Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 18

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Week 18.

This is a flash fiction challenge.  The prompt is a song.  You are not required to write about or even mention the song.  It’s there only to get the ideas moving around in your brain pan.  If you want to write about the song (or the video- it’s all good here) go for it but don’t feel like you have to.

The rules;

500 words, but it’s a slushy 500, meaning you can go up to 700 or as low as 300.

Post your entry right in the comments section of this post.


The challenge starts whenever I post this on Tuesday and ends at 4:30PM Pacific Time on Friday.  You read that right.  Pacific Time.

This week’s prompt features the ethereal sounds of Faun.


The song is… “Tinta”.  Here’s the link; http://youtu.be/n3UZA1MV5pE

This week’s Judge is flash fiction writer & all-around neat person… Stacy Hoyt!

That’s all you need from me.  The challenge is now open & runs through 4:30PM EST on Friday June 21.

Go write!!!!!


Posted on June 18, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 10 Comments.

  1. Ink

    Lover, you’ve been taken from me. To fight a war in a country I’ve never heard of, for a reason I cannot tell. In the name of a God who does not speak to me. All for a sorry allegiance, a pittance and likely death. Whilst here I remain at home, each tree and field, each passing smell taunting me, reminding me of you. Of us.

    This wanting I have is growing not diminishing with each day we are apart. I know not if you are alive or dead, moving away from me or returning.

    I have ink and paper but not the words to write, nor the means to deliver my words to you.

    The cycling of the seasons continue without word from the war. Life now here is hard, but I eek out a living and cannot complain. I eat, I drink. I think. Unfortunately, I think.

    Last autumn a woman read the runes and said you will return to me. But there is no day and, to me, no certainty. I feel I am living this life now in a purgatory. Surviving. Waiting.


    A warm breeze today wrapped around me and it felt like your arms. I closed my eyes and thought I heard you whisper into my ear, though I could not hear the words.

    Yet more, I long to sleep. For when I sleep I can be with you. Feel your warmth, your breath against my cheek, my neck. I can feel your passion, hear your words. I see your eyes and that beautiful smile. You always come to me in my dreams and it is that which gives me comfort that you will one day return to me.

    The iron gall ink sits on the ledge and is as black as the thundery night we first kissed. Often I stare into it seeing that first night. I can hear again the thunder and see the lightning flashes silhouette the woods behind Low Hill and how it lights up your face. An instant frozen in time.

    I pray simply that you are safe and that you can return to my arms. Soon.

    I have the ink and paper but no words to write.

    (369 words)


  2. The Death of Undine

    Would the sea be the ink and the sky the paper, could I not write then how deep my love is. – “Ink”, Faun

    Thorns tore at her water-laden skirts. These mortal fabrics weighed her down as she stooped at the water’s edge.

    She dipped her hand in the water eagerly, but it was brackish and did not caress her skin as it once had. She tasted blood where her lip was cut by a small stone.

    Her fingers traced along her leg, where the fishermen’s net still bound her. As the cords dried, they cut cruelly into her pale-washed skin.

    She plucked at them hopelessly. They bound her as surely as Hans did. Water lapped at her feet, bringing her an unfamiliar reflection of a woman with dark, empty eyes and hair stiffened to seaweed strands.

    She spun at the first twig-crack. “I told you to leave me,” said she, “or they shall see you die too.”

    His dear hand, thick-fingered and studded with riding calluses, traced the tear down her cheek. Hans tasted it, “You are the only woman I have met whose tears never taste of salt.”

    She closed her eyes and kissed him once more; she couldn’t help it. Every drop of her feelings trickled to her fingertips as she touched his face. When she opened her eyes, her sisters rimmed the far edge of the pool.

    “Undine,” the first said.

    “Please,” Undine begged, “you take too much. Why can I not suffice?”

    “Undine,” said the second.

    “Cruel sisters, I implore you…”

    It was too late. Hans folded up like a leaf in the current, her tears on his lips.

    Undine turned to her final sister, who stepped into the edge of the grey-tinted pool.

    “Say it, then,” Undine said.

    “Undine,” the third sister whispered.

    Undine looked with mild surprise at the man curled at her feet, “Who is this handsome man who lays here?”

    Undine’s first sister drew near, taking her hand. 

