Good evening Horticulturalists, Night Creatures, and Lunatics!
I see you’ve come to the midnight garden to admire the night blooms. Not many people know about this place. Rumors and all. You know, it’s said that magic happens beneath iridescent light, because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
Blooming in Moonlight
RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!
This prompt conjures an image of ethereal, midnight beauty. The first thing it makes me think of is flowers. There are several real flowers that bloom in the moonlight (Angel’s Trumpets, Queen of the Nights, Casablanca Lilies…), as well as a vast plethora of mythical ones. You could write about scientists examining the flowers blooming at night, about your characters having a picnic in a meadow under the stars, or else a dark duel covered in petals.
We usually associate flowers with blooming, but when an aquatic, microscopic algae population swells so much that it changes the entire ecosystem, this is called algal bloom. These bloom events vary in color from green, to red, to brown and gold, to even purple, and are sometimes big enough to be seen from space! Algal blooms can be good (providing nutrients and food for other organisms) or harmful (producing toxins or damaging structures that kill aquatic life). If you want to do something really fun and/or wacky with this prompt, tell us the story of one of such blooms. You could write about a fish beneath it, a human population affected by it, or even personify it! Writing about someone from space seeing it could be a particularly interesting application of the moonlight aspect.
The fun thing about this prompt, however, is that it’s not “flowers in moonlight” or “plants in moonlight.” It’s “blooming in moonlight.” It’s the verb—you get to decide what’s blooming. Blooming can apply to more than just plants. Looking up the definitions, it can apply to anything at its freshest and most beautiful. It can refer to a youthful glow about a person’s complexion. Perhaps you want to write about the young debutante coming down the stairs, bathed in moonlight, or else the vampire putting on the guise of a human complexion.
Even music is said to bloom when it has a full bright sound. Perhaps you want to write about a composer seeing their dream fulfilled as they hear their composition bloom, or a teen sitting in their room enjoying their favorite song when they can’t sleep.
When I look up the definitions of bloom, one is “(of fire, color, or light) [to] become radiant and glowing” which I think is particularly beautiful. You could write about fireworks blooming over the water, of a painter mixing the perfect, radiant shade, or of bioluminescent creatures blooming beneath the waves under a moonlight of their own invention.
You can push this prompt to greater limits than that. “Bloom” is a word that can be used poetically. Blood may “bloom” in the water, anger may “bloom” inside one’s chest, even scandalous desires might “bloom” at night. There are several things that happen in the moonlight that you could poetically describe as blooming. You could even describe something like a werewolf transformation like a flower blooming. The sky—or should I say moon?—is your limit. (But, if you go this route, just be sure to make the connection to the prompt clear.)
My challenge for you this week is one meant to help you improve your writing skills. I often talk on streams about using active verbs. (Example: Instead of saying “He held my arm tightly.” saying “He grabbed my arm.” Instead of saying “She was lonely.” saying “Loneliness crept in from the corners of the room.”) “Bloom” is one of my personal favorite active and poetic verbs, so I think this would be a great challenge for this prompt.
Level one of my challenge is: do your best to use active verbs throughout your piece. This is the most lenient level of the challenge—just do your best when and where you can to use active verbs.
The second level of my challenge is: don’t use any adverbs (besides ones like “yesterday” and “tomorrow,” those are fine). This is the next difficulty level—finding adverbs and completely removing them in the goal of using an active verb instead.
The third level is: don’t use am/is/are/was/were anywhere in your piece—always choose something more active. I know, to some, this may seem impossible (it certainly did to me when my English teacher once gave my class this challenge) but you’d be surprised how little you need those verbs, and how often those words can be replaced and improved by something more active. (Example: “I was hot.” vs “The heat clung to me.”)
(You can mix and match the levels to your preference!)
Remember, these challenges aren’t mandatory! They are meant to be a fun bonus if you’d like to have a little extra challenge. But, if you don’t want to use them, please don’t feel obligated to!
