A is for A to Z Flashes of Foxwick

 

This year's A to Z Challenge theme is: All About Foxwick, but first, I would like to thank the A-Z hosts, particularly Arlee Bird. Without him, we wouldn't be having this crazy fun in April. Thank you, Arlee!

A is for A to Z Flashes of Foxwick

Last A to Z Challenge, I'm embarked on an adventure in the magical Kingdom of Foxwick and its surrounding neighbors. Each day of the challenge, I had a flash fiction piece ready to share this fantasy world with you. At the end, I decided to self-publish the collection, but A to Z Flashes of Foxwick is just the beginning. Foxwick is such a fascinating place, though, and I have more stories to come, so this month you'll hear about these forthcoming stories, be the first to see excerpts from it, and hear about the magical creatures and people from Foxwick and their surrounding lands.

A Fantasy Flash Fiction Collection

In honor of the A to Z Blogging Challenge, A to Z Flashes of Foxwick​ gives a glimpse to the characters, magical creatures, and lands in the fantasy world of the Kingdom of Foxwick.

A young dragon befriends a dragon seer. A phoenix bursts into flames in mid-flight. A man must choose between his simple life and one of fame. A queen will find her heart turned into ice and many more!

This collection includes the bonus short story "Lady Death" from Women of Foxwick. 

To download for free: iTunes / Kobo /Amazon / Smashwords / Sony

And now an excerpt from one of my favorite pieces in A to Z Flashes of Foxwick.

Dragon’s Domicile

Bones littered the cave’s floor. Smoke trailed from the dragon’s nostrils and collected among the stalactites.

Crunch, crunch.

The dragon munched lazily upon a femur. Its tail swatted back and forth, sweeping the debris against the stone walls. Bats fluttered and escaped from its home. If the dragon hadn’t had a full belly, it would’ve snapped at the flying creatures. A metallic clang echoed. The dragon paused its chewing and listened.

Did the king send more men to die at its sharp claws and even sharper bite?

No, it’d knocked a knight’s helmet farther into the cave. For now, the dragon would feast and wait.

Flash Fiction Blogfest: Between Dark and Light

 

Today's Day 2 of the Flash Fiction Blogfest. You have until Wednesday to post your entries, if you haven't done so already. Here's my entry to the blogfest. It's a continuation from my short story "Eclipse" found in The Best of Raven and the Writing Desk.

Between Dark and Light

Lightning flashed and killed the Sorceress Mordetta.

Despite the passing weeks since that fateful day, Raven could still see that murderous bolt. Kirken, the Magician, had complete control over the city now, and Raven had helped him.

But not anymore.

Her fingers tightened around the sword’s handle. Her father had not only created this sword but died from its sharp bite. But why did the Magician have it? Kirken had told her the Sorceress had stolen the sword and killed her parents, but now Raven wasn’t so sure. How else would he have the same sword?

Raven stole the light, and the castle plummeted into darkness. Her feet padded catlike down the halls. Electricity tingled throughout her body as she reached Kirken’s study where his lone candlelight shone bright against her self-made night.

“Where did this come from?” She steadied the sword—end pointed toward Kirken—and released her magical hold on the light.

He glanced toward her and the sword before he turned the next page in his book.

“Tell me.” Raven had expected him to be surprised, shocked, even possibly defensive, but his cold indifference caused her to shiver.

“You’ve made up your mind about me, have you not?” His finger caressed the paper.

She had. The Magician was supposed to be their savior from the cruel Sorceress, but Raven knew he just wanted to kill off the competition. He used her, whether or not he had a hand in her parents’ murders. The sword lifted, and her arms trembled under its heavy weight. She had been a thief, but Kirken had created a killer.

Light exploded and blinded Raven before she could deliver the final blow. The people would be kept in the dark about their new ruler.

Raven had failed.

Now click here to see the other participants.

Wednesday's Writing Update: Blogger Buddy Fail and Writing

 

Happy Wednesday!

Being off for Presidents' Day has really messed with my head. *laughs* I almost forgot I hadn't written up today's post. Oops.

Yes, I've been a bad blogger buddy. I've been in epic fail mode since February, it seems. I can't keep up and find my happy medium. It'll get there, but it might take longer than I'd hoped. If you've followed my blog and I haven't followed yours yet, please leave a comment with your blog link. I love following back, but sometimes I miss people who follow and don't comment. As for the first campaigner challenge, mine will be up tomorrow, and I'm slowly making the rounds.

The Defying Gravity book blog tour is going well. I've really enjoyed hearing from people. So far the reviews are good, but I'd always be open to more honest reviews, so if you would like a copy to read and review on Amazon/Goodreads/etc., then let me know. I'd be happy to send you a Kindle copy or PDF.