    “Sister, can you not heal him?”

    The wind through the trees murmured of impossiblities. Her sisters tugged her gently beneath the surface of the water.

    “Pity,” thought Undine, just as her mouth filled with water, “how I should have loved him.”

    – @ruanna3, 344 words


  3. Andy Bartalone

    The trees hung low, weighed down with snow. The late afternoon sun was out but nothing was melting, there was a quiet about the meadow within this heavy, almost virgin forest. Steam rose from the pool at the far end.

    Mother had said to never come up here, especially near Christmas. Well, it was December 21st and we wanted to know what the big deal was, we being Ben and I. She used to tell us stories about creatures that would take you if you were caught out here after dark.

    As the sun started to set we took up a spot on a big rock and then Ben started to get anxious. I wouldn’t allow him to go down the mountain, and he wouldn’t leave me up here alone. We sat and watched as a fog rose around the edge of the meadow, slowly getting thicker as the temperature dropped, we could see our breath even through our nose and it was soon thick as the fog.

    We watched the meadow, and could make out something moving about in the fog. Shadows moving around hum in the air that could be someone playing an instrument, like a recorder or a penny-whistle.

    The more we watched, the easier it was to make out the shape of some of the shadows. We were watching as the fog seemed to move towards him and the sound became more like music with a drum and something with strings. The shadows were among us, they looked like beautiful girls, but older.

    They were moving effortlessly through the snow, occasionally reaching out for us, but easy enough to dodge out of their way. Ben wasn’t getting out of the way, he was mesmerized, and he was moving and dancing with this beautiful girl, who was older. I reached out for him and the girl disappeared as we made contact, reappearing a few feet away.

    She moved away and Ben followed, it surprised me to see him move that quickly and he was thirty feet away before I started after him. He was running through the meadow and out the other side. “What is he doing” I thought. I kept trailing him and slowly making up ground.

    I broke through the trees and saw Ben staring at the girl across a chasm in the rocks; she was waving him toward her as she jumped in the chasm. Ben jumped toward her. I leaped toward Ben stretching to reach him, his hands just out of reach…:
    …knocking the lamp and alarm clock off my bedside table, scaring the hell out Jezebel, my girlfriend’s cat. Wow, no more vindaloo after midnight for me.

    445 Words


  4. “There is magic in this forest.”

    I laughed at the old man, sitting on an old wooden stool on the stone porch of his small cabin. “Yeah, right. Magic.”

    The old man smiled. “You are young, with the brashness, and arrogance of youth.” He looked pas me, to the forest surrounding his home. “You will see.” His eyes gleamed a brilliant blue, “You will see.”

    I thanked him for the water, and the meal, and took my leave of him, heading north, into the forest. I was following someone. A girl. I’d seen her in the village, south of the forest, two days ago. I’d called out to her, tried to get her attention, but she didn’t hear me. When she left the village, she headed north. Into the forest. I followed her.

    I don’t know why. I’d asked why I was following her for the past two days. Was it because she was pretty? Was it because I was curious? Perhaps I wanted to make sure her journey through the forest went well, and she arrived wherever she was going safely.

    The old man at the cabin had just smiled. “She went north,” he’d said.


    “Tinta.” He watched my reaction, saw my hesitation to answer him, to ask him questions. “She knows you’re following her.” He’d smiled again, “Why don’t you stop for a bit, have lunch, and a drink. Then continue your journey.”

    “I don’t want to be a bother.”

    “Oh, son. You are no bother. I get few visitors here. Let me practice my hospitality.”

    He’d fixed sandwiches, more than we’d eaten. He’d put the rest in a bag, and handed it to me. “For Tinta.”

    Tinta kept going north. I kept following her trail. It wasn’t hard. Her footprints were easy to spot in the snow. It was easy to see the tree branches she’d brushed against.

    “There is magic in the forest.” I kept hearing the words of the old man, as the sun set on the second day, and I found a small alcove in the trees to camp for the night. I was glad the old man had given me the sandwiches, as I ate one that night.

    Some say I never woke up. And I do remember looking at myself, sleeping on the ground under the trees. But it wasn’t really me. It was must an image. A mirage. As I looked down on myself, she walked into the alcove and stood next to me. She took my hand. She kissed me.