My, how you’ve grown, seedlings! Now put those new petals to use and dazzle us.
—Felicia, Kaylie, and Pearce
—
Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.
Tune into the stream this Saturday at 3:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!
The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit! Get ready not just to share what you’ve got, but to give back to the other writers here as well.
Rules and Guidelines
We read at least five stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and three of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!
Text and Formatting
- English only.
- Prose only, no poetry or lyrics.
- Use proper spelling, grammar, and syntax.
- Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
- Use two paragraph breaks between each paragraph so that they have a proper space between them (press “enter” or “return” twice).
- Include a submission title and an author name (doesn’t have to be your real name). Do not include any additional symbols or flourishes in this part of your submission. Format them exactly as you see in this example, or your submission may not be eligible: Example Submission.
- No additional text styling (such as italics or bold text). Do not use asterisks, hyphens, or any other symbol to indicate whether text should be bold, italic, or styled in any other way. CAPS are okay, though.
What to Submit
- Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
- Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
- Write something brand new; no re-submitting past entries or pieces written for other purposes
- No fan fiction whatsoever. Take inspiration from whatever you’d like, but be transformative and creative with it. By submitting, you also agree that your piece does not infringe on any existing copyrights or trademarks, and you have full license to use it.
- Submissions must be self-contained (everything essential to understanding the piece is contained within the context of the piece itself—no mandatory reading outside the piece required. e.g., if you want to write two different pieces in the same setting or larger narrative, you cannot rely on information from one piece to fill in for the other—they must both give that context independently).
Submission Rules
- One submission per participant.
- Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
- Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
- You must like and leave a review on two other submissions to be eligible. Your reviews must be at least 50 words long, and must be left directly on the submission you are reviewing, not on another comment. If you’re submitting to the private post, feel free to leave these reviews on either the private or the public post. The two submissions you like need not be the same as the submissions you review.
- Be constructive and uplifting. These submissions are not for a professional market, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We do this, first and foremost, for the joy of the craft. Help other writers to feel like their work is valuable, and be considerate and gentle with critique when you offer it. Authors who leave particularly abrasive or disheartening remarks on this post will be disqualified from selection for readings.
- Use the same e-mail for your posts, reviews, and likes, or you may be rendered ineligible (you may change your username or author name between posts without problem, however).
- You may submit to either or both the public/private groups if you have access, but if you decide to submit to both, only the private group submission will be eligible.
- Understand that by submitting here, you are giving us permission to read your submission aloud live on stream and upload public, archived recordings of said stream to our social media platforms. You will always be credited, but only by the author name you supply as per these rules. No other links or attributions are guaranteed.
Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.
Moonlite Chat
By Jesse Fisher
The wind passed over the city as a kid laid out on the rooftop of the apartment building he called home.The noise was almost a lullaby to the child, and yet they could not sleep. Sleep was normally a welcome embrace after the routine of the day. They could not recall anything like this, like sickness did that but they did not feel sick.
Flopping on the hard surface that would burn them in the heat of the day. Were their minds racing, could they just have a nagging feeling of something just beyond knowledge?
The clatter of metal and the heavy steps broke a trance that they did not notice until an inharmonious noise broke the hymn that was the night.
“I know you are normally doing this song and dance in your room.”
The kid looked up to see their dad squat down next to them. They looked so different, one cover in fluff and the other a mechanical appearance.
“I know you said when I was younger that the night called to me, the moon was like the sun to other kids.”
“That I did.” The father’s visored face looked up. “I wished for you to grow based on what you naturally acted. However as time moved on you being nocturnal would have caused some issues. I can just charge but I can not change the world around us.”
“I know.” The child replied as it’s eyes moved from the city to the moon above. “Why is the world like that?”
The sound of movement and the chill of the metal was like a blanket.
“Because the world was made like that.”