I've adjusted my February goals. The Phoenix Prophetess edits have been moved to March. I figure I'll write the rest of my A to Z Flashes of Foxwick for the A to Z Challenge in March too. I'm still trying to finish up my flash fiction for March's Fridays. Plus, I'm busy writing the first draft of Fighting Gravity. I have the cover art for it already. You'll see it soon. I promise. It's awesome. Even better than Defying Gravity.

So what have you been up to?

#fridayflash "Washed Upon the Shore"

Washed Upon the Shore

Waves surged over Mer’s head. The sea god’s wrath raged fierce and powerful. She spat a mouthful of brine and dived down, attempting to move below the surge. Another swell grasped her, dragging her toward the surface. A strange current refused her entrance to her ocean home.

A jagged lightning bolt ripped across the blackened sky. It blinded Mer and she blinked back spots before her eyes.

She was rising higher and higher. The wave crested and dropped below her. She gasped as she hung in the air before plummeting like a boulder into the cement-like water.

Pain radiated from her body. Fear gripped her throat and she tightened her fingers around the pearl necklace. Her theft started this roaring tempest, yet she still was reluctant to release her prize.

Her world tumbled around her, and she angled her tail to stop it. The mermaid thought she would lose her kelp dinner, if this kept up. She slowed and broke through the surface once more.

“Mine.” His voice carried within a thunderclap, and she shuddered, her ears ringing from the sound.

The ocean receded around her, as if a thirsty whale satiated itself with it. She twisted and gasped at the tsunami lifting to greet her.

“No.”

Mer had nowhere to outrun the monster.

Water crashed into her like a battleship. She swirled and twisted amongst the foam. Her body scrunched up, attempting to be smaller. A plastic bag tangled in her hair. Her arms scraped against coral. Her mind screamed when she could not. Over, under. Around and around.

Smack!

Mer slammed against sand.

She didn’t move, could barely breathe as the ocean tugged on her. The necklace yanked from her fingers. Magic burned along her magnificent tail, splitting it down the middle. She cried out in grief, anger as air rushed into lungs instead of gills.

Soft rain tickled her bruised flesh. Waves gently lapped on her feet where her tailfin once was. The sky grew lighter, a paler gray with a glimmer of blue peeking from the clouds.

“Mine.” The sea god whispered in a final thunder rumble.

#fridayflash "The Sacrifice"

*Author's Note: I started this as a futuristic retelling of Theseus and the Minotaur for an anthology. I ran out of time to write it and decided to use this beginning as a flash piece. Enjoy!*

The Sacrifice

Theseus studied the wide eyes and trembling hands while his fellow Athenians removed a stone from the bag. His father neared him and his heart quickened its pace. This ancient practice of drawing lots seemed barbaric to him, but the planet Crete demanded its next victim. A smooth rock in white or black couldn’t be manipulated like a computer. They learned from those mistakes.

President Aegeus stopped in front of him and offered the bag. “Close your eyes, son, and choose wisely.”

He shut his eyes while his hand felt out the cloth bag. It dipped inside. The stones were cool to the touch as he grasped one in his hand. His heat warmed it; his hand sweated.

His father finished handing out the last of the stones. He struck his hands together and the Athenians straightened at attention.

“We come here today to bid our chosen young men and women goodbye as they journey to their new lives on Crete. This is a great honor. Your names will be famous among your people. Now open your hands. Reveal your fate.” He spread his arms and gazed upon his people.

Theseus thought his dad almost believed his own words. Living on Crete, it was a joke. Who did his father believe he fooled? With a clenched jaw, he spread his fingers, revealing the stone.

The black stone.

His stomach dropped to his feet while bile rose in his throat. He swallowed the acrid mixture.

Hands fell upon his shoulders. His father stood behind him, clenching him.

“Son.”

He heard his father’s pain and shock at this turn of events. Wails punctuated the cheers of those chosen or not. Blood rushed in his ears, dulling the chaos around him.

“Do I have to go?”

The fingers dug into his skin before his father released him. He came around before him.

“It’s an honor, son. Take care in Crete.”

“Dad?”

Aegeus paused. Clouds passed over his features. His eyes darkened; a frown turned his lips. His hand rose, shook in the air between them, but then fell to his side.

“Our chosen ones need to gather on the ship. It’s time for them to journey to Crete.”

Theseus’s jaw dropped at his father’s callous. He was the president of Athens, but he would do nothing for them. He wouldn’t risk another war with Crete to save his only son and heir.