    “I’m Tinta.”

    “I’m Raven.”

    “I know.” She led me into the forest, heading north. As we walked, the snow faded, and the forest filled with colors, the sounds of birds, the music of leaves being played by soft breezes, and the magic of the sun’s beams painting patterns of light as it shined through the forests canopy.

    It was beautiful. So was Tinta.

    “There is one thing,” she said to me. “Now that you’re here, you know, don’t you.”

    “I can never leave.”

    I have never missed the world I left behind.

    There was indeed magic in the forest. The old man had been right. It was the magic of dreams. I’d always dreamed of finding her. I’d always known when I did, she’d bring color to my world. I’d always known I’d never return to the world I’d always known. That I’d stay with my true love. Walking hand-in-hand, through the trees. In a world where winter never came.

    581 words


  5. Love’s Resistence

    Moonbeams silvered the sand and Ophelia’s fingers traced a sweeping arc, a lazy circle, and she sighed rolling from her elbow onto her back. Stars littered the night sky, twinkling and shimmering in the firmament above, and a soft smile parted her lips.
    Night’s tantalising breeze floated over the sea, and across the beach, and caressed Ophelia’s naked, sand-glittered skin. She closed her eyes imagining the air to be a lover’s touch, and melted into the shore and her dreams.
    She lie with her hands linked behind her head, waves rippling across her lower body, and thoughts of love and desire coursing through her soul. The ocean whispered sweet nothings and she breathed them back.
    The tinkle of soft laughter interrupted her reverie and brought her to her senses, and she rolled back onto her belly. Now alert, she hugged close to the black-as-midnight rock, letting bladderwrack drip into her hair. She swept wet hair away from her eyes, letting it cascade instead, mingled with seaweed, down her back and over her shoulders as she rose onto her elbows.
    Through the gap in the rocks she watched a young couple wander along the deserted shore. They stopped just shy of the rocks, as she knew they would, and she gazed as they kissed beneath the stars.
    Moments later, giggling carried on the breeze as the couple, stripped of their clothes, raced into the sea.
    Ophelia twisted and slipped back into the waves, feeling the ocean’s embrace, and she swam like a fish past the rocks and beyond the surf, until she was adjacent to the amorous pair. She dived, flying through the water, rising only to catch a glance of the couple bathed in nothing but moonlight. Ducking back beneath the spray she caught handfuls of broadleaf weed and dead man’s bootlaces and twisted them in her hands.
    Splashes guided her until two pairs of legs hung from the ocean’s roof. As they untwined she rose and weaved seaweed about the stocky set of legs. Moments later she tugged at the weed pulling it beneath the surface. She ignored his resistance; her muscular tail and her arms were stronger than his.
    As he sank, she glided through the water, rising to meet him, and adoration filled her eyes. Her arms entwined with his and love saturated her aching heart. All it would take was a kiss, just one kiss, and he’d be hers, and trapped within her arms he was already hers.
    But his eyes betrayed fear, and terror, and the wonder she’d expected was absent. He stared into her eyes misunderstanding her sentiments…and Ophelia knew his love would never truly belong to her.
    She held tight, her eyes piercing him deep, but with a tug of regret her soul let him go.
    He kicked free of the weed and propelled upwards, exploding out into the moonlit surf, and within moments the couple were gone, dressed and running across the beach, never to return.
    Ophelia rose, and bobbed on the waves, watching the loss of her heart. Moonbeams accentuated briny tears as they slipped down her cheeks, and each tear dropped into the ocean of lost dreams.

    (527 Words)


  6. Ruth pushed open the cabin door, inhaling the scent of the thick foliage and fresh wood that surrounded it. It had been too long.

    She walked in and found it untouched. Her heart sank.

    She traced her finger along the rough wooden kitchen table and thought about the last time they had used it. She climbed the ladder up to the eves where their bed lay. She looked at it, still pristine, not a crease in it. He hadn’t been here.

    She sighed, but made her way back down the ladder and brought in her bag, putting it on the table and unpacked its tiny contents into the single kitchen cupboard. It wouldn’t be long before she could use them.