Carnival Fantastique
By MasaCur
The truck convoy pulled up to the county fairground, trailers filled with roars and brays of dozens of creatures, mundane and fantastic. Above the trucks, the night sky’s stars were blotted out by the street lights of the town and the glowing full moon.
A rotund man in a dusty, beat up pointed hat climbed from the passenger door of the lead truck’s cab. He barked orders, pointing in various directions as he did so.
A couple of rock trolls, their grey skin craggy and pockmarked, pulled a giant tent pole from one of the trailers, thick as a ship’s mast. They carried it to a spot several yards from the convoy, and then dug a post hole in the ground with their bare hands. When the hole was dug, they erected the pole, planting it in the hole.
A masked woman in flowing silk robes pulled out a flute. As she played, panels and posts of carnival booths danced their way into place, setting themselves up as well as any craftsman ever could. A gang of gnomes rushed from one booth to the next, securing the panels and posts together to keep the booths upright for when the magic flute would eventually fall silent.
A lithe dryad walked a perimeter near the trucks, trees sprouting in her wake. The trunks and branches spread out, reaching out to one another. The branches intertwined, a cage assembling from the individual nascent trees.
As the cage formed, an ifreet cracked his fiery whip. When he did so, a chimera leapt toward one of the cells, its three heads bleating, roaring, and hissing at the blazing animal tamer.
Throughout the night, the carnival took form, a striped big top tent commanding over it. As the twilight of dawn started to wake on the horizon, the strange company of creatures and people sought to find a place to catch a few hours of sleep before they were ready to open the festivities to the nearby locals.
The circus had come to town.
Some Flowers Bloom Twice (Illusions of Heroes)
by Gerrit (Rattus)
It’s said that when the goddess Dianae was killed, her blood seeped into the ground and became the magic that now runs through all life. The site of her grave grew into a massive grove, with trees packed so tight that not even sound escapes from their depths. Within this grove, and dotting the fields around it, now grow the Mother’s Rose.
The flower is often considered among the most beautiful, thought to be enchanted by the magic of Dianae’s lifeblood. In the waning days of spring, the flowers bloom in a brilliant shade of blue. As the days grow warmer, the petals curl inwards, as if shielding themselves from the heat. Until one night during the height of summer, when the full moon smiles down on them, and they bloom again in a beautiful pink colour.
Isetta remembered her mother speaking of them with fondness when she was only a child. Her mother used to say that some people were like the Mother’s Rose—that sometimes when they think they’ve found their role in life, it’s only a temporary stop on their way to their true selves.
It was a comforting thought, and one that hadn’t left Isetta’s mind in the last few days. She wondered how her mother was doing, if she ever looked at the flowers in her garden and thought of her daughter, the way Isetta now held the petals in her hand and thought of her mother.
She hadn’t wanted to leave, not really. She’d loved her family and enjoyed her daily walks through the gardens. But life in the palace wasn’t for her, and she knew that now. Much of her previous life wasn’t for her.
She’d expected her new name to take some getting used to. For eighteen years her name had been something else, a name passed down through the family. Yet somehow, from the first moment she chose her new name, it felt right.
Maybe her childhood under her birth name had only been her first bloom. Now she’d found her true self, her true bloom, and it was Isetta.
Dandelions
By Partran
“Have you ever seen one launch?” Tanya asked as she leaned back on the long table that ran the length of the observation deck, coffee warm in her hands.
Alyssa shook her head, long hair flaring out around her and only slowly settling back to her shoulders as she leaned forward against the floor to ceiling windows and stared out at the gentle curve of the lunar surface. “No, its my first one.”
“It never gets old.”
As the girl watched the horizon, a towering structure, slender and elegant, rose over the gentle arc of the moon. Released from the shipyard it lifted away from the slight gravity, turning about its axis.