Anger bubbled in his gut as he walked stiff-legged toward the spaceship. His teeth ground together at the building rage. He wanted to yell, refuse to go. He tried to meet his father’s gaze, but he refused to look at him. Aegeus cared more about his planet than his son.

Screw him.

He lifted his head and sprinted on that ship.

Crete would be his destiny. He would save his people, not his father.

He would not lie down and be a sacrifice.

#fridayflash "Dark Days"

Author's note: This piece contains a couple bad words and is not for the squeamish. This piece, however, was loosely dream-inspired, so it was fun to write. 

“Dark Days”

I fanned myself as ash-gray snow floated to the ground outside the broken window. How could the snow be so hot? The crazed weather of the past few months baffled me, even the scientists. Perhaps this had something to do with global warming. I didn’t know. I just wished it wasn’t so damn hot.

“Think it’ll flood?” James pulled his damp shirt from his chest.

“Probably. Tornadoes, earthquakes, and bloody snow in June, so why not a flood from this too!” I yanked my hair away from my neck. I should cut it. The long mane served as a blanket to my back, shoulders, and neck.

“They say it’s the end of times.” His voice quivered.

“I didn’t know you believed that shit.” I didn’t. I wouldn’t.

He rubbed his lower back. “I don’t know. Too many coincidences not to believe something.”

I shrugged. I didn’t believe in coincidences either. Whatever plan the universe had was screwy. I sank upon the floor and leaned against the wall. The storage room looked bare. A few cans, bottles of water, a box of cereal. It was all we had left.

“We’re going to have to scavenge soon.”

He groaned and shoulders slumped as he, too, fell to the floor. A dust cloud plumed around him. The snow continued to pool outside.

“We don’t know what’s out there anymore,” he said.

His eyes widened, the pupils small. He reeked of fear and I realized he might not be around much longer. I couldn’t live with someone as dangerous as a terror-stricken person.  

“Yeah, but we have to do what we have to do.” I stood, realizing it had stopped snowing. “Let’s go, James.”

He didn’t move. Instead his chest rose in quick, sporadic bursts. He lifted a trembling hand and pointed a lone, shaking finger at me.

I gulped. “What’s wrong?”

“Something moved on your c-chest.”

“What?” I glanced at my shirt. Something shifted the fabric. Dread seized my heart as I pulled up the shirt. Why were my hands shaking so much? A lump appeared under my right breast.

The spot moved.

“Get a knife.” My voice sounded calmer than I felt.

He froze.

“Ugh.” I grasped the lump. It was barely under my skin. I went to the table and grabbed the knife. I winced before I cut my flesh. My heart pounded in my ears. Blood oozed from the wound. The object squirmed as I yanked it out.

Dangling from my fingers, a bright, mucous-green worm wiggled.

Flash Fiction Fridays: "Remembrance"

Remembrance

Jennifer ran her fingers over the engraved stone while tracing her dead husband’s name.

Captain Marshall William Steward

July 29, 1984-October 15, 2010

Loving Husband, Son, and Brother

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the cool granite. A single tear splattered upon the tiny American flag. Of course, all the flags were out. It was Memorial Day weekend, although she felt lucky that no one was out so early in Arlington National Cemetery. The place was quiet, desolate despite the field of stones.

After she set her purse in front of her, she unzipped it and reached inside. Her fingers touched the cool metal, and she smiled.

“We’ll see each other soon, Marsh. I promise.”

She wrapped her hand around the gun and was about to pull it out when she heard footsteps behind her. Every muscle tensed, and she froze.

“Ma’am, are you Captain Stewart’s wife?”

“Yes, I am…was.” She didn’t look up at him. Her hands trembled inside her purse. Why couldn’t she have done this alone? A few minutes longer, and it would be finished.

“I don’t mean to intrude, but your husband was a true hero. Saved our as—um, behinds more than once, including at the end.”

“Really?” She cocked her head to the side and caught a glimpse of the man. When she noticed he was missing a leg, she gasped.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She sat up more and peered up at him. He couldn’t be more than twenty. “Did you—” She gestured to his missing appendage.

“Yes, ma’am. If it weren’t for Captain Steward, I’d be missing a lot more than my leg.”

“Are you happy, sir?” She tightened her hold on the hidden gun.

“Yes, ma’am. Got a baby on the way and everything. We were very lucky to serve with your husband, ma’am. He saved us. We just wish…you know.”

She relaxed her grip and nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“I’ll let you get back to him, ma’am. I wanted to say he meant a lot to us.”

“Thank you.”

