Her fascination for the sky was endless. She’d spent most of her youth in forests, around ponds or waterfalls. She was a faerie of the earth. It was only when her wings withered, lying brown and limp at her sides, that her heart filled with blue.
(Written for the Whistpr prompt on Twitter)
I’m delighted to have the e-book cover for The Moon is Crying animated by Morgan Wright. I was hoping to share it with you guys here but I can’t upload videos. You can see it on my Twitter though: https://twitter.com/isabel_caves/status/1289815424389922816
The Moon is Crying is my new microfiction series on Channillo. This week’s installment “Sad Face the Clown” is now out.
I think I forgot to mention in my last post that all proceeds from this series are going to charity. I’ve chosen SPCA International to donate to. So if you have a Channillo subscription and fancy some microfiction with a touch of magic, you can save a fluff too. Or even a few fluffs…
(Image by Pexels from Pixabay)
Hi everyone! It’s been a while since I posted a proper update. As a COVID-19 response worker, these past few months have been hectic. But…I have news. I’m running a new microfiction series on Channillo called The Moon is Crying.
The Moon is Crying is a collection of contemplative microfiction with a touch of magic. Stories are bite-sized and will be released weekly. While I’d like to include some previously published pieces, the plan is for most of the pieces to be new and exclusive to Channillo.
Here’s the link to my series: https://channillo.com/series/the-moon-is-crying/
The cover image was designed by BetiBup33 Design Studio.
Channillo is a subscription-based service, sort of like Netflix for literature. Members pay a fixed monthly fee to subscribe to as many series as they want. They’re also running a 30-day free trial. https://channillo.com/
My mother told me there was no monster under the bed. I didn’t believe her then. I pulled the sheets over my face each night, leaving only my eyes exposed so I would be prepared when it crawled out.
Eventually I grew older and moved out of that room, into the real world. I graduated from high school, chose a major, entered the workforce and explored the rotating doors of love.
None of it was easy. My heart was broken over and over, and at times I didn’t know whether I was fighting my adversaries or my own self.
I remembered that bedroom from my childhood with fondness. And I realized that my mother had been right. The monster was never under my bed. It was prowling the streets, waiting for me.
Her thoughts were a stream that she dared not wade into. If she dipped her toe in she’d feel a tickle, nothing more. But if she were to immerse herself in its waters it would absorb her as if she were a leaf to be carried away. She would melt into its will, no longer distinct but a part of something primal, something bigger than her own sentience.
What land that stream hailed from she did not know. But she sensed its darkness on the horizon, calling her in fearful whispers.
Her thoughts were a stream that she dared not wade into. It was safer on land, on her own two feet.
(Image courtesy of Pixabay)
Written for Pensitivity’s Three Things Challenge #125.
My name is Onyx, and this is not my true form. I chose this shape so I could dwell in the hazy margins of humanity – a flicker, a shadow, nothing more.
I have been on this planet for two thousand years. My soul is older than that, but it’s when my true story began.
I don’t want this to be a sad story. It is full of pain, of hurt and betrayal, and loss. But, as we say on my home world, for every tear there is a star. I will find those stars and make them glow. When my galaxy is full of light, she will return to me.
She was lost to me a long time ago, but she appears every now and then in a different shape. I try and turn her tears into stars, but every time it is the same. Every time she meets the same fate.
So this is my story as well as my apology.
These are my tears that will never be stars.
Sometimes I wonder about the realness of things. Am I real? Are you real? Am I as real as you? Are you as real as me?
I feel the cold of rain as it hits my skin, and hear the whispers of trees as they send shivers my way. And surely this means that I’m a real girl.
But dream rain is just as cold, and dream trees whisper too. In the morning they are nothing but ghosts.
One day I, too, will be a ghost.
Then perhaps I am nothing but a dream.
Blood falls from the trees, crisp and cold. It falls slowly, leaf by leaf, into the chill. Its fall is too soft, pillowed by the quietness of others. It is the redness of autumn. The world was made this way.
I tried to save the moth. He was latched onto the wall of my shower cubicle. It was about to get very wet in there. I tried to coax him onto my finger but he kept fluttering out of reach. When he finally trusted me he clung to my finger and wouldn’t let go.
I put him on the sink ledge. I didn’t see the spots of water already there. I tried to push him out, but the more I pushed the more he drowned.
When I fished him out his body was limp. I gave him my finger but it didn’t matter anymore. Perhaps it never had.
my garden full
of withered things
I just want to relax. They never let me do that. It’s always scare the humans this. Eat the humans that.
I get it. I’m a troll. I have a reputation to uphold. We’ve got a beautiful green space here and we don’t want humans trampling all over it.
I just don’t get why it always has to be me. I’m not the only scary thing around here. Those fairies can be nasty, and a nymph’s regular attitude should bring any unwanted tourism to a grinding halt. Sometimes I just want to look at the reflections of leaves in water…feel the cool of shaded bark against my skin…breathe in the green.
That’s why I’m putting in my leave. I’m taking a holiday. I deserve it. I’m soaking up the green and sleeping in till 10. Some nasty nymph can cover my shifts.
As for humans…the rules are simple.
Trample quietly and you won’t get your legs broke.
(Image courtesy of Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo)
Written for Sue Vincent’s Writephoto Prompt: Tranquil
My supernatural short story Aibhileen’s Curse is now free on Smashwords.