A graceful pirouette let the spreading petals catch the light that shone from the distant sun that cast the Earth in an azure-ringed shadow. The ship spread its wings for the first time with a delicacy akin to the first flowers in spring. The unfurling of the sails was a slow process, but they shone and rippled like light on a dark sea throughout.
“The crew’s already on board?” Alyssa asked with wonder tinging her voice, her eyes never leaving the ship as the great sails unfurled and the generation ship began to turn itself away from the shores of Earth and Luna and into the endless black sea.
“Yep. They’ll all be getting settled in, getting cozy for the trip. Next stop will be their great great great some odd grandkids meeting up with the forerunners.” Tanya said as she stood from the table and rested a hand on her niece’s shoulder, “You excited to be going?”
“Oh yes! Mom says we’ll be like dandelions, spread on the wind, putting down roots under other skies.”
Tanya smiled at that, growing thoughtful as her niece watched the ship curve across the lunar sky and spread its sails ever further. It was a bittersweet moment, but one she would cherish when her sister and niece had left. For now she enjoyed the moment for what it was and savored the shared wonder in the girl’s eyes.
Midnight Rose (Chronicles of The Dragon)
By Makokam
Imogene sat on the floor in the tower study Vlad had constructed for her. She looked up through the windows at the moon as she waited for him to awaken.
She didn’t know how long this would take; she was the only other person in the world who had undergone such a transformation, and she’d been dead long before it was cast. But Vlad…
She looked over at his still form, laying in the center of the room. His wounds had healed, but he no longer breathed and his heart didn’t beat. She wasn’t sure what to make of that, as she herself was still as death when she slept. She could only assume it had worked.
It was well past midnight when he jerked awake.
He looked himself over, patting at where his vitals had been ready to spill out, only to find his skin whole and his blood unspilled. When his eyes met Imogene’s, he was sure that if they were capable, her eyes would be full of tears.
She slid herself across the ground and pulled his arm around her as held herself to his chest. “I was a sickly child, rarely able to do much, always smaller and weaker than others in the village. When my father brought me back, he told me I looked healthier, stronger, and more beautiful than I ever had, that I was like a bud that finally bloomed.
“I never believed him, but seeing you now, as perfect as if the greatest artists had carved you from marble, I understand. For eternity we’ll be together, nothing strong enough to take us away.”
Vlad held his dear Imogene tightly, too relieved to have escaped death, to be with his beloved midnight rose, to truly consider the meaning of eternity.
The First of Us
by Aracnarquista
I look into the skies. The lights above, obscured by the canopy, bless my sacred endeavor. The stars call for my ascension. The moon smiles at such a holy pilgrimage.
All gentle luminous entities wait for the rite in which we leave the earth forever to soar in the breeze as new life.
I do not resent the soil, but I rejoice in leaving it behind. Our burrows and tunnels belong in the past; the colony follows its own path, while I tread higher roads. My siblings will not miss the lost wanderer who saw greatness and pursued elevation, but even now I think of them. My love will spread to them as well, once I perish.
But first, the climb.
The first step up the last climb fills me with expectation. Should I say us, rather than me? Describing this entity as “I” or “we” seems imprecise. The wonder that inhabits me and made me more than just one of my siblings can’t be encompassed in the idea of a single thing. “I”, “we”… the terms fail to conceive the sublime nature of connection. Where once I knew of only myself, we now care for everything. I left the group when true sight invaded me. The connective amalgam we became allows me to return to the group again, in spirit, so that all of my siblings will know of its glory and joy.
I reach the highs from where our holy message will spread. With no need to talk, I clench my jaws in the stem of the plant. A last love bite to ground this vessel to reality while we transcend. From the base of my skull a spire rises to the heavens, and love blooms.
Our corpse proclaims the fungal gospel to the wind.
***
“Look up, sister, to where the remains of the martyr rest. In her time, she made the sacrifice and gave us truth by spreading the blessings of the mycelium. Now we join her in the highs as new prophets of fungal connectivity. Our bodies will remain a testament of love. Now, the climb.”