She recognized the clank of the crutch while he left. “I’ll come to visit you in a few months, Marsh,” she whispered to the grave stone, zipped up her purse, and leapt up. 

“Do you mind if I buy you a coffee, and you can tell me more about my husband?” Her heart thudded in her chest as the first touch of hope poured through her in months.

“Sure, ma’am. I’d like to.”

Flash Fiction Fridays: "Musicality"

Musicality

The six year old clutched her violin case to her chest. Nadia's heart thudded against it in a staccato rhythm that competed with her tapping feet. Nervous excitement flooded through her at the prospect of her first concert.

A heavy hand rested upon her shoulder, and she stilled while glancing up at her papa.

“Is it time, papa?”

He nodded and smiled.

She required no other encouraging words. After she opened her case, she tightened and put resin on the bow. Her check of the strings also completed, she took a deep breath and stepped on the stage.

Lights hid the crowd’s faces. Her shoes clicked along the polished wood. She bowed and sat behind a music stand. She felt hidden from the world, and the knot inside her stomach eased.

She rested her chin upon the instrument and placed her fingers just so. Another breath filled her lungs, and she imagined butterflies floating from her as she exhaled. Their yellows and oranges disappeared in the too bright lights.

With the bow resting above the strings, her eyes focused on the music sheets.

Another beat, the bow kissed the strings while her fingers danced and the violin sang.

Flash Fiction Fridays: "Other Sight"

*The winners post for the Flash Fiction Blogfest will be coming shortly*

Other Sight

The flute’s trill pierced the air, followed by the steady beat on the drum. Dancers’ feet pattered upon the forest floor. The sweet smell of mead tickled the young woodwose’s nose. He touched the soft leaves decorating his skirt. Someone plopped a crown of wood upon his head.

“Come on, Zoon, dance.”

He recognized Weedi’s voice, but he shook his head. “I’ll bump into the others. You know that.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” She nudged his shoulder, and he felt the air shift in her departure.

His shoulders hunched over. Weedi was right. He was no fun when it came to their festivities. His heart sank, and he didn’t want to be around the others. He grasped the wooden staff and slowly weaved through the others and tried to be careful not to trip or bump against them.

The music faded, and he breathed.

Quiet cleared his mind, and he felt the familiar rough bark of the trees while he ambling toward a particular one.

His staff tapped along the ground. Rock, leaf, rock, tree, fallen branch, rock, tree.

His hands touched this tree’s bark. Smooth yet hard. Zoon smiled when he found the spiraling staircase.

Twirling faster and faster, the woodwose raced up the stairs. When he reached the outlook, he stopped, dizzy and breathless. He plopped down and stared sightlessly up while imagining he could see the stars.

His white eyes roved around his head, and his body went rigid. It was happening again, and instead of fear, he felt a thrill tickle his spine.

The image of a young human girl sat beside him. He marveled in her dark hair, full moon complexion. Purple eyes focused on him. Her eyes were wide, terrified. He reached out toward her, but grasped at nothing.

When she comes, you must protect her. She can’t leave until the month of beginnings. You will know her when you touch her face.

Zoon’s hand rose, and he felt her cheeks, her lips. She was so unlike the woodwoses with their soft hair covering their bodies. She felt pliable instead of hard.

Then she disappeared as before.

“I’ll know you when I touch you. You won’t part from us until the month of beginnings,” he whispered the prophetic words and envisioned her face. The only one he’d seen his entire young life.

Flash Fiction Blogfest Time! "Ride"

That's right! Today is the day for my Flash Fiction Blogfest. Find other participants here. 

"Ride"

Hooves strike the ground in a syncopated beat, and a startled bird flits between trees. The wood nymph leans over the unicorn’s flesh. Her breath jars from her body with each graceful footfall. Flowing hair tickles her bare back and knots itself within the breeze. As night settles upon the forest, shadows creep toward the two legends. Her heart beats with his.

In the ride, they are one.

He leaps over a fallen log. Legs tighten, and her fingers weave through his silky mane. A soft snort floats from his nostrils, and she laughs, melodious and musical. Silver light and leaf shadows decorate the forest floor. Shades of dark green, blue, and black blur and smudge as if paint smears on a canvass. Mossy dirt and sweat permeates the air.

Her lungs drink in their gallop. The native woods dance upon her tongue, sweet with a bitter aftertaste. They’re drunk in their glory.

“Faster, forever faster.” Her words flicker in her companion’s ear like the crack of a whip.

They fly into darkness, shadows nipping at the unicorn’s hooves.

Flash Fiction Fridays: "Y is for Yssa"

Yssa is the main character in the first novel I wrote. Today I’d like to share a bit of a scene cut from the first draft.