    Ruth busied herself with preparing the hearth and a fire for the evening. Dusk wouldn’t be long, and then she could get to work. She only allowed the questions to surface at the edge of her thoughts, not letting them in fully. There were a millions reasons why he might not be back, and he could be on his way. She refused to acknowledge any of her nagging doubts. She would help him soon enough.

    She also refused to chide herself for not having returned sooner. Things had to be arranged. She wanted this to go right; she wouldn’t risk him being taken again.

    Dusk fell and she took a stool outside so she could listen. It took a while, but soon she heard it, and smiled to herself. She went inside to fetch her tools.

    As she brought out the array of objects she could feel it coming closer, and the sound increase. Her heart was light and totally open, as it should be.

    Then more solid sounds were audible, in particular footfalls, or were they hoof falls? She wasn’t quite sure, but it didn’t matter.

    The crashing and breaking of foliage moved closer until an outline appeared in the dark.

    She was right, she had heard both. He stepped out into the clearing, leading his horse.

    He stopped when he saw her, and then swept the helmet off his head as though it blocked his view.

    “My lady, you have returned!”

    Ruth smiled, wanting to step forward, but knew better of it. “I have.”

    “And you reached me.”

    “I did.”

    He bowed low. She curtsied in response.

    “I will come.” When he stood there was a new light in his eyes.


    “Can you wait?”

    “For eternity.”

    He smiled. “It won’t be that long I promise.”

    “Are you far?”

    He looked back over his shoulder, seeing what she could not. “No, my lady, not in distance.”

    “I will aid you.”

    He remained silent, but his eyes told her all she needed to know. Again she resisted the urge to run to him, knowing he wasn’t really there.

    He faltered as he spoke. “I must go.”

    “I know.”

    He started to turn, heading back into the woods. She watched him go. He glanced at her one last time, his eyes bright and smiling. It wouldn’t be long, they could both feel it.

    Ruth remained outside picking up each object and delivering its incantation, until the chill bit into her. Then she moved in by the fire and continued until the embers burned so low she could barely see. Eventually she climbed the steps up to the bed and fell into a dreamless sleep, exhausted by her efforts.

    She didn’t hear the creak of the cabin door, or the soft footsteps on the ladder. But she knew the arm that fell across her as a body shuffled up against her, and the scent that made her smile in her dream. They were well met at long last; there would be no more interference.

    623 Words


  7. Genevieve tossed an excited smile over her shoulder, racing ahead of me as we ran deeper into the forest. Just in sight of her family’s home, she stopped hard and I almost ran her down. She laughed as I caught her close, barely keeping us on our feet. Delicate hands gripped my arms and I forgot to let her go.

    “Now, Simon. I’m a woman grown.” Her sweet voice grew husky. “I don’t need to be surprised on my birthday anymore.”

    “Then why do I see anticipation in your eyes, Evie? Hm?” My cheeks hurt from smiling. Beneath her feet, the leaves crackled as she danced in place.

    A woman grown she might be, but she’d not put aside the innocence and delight of youth yet. I wondered if such energy would mark all her days. I wondered if—when I asked her tomorrow—she might spend those days with me.

    “Tell me.”

    I shook my head. “You can wait until tomorrow.”

    “Fine.” She slipped away from me. “Perhaps I’ll visit your dreams tonight and find out for myself.”

    I laughed. “Oh, and now you’re a spirit walker?”

    The idea reminded me of the imaginary adventures of our childhood. I’d had many friends, and even a few loves, but none to compare to Evie, who embodied the best of both.

    “What if I am?” The hint of a smile flitted across her mobile face. She walked toward her home, waving as her mother spotted us.

    “You have the most fanciful ideas.”

    “I prefer to consider them ambitions.”

    “Ambitions that only the Blessed Ladies can achieve.” Catching up to her, I tugged on her long braids. “And you, dear girl, have not been chosen for those hallowed teachings.” Thank the Heavens. I tried and failed to imagine her among the cloistered healers and oracles. They would stifle everything I loved about her.

    Before we reached the gate my own excitement pushed me to take Evie’s hand. She glanced back, blinking away tears.

    “Did I insult you?” I touched her chin. “You know I’m glad you’re here.”

    “I do have ambitions, you know.”

    “I know.” She dreamed big enough to fill the oceans, and I hoped to be her partner in making them come true. “Tonight.” I brought her fingers to my lips, brushed the lightest kiss across her knuckles. “Can I see you tonight?”

    Uncertainty darkened her eyes. “I shouldn’t. Mother and Father—well, it wouldn’t be proper.” She sighed. “Mother feels the need to remind me we aren’t children now and people will talk.”

    Why did mothers have to be so practical? So… right? Shoulders slumping, I nodded.

    “Tomorrow, then. I’ll see you in time for breakfast.”

    Evie’s smile nearly broke my will to wait until morning. I could ask her now—

    “Genevieve! Come in for supper, gel.”

    I rolled my eyes, smiled at the interruption. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

    “Dream of me, Simon.” She waved me off and disappeared into the house.


    Hours later, when at last I slept, all my thoughts were of her. She came to me in my dreams, as she’d promised, rousing me with a touch.

    Taking my hand, she guided me into the woods we knew so well. In a clearing beneath the stars, she pulled a small knife from her belt and sliced her palm.

    “The blood of my heart is the ink of my soul.”

    I hissed at the pain as she made a matching cut on my hand. Twining our fingers, a jolt ran over my skin as our blood mixed. Evie looked up.

    “If the sky were my paper, I could fill it to overflowing with thoughts of you.”

    My heart jumped hard in my chest.


    “Whatever tomorrow brings, I just needed you to know, Simon.” She rose up on her toes, kissed me softly.

    Stunned, I held myself still as she drew back. Her eyes searched my face.

    “I will always love you.”

    I woke to the sun rising in my eyes and a fresh cut along my palm.


    I raced to Evie’s and found her mother, sobbing.

    “Where is she?”

    “The Blessed Ladies came at dawn.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “She’s gone.”

    700 words


  8. Turkonian Warrior

    Tocca Nalorell jerked the skyron’s control stem, pitching the flier into a stall. Its right wing plunged. The nose yawed toward the low wing then entered a fierce spin. Tocca fought the stem, still baring hard right, and watched as the Satbotene missile gunning for her bird roared past them.

    “Control it, Toc!” Levin Nalorell had six inches and two years on his little sister but Tocca held the passion for flying. “Get its rhythm like Dad taught you. You can do it!” He screamed the words from the co-captain’s chair but she heard him clear enough thanks to failing engines.

    She fought inertia and gravity until her fingers bled and her forearms convulsed. A flurry of activity from his side wasn’t enough to steal her focus. He was her co-pilot and brother. She trusted his every move.

    Purple soil peeked through thin clouds. “Parasuits!” she growled through clenched teeth. When Levin didn’t respond, Tocca glanced over and found him staring at her. She registered panic and hesitation where there should’ve been focus and urgency. Too late, she realized Levin held the Parasuit control in one hand, the eject lever in the other.


    Levin mouthed, I love you. Then the wind tried to rip skin from her bones as she flailed in a violent torrent before her father’s voice sounded in her head.

    Pull the cord, baby.

    Toca fumbled for the cord, yanked the soft fibers and sucked in a quick breath before heat from the skyron’s explosion scorched her face.


    She screamed his name until she collided with silty, amethyst soil. Tocca loosened her chute and sagged against a rock formation overlooking the bodies of a fallen people.

    Her people.

    Muscles forgot to ache as grief overtook her and she sank to her knees. She tore at the parasuit material with her knife and slammed it into the muck. Why had his chute failed? Turkonian chutes didn’t fail. She unbuckled her breastplate and dropped it into blood-soaked mud, watching as Mother Earth claimed the deep purple rose insignia, just as it had claimed her clan.

    Heavy, memory-laden silence blanketed the land. The Sabotenes and their earsplitting cryolasers were gone. Her father’s villages lay frozen and crushed into oblivion. She was all that remained of her world.

    Destitute, Tocca rose and forced one foot in front of the other without thought to direction or strategy. Her brother and father had joined her mother in the Resting Place. The Sabotenes retreated but her people were dead. As far as she scanned, not a soul remained. She combed the horrific battle ground until she located a blade and trudged toward it.

    Tocca reared on her heels and threw her hands toward the Resting Haven. “Mother!” she cried. “I failed you. I failed Father and Levin.” Her tears washed clean tracks in soot-covered cheeks. She drew her strength and focused her eyes on the tip of the blade. A tingle shimmied down her spine and a bright light glowed behind her.

    Tocca turned, slow and curious.

    Her mother stood before her, smiling.

    “Am I dead?”

    “No, child. You are Tocca Nalorell, ruler of Turconia. Everything you see before you is yours.”


    Tocca’s mother smiled. “No, my Queen.” Lady Laica opened her hand. In her palm glowed a single purple rose. “Life.”

    @Valeriebrbr 553 words


  9. AT SEA

    >>When I take your hand, I watch my heart set sail. ~ M. Cohn ~ <<

    Beneath a canopy of low-slung stars, the Albion's lone survivor huddled under what remained of the tattered mainsail and tumbled into a dreamless sleep.

    Dawn came bearing baleful gifts: cloudless skies, blistering sun, and barren horizons.

    Crawling portside, she peered into the fishing net, hoping to find a fish or two for breakfast and discovering instead, a dolphin tangled in the lines.

    No sense in both of them dying today. She slid the knife from her belt, sliced the mammal free, and dropped back onto the splintered deck.

    Taking her father’s boat to prove she was as capable of sailing and fishing as her brothers had seemed reasonable but four days, an empty hold, and a ruined vessel later, reality was a dagger in her spine.

    Closing her eyes against the weight of truth, she surrendered herself to her fate. Adrift without fresh water, ocean breezes, or dry land, hallucinations would be her only companions until death came for her.

    Sometime later, the lapping of water against the weathered ship woke her. She lay on her back, enjoying the soothing rhythm and inhaling the familiar scent of iodine.

    It occurred to her that these delusions were startlingly ordinary. She hauled herself portside again and peered into the sea but found nothing to explain the movement or smell.

    Defeat flashed through her, spurred by scalding shame, and with the last of her strength, she pushed herself over the edge of the hull and plummeted into the water.
    The sea was cool and quiet as she sank below the surface. No water for her thirsty body, no air for her screaming lungs, but a certain peace came with making her own fate.

    As her eyes rolled up in her head, a flash of green swishing towards her was the last thing she saw.

    Moments later, she was coughing and spluttering on the Albion’s deck.

    When her eyes fluttered open, a face as beautiful and furious as the sea itself was scowling over her. “Drowning yourself is a strange way to repay my rescue efforts.”

    Her throat was too raw to argue but her eyes took in every detail. The long hair riddled with seaweed and crustaceans, the broad shoulders and thick chest, the seagreen scales and elegant tail.

    “You do want to live, don’t you?”

    She propped herself up against cabin. “What does it matter?”

    “Because I challenged the Sea herself for the right to keep you alive.”

    She pushed to her feet. “You should have consulted with me first.”

    His brow furrowed. “Consult with a human when I have a superior intellect?”

    She rolled her eyes. “That explains how we arrived at this awkward juncture.”

    He undulated toward her. “We arrived at this juncture because you saved a dolphin and I am honor bound to make recompense.”

    “Well, that’s a wonderful sentiment. Problem is, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to live, so you can go peddle your recompense somewhere else.”

    A whirlpool of color flickered in his eyes. “Are all humans this infuriating?”

    She looked up at him. “Couldn’t tell you about the rest of my species but I aggravate myself to no end.”

    “So, are you determined to die? I only ask because if you’re releasing me from my obligations, I have other duties to attend.”

    She shrugged. “What do I have to live for? Shattered dreams? Disgraced family? I think you’re off the hook, my fishy friend.”

    His tail slapped the deck. “I am not a fish and we are not friends. You are indeed aggravating and yet curiously invigorating. What if I said there was a way you could live and die.”

    “I’d say you have my attention.”

    “And if you looked less like yourself and more like me? Would your interest still hold?”

    “Well, you are damn easy on the eyes but I do like my curves.”

    He chuckled and the skies filled with storm clouds. “As do I, my beautiful contradiction. A kiss at five hundred feet and we could both be exploring them.”

    “Make it quick, sweet talker. This dying stuff is exhausting.”

    He reached for her hand. “I’ll be sure you’re recuperation is exquisitely stimulating.”

    – – – – –
    692 words / @bullishink


  1. Pingback: #MWBB 18 : Tinta | My Soul's Tears

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