[DM me on Discord for details!]
A Rose in Bloom
WriterOfThought
Helena was hiding in her favorite place to sulk: in her father’s study, crammed between the desk and the bookcase. The gap had always been just big enough for her to fit in its space, no matter how much she had grown, and it always had the perfect view of the family crest on the opposite wall: a red rose on a black field.
She could not, for the life of her, figure out why she was in such a bitter mood that day. But she knew that she wanted to be alone, unbothered, and surrounded by what she considered her true friends: books. Not that she was particularly in the mood to read any of them at the moment.
It wasn’t uncommon for Helena to find herself in these moods where the thought of having to interact with anyone caused hundreds of kinds of negativity to well up within her. Anger, discomfort, sadness, grumpiness, all sorts of unpleasant emotions swirled inside of the raven-haired ball of rage currently staring at the Bloodstone Rose on the wall.
She wanted to imagine the rose as shut, as a flower without the sunlight, as a bud. When she blinked, that was what she saw. It was how she wanted to feel at the moment. Like a bud refusing to blossom out of unsourced spite.
The closed rose stared at her from the wall, reflecting her emotional state back at her, forcing her to feel the aura she was exuding on the small room.
But then she noticed something out of place. A book on her father’s shelf had fallen over, but to where she could barely not see the text that lay, knowledge waiting to be consumed. As grumpy as she was, her curiosity tended to win out.
Book, or bud. Leave the safety, or stay in the brambles. Go to the thing she enjoys, or stay in the comfortability of anger.
The book won, in the end. Helena crawled her way out of the cranny, and towards the book. And on the wall, the rose bloomed once more.
Moon Tag (Students of the DiamondBridge Academy universe)
by Carrie (Glaceon373)
The eldest seven Vladirin children (the triplets were already asleep) stood in the backyard on an oddly-temperate February evening, the sun having just set.
Sam cleared her throat. “Now, Moon Tag is a very simple game,” she began. “The goal is simple: don’t get tagged. When you’re tagged, you become a tagger. Last one to get tagged wins the round, and is the first tagger of the next round. The space we’ll be playing in—yes, Lily?”
The eldest of Sam’s younger siblings lowered her hand. “Who will be the first tagger for the first round?”
“I volunteer. Thanks for asking, I’m sorry I forgot to mention it. Now, we’ll be playing—”
“Is there a prize?” Luth interrupted.
“No, Luth, no prize. You can find a treat for yourself if you win, if you care so much.”
He shrugged.
Sam disappointedly asked herself, not for the first or last time, why he got to be the tallest out of all of them.
She cleared her throat again. “Now, our play area is limited for safety reasons.”
This got a groan out of all six siblings standing in front of her.
“Guys. C’mon. We’re literally playing outside at night. No one’s going past the fence, and going inside is cheating.”
Ametrine raised their hand next. “So the trees in the back are fair game?”
“And Carl’s shed?” Otto and Orith asked at the same time.
“And—and what if we get on the roof? Is that okay?” Emmettrix whispered.
Sam laughed. “It’s Moon Tag. Your bounds are the fences, the dirt, and the clouds.” She smiled. “Five, four, three—”
Her siblings scattered across and above the backyard, strong moonbeams holding them weightless in the cold night air.
Sam finished her countdown and leapt after them.
From the kitchen window, Kirith and Thanthalia watched their kids play Sam’s game “Moon Tag” for nearly two hours.
“They’re figuring out the moonbeam thing quickly,” Thanthalia commented.
Her husband nodded. “That’s one way to grow their flying skills, alright.”
“Makes you want to play too, huh?”
He chuckled. “Only a little.”
Wisps Which We Wish We Wander With
by Lee Strangely
Beloc could never sleep without being able to see the forest in front of him. His heart wouldn’t let him. Not without seeing them just once. Every night he watched as, one by one, they all entered the world. He waited for each to appear.