Y is for Yssa

Yssa removed her leather sandals and lay down on a large rock as her fingers trailed in the warm water. The child felt so carefree by the springs, not worrying what her mama would think if she got her nice purple dress dirty or wet. A splash sounded in the spring and soaked her from head to toe. She sat up and looked around.

"Is that you, Apenth?" she asked, but then she heard a burble of a giggle. Fear caused her heart to slam into her chest. She leaned over and stared into the water. "Who’s there?"

A face appeared in the water that was not her own, and Yssa gasped and scrambled backwards when the creature rose half-way out of the water. The water nymph giggled again as she looked at the girl.

"You look like a drowned rat, Yssa."

"I do not." Indignation rose within her, and she stood with her hands on her narrow hips. "You should be more careful."

Curiosity widened the five-year-old’s eyes. “Did Apenth send you?"

"Apenth, Apenth, is that god all you’re concerned about?" The nymph giggled again. The creature’s blue eyes sparkled like the ocean. Green-blue hair flowed around her as if she were suspended under water. The nymph's flesh-like scales over her body glistened in the sun's rays. She was not human, not fish, not quite anything Yssa had ever seen.

"He did indeed send me." The lovely nymph splashed into the water again before reappearing and laughing.

Yssa pushed dark strands of damp hair from her violet eyes when the nymph sprayed her again. "Where do you typically live?" she asked, plopping down on the damp rock.

"I've always lived here, but I haven't shown myself before." She tilted her head to the side and studied the small girl. “Apenth's quite fond of you. He talks about you all the time." In a fluid, graceful movement, the nymph leapt out of the water and sat on the rock beside of Yssa. "He says it’s time for you to leave Mournia. You’re to live in Guntas now."


*If you like writing flash fiction or want to try your hand at it, don't forget about my Flash Fiction Blogfest on May 6th. For more information, click here.*

Flash Fiction Fridays: "M is for Murder"

M is for Murder

Jill's lip stung from the punch. Anger and fear rushed through her veins and sent tingles along her spine. The man sprawled upon the ground. She wanted to run away, but instead she crept closer to him.

He reeked of booze, and her stomach turned. She tasted bile upon her tongue and almost gagged. He still lived. She detected the faint signs of his chest rising up and down. When he shifted, she jumped. If she'd been a cat, her fur would've puffed out.

His groan sent her scrambling, searching for the knife. It gleamed in the moonlight, and she grasped hold of the handle. It was rough, sturdy, secure in her hands.

The man sat up. His eyes appeared crossed, as if he had a difficult time seeing her. She flashed the knife, and they focused.

"No, please." He slurred his words. His body swayed from his drunken state.

She could run, but she didn't. Cold certainty seeped within her. She lunged and stabbed. The knife met resistance, but the force of her body dug it through skin, fat, muscle. The man screamed while she plunged the knife in again and again.

When his breath stopped, she did too. Her hand slipped off the blood-slicked handle, and she rummaged in her pocket before pulling out her cell phone.

She took a deep breath while dialing 9-1-1.

"9-1-1, what is the emergency?"

"He came at me with a knife. I-I think he's dead now. He tried to kill me." She rattled off the address before screaming and hanging up.

She felt herself smile, and a burble of a giggle erupted from her. It was so easy.

Every time. 


*If you like writing flash fiction or want to try your hand at it, don't forget about my Flash Fiction Blogfest on May 6th. For more information, click here.*

Flash Fiction Fridays: "G is for Gemstone"

G is for Gemstone

I twirled the blackened stone in my hand. Blue light pulsed from the tiny baby, and the mother's own luminescence combated against it. I licked my dry lips before setting the stone back down.

"The baby won't feel a thing, Mari'a. It's a quick cut, and the stone will be implanted." I lied about the pain, but the stone was necessary. We couldn't live without them.

Mari'a kissed her little child. Electricity flowed between them, and she handed the child over to the nurse.

Our footsteps clicked down the blaring white corridor before we entered the equally sterilized surgical room.

The nurse set the baby upon the table while I flicked my own gemstone necklace. Blue illuminated the room. I washed. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air, and my nose wrinkled. Despite my five years doing this procedure, I'll never get used to that smell.

Our life forces met, and I picked up the scalpel. The incision was quick as was the baby's piercing cry. They had to be awake for this. Blue-black blood beaded along his neck. I worked fast, implanting the gemstone, fastening the necklace straps to it. They'd be lengthened as the child grew.

It was done.

I twisted the gemstone in place. As the baby's blue light dwindled, the gemstone changed from black to sapphire.