks of the prior year, once thought to be a decadence due to their short term use, were being pulled back out with an air of sadness. Friends and family asking the question if they should forgo this Christmas to try and avoid being in the same boat next year, while others who didn’t have many seasons ahead of them worried this might be the last chance they got to see their families.

For the second year in a row, lines were drawn, and people were split in their decisions, though some had changed sides since the year prior, with whether or not they were willing to take the risk, to potentially get sick, or end up trapped far from their own homes.

I looked out at the scene that was set with snow, decorations, presents galore, and all that was missing was the holiday spirit of those who were being reminded that Dr. Seuss’s was right, that it wasn’t the same if we didn’t have we.

Impulse

This one was written as a response to the six-sentence challenge by girlontheedge. This weeks word was METHOD, and I used it in a thriller style six, with a bit of a twist at the end. I like this weeks, it was a little less introspective than usual, but also a bit lighter as well….


The door swung open and I knew at once that something must be terribly wrong, because Suzie never leaves the door unlocked.  The evidence continued to overwhelm me, with scattered papers, upturned boxes, and every drawer open screaming WRONG, as I ran from room to room crying Suzie’s name.

I froze a moment when it sunk in, that they could still be in the house, and  if it weren’t for the blood smeared on the wall I would have stopped and called the police right then.   I ran up the stairs following the blood on the railing and I pulled my phone to call 911 when I turned into the office and saw her.

There was Suzie, sitting on the floor of her office in a pile of papers, a bandage on her hand, music blaring from her headphones, and she startled a bit when she saw me. “Oh my god Tamara, I swear I have searched every damn place in this house for my receipt,  even cut my hand trying to pry open a lock box,  and let me tell you I was lying when I said there was a method to my madness!”