The thin blue flames of the wisps sparked and sputtered to life. Their lights wandering the forest’s darkest shadows. Some lured, a few would guide, and others would go seemingly nowhere anyone could follow.
He perked up, though, when the last one came. The sight was a hook to his heartstrings, pulling HARD. His shimmering wings sprouted as he put on his hat, and leapt!
The flight of a fairy is rivaled only by a pure lightning bolt. Few can perceive one in its entire grandeur. Not even a sliver of a second had to pass.
Window-grass-air-tree-air-tree-tree-tree-tree-STOP.
The wisp could do nothing as it was caught in his arms. The two spun around as Beloc slowed himself down.
“I’m sorry,” he smiled, “I couldn’t resist.”
Things went quiet.
Beloc responded, “I know, I know… You don’t like it when I do this, but I want to see you again.”
After more silence, he continued, “Yes I do see your flame every night…” He then pulled them into a clearing, “but I don’t see you!”
As they twirled into the moonlight, there now were two. Wisps aren’t usually corporeal… except in full moonlight. Never used to being seen, the wisp tried covering their face.
Beloc gently brushed their hands away, “Don’t be like that, you look wonderful.”
“You wouldn’t want this,” the wisp spoke, “You’ll seldom see me as anything other than a light in the distance.”
“And I’d still give my wings to keep seeing it.”
“You shouldn’t bet something so important so frivolously,” they faltered, turning away.
He followed, “but you’re not the one betting it…”
They smiled as Beloc held their hands.
To his surprise, the wisp leaned close and kissed him. However, by then, the clouds finally retook the moon. The wisp faded away, their light drifting off back into the dark.
What Fruit Does Light and Darkness Bear?
by Lunabear
Lady Lunaria rests her back against a pillar constructed of a spiraled quasar, tiny comets, and several frozen meteorites. She sits, floating on a balcony railing of periwinkle and onyx stars. Her dress of shimmering, royal blue lace bows to the light wind. With her luminescent face upturned towards the vast, multicolored cosmos, she wears an expression of forlornness.
“What troubles you, Radiance?” The crackling voice resounds from nearby.
“War, dearest Deviance. Besides yourself and Wolfwind, none except two other comrades have responded to my messengers. It worries me.”
The form of a man steps from within her shadow. “And this, you fear, implies…”
She sighs, her incandescent eyelashes kissing her pale cheeks for a moment. “Sufficient aid will not reach us in time. Less than seven nights remain, I believe.” Her featureless, fearful gaze seeks out Deviance. “The enemy–”
His tenor, filled with husky determination and promise, cloaks her. “Will not enter the borders of the Moonlight Realm, Luminescence. You have my word.”
She embraces his proffered comfort. “And Wolfwind’s, no doubt.”
A slight, dark chill caresses her arm, lifting the fine hairs. Almost a physical touch but not quite.
Lady Lunaria’s regard takes in Deviance’s inky figure beside her. The Shroud resembles a silhouette, except for holes indicating eyes and a smile. His coldness holds familiar peace.
“May I offer a dance to soothe your anxiousness?” He reaches towards the shadow of her hand, bowing in wait.
“I did not anticipate this.” Hesitancy stills her. A falling meteor careens through her chest. Indecision knits her brow.
Deviance retains his position.
“Perhaps a small interlude shall improve my tactical thinking,” Lady Lunaria relents, rising with graceful fluidity. She curtsies, the outline of her hand resting in his.
Glass and metallic chimes make music from afar, urging the duo’s steps. Phantom touches glide along her shoulders and the small of her back. Shiver after shiver rolls down her spine.
“Always, the dark clings to the light
The moon seeks out the night,” Deviance croons, ending the dance. He bows once more, then disappears.
Perplexity, alongside warmth, blossoms within her center.
Just as The Black Widow Bites, I Feel The Thunder in Heaven Tonight
By Marx
Daisy sighed up at the night sky. “I’ll be leaving soon. To kill Alex…”
Rhea’s lips curled into a frown. “Alex needs to die. I get that. I do. I just…”
“You didn’t know me before.” Daisy’s gaze turned to her fingers as wisps of magic danced along her pale skin. “I was… a trash human. Then I provoked Alex. He took joy in breaking me. In ripping me apart.”
As Daisy spoke, the wisps seeped into the soil, causing a large crack to appear. “He tore at me, piece by piece until there was nothing left. He-”
“Daisy, it’s okay.” In a practiced motion, Rhea held Daisy close, gently petting her hair. “You don’t have to think of-”
“But I do.” Daisy interrupted, gently breaking the embrace and turning her attention back to the crack. “Because after Alex was done breaking me, he threw me away. Then Will saved me. He showed me kindness. He showed me love. And then we met you and I received more of both.”
Rhea smiled, her gaze only turning away from Daisy when she noticed a glowing flower bud rising from the crack in the soil, blooming into a beautiful rose.
Daisy continued, “I was able to grow. Become a better person. You and Will picked me up when I fell apart. But… it didn’t help when Alex came back for me. It… weakened me. And only when I embraced the old me again could I protect you.”
“Daisy…?” Rhea murmured as she saw the rose darken and the thorns taking over.
“Love isn’t going to help me kill him. Neither is fear. I hate him. I hate what he did to me. I hate what he made me into. And if I don’t kill that asshole, I’ll sure as hell die trying.”
Rhea was forced to back away entirely as Daisy burst into a blinding glow, the forces of her magic whipping the air into a frenzy around them.
The beauty of the rose was visible for just a moment longer before it was buried under countless vines of razor sharp thorns.
Herald of Spring
Laura Nettles
286 Words
“I love you.” The words fell from Hanataba’s lips like dying leaves. “I’ll always watch over you.”
With a final tender kiss to his sleeping lover’s forehead, Hanataba removed his sleeping yukata. The cotton fabric adorned with an intricate blue pattern slid through his fingers as he folded it reverently, placing next to the shared bed. He looked back once more before stepping through the sliding door onto the wraparound porch. The hint of warmth in the almost spring breeze caressed his skin, causing goosebumps to rise along his exposed flesh. Human flesh he would lose this night.
Taking a step down onto the cool soil compacted by the foot trails of many generations, Hanataba forwent the wooden geta sandals, allowing the dirt to welcome his bare feet. Call to them. Transform them.
With each step, his human composition frayed. Bones shifted, elongating, tapering into roots that spread from the balls of his feet, grasping for purchase. He needed to move fast to get into his premeditated position. Skin roughened, deep textures forming. Textures of grooves, knots and spirals he hoped Chiyo would run her fingers over for years to come.
With each breath, midnight and the start of spring drew near. With one final step in the center of the courtyard, he turned around to face his beloved Chiyo’s room.
The moon peaked out through parting clouds, bathing Hanataba in cool light. A single command descended, flitting on the moonbeams. “Bloom.”
Tears watered the bark of Hanataba’s face, conditionally gifted humanity finally stripped. Arms froze into a rigid arraignment, reaching to the sky for mercy. Just one more night with Chiyo.
Flowers budded.
Leaves sprouted.
Chiyo slept on.
A Garden Above(Elderwood)
~Foggy Wall
The shed was small but fit everything he needed to keep the garden maintained. James stepped out, turned with the door and locked it closed. While it was a public rooftop, no one in the apartments ever came up here.
The sun had set and our twin moons were large on the horizon. The latest additions to my garden were some beautiful lilacs. It’s said that they only bloom by moonlight, though that won’t be tonight.
“Hey, Honey. I thought I’d find you up here. How’s the job hunt?”
James turned to find his mother sitting on the bench, her chin resting on her arms, folded on the backrest. She smiled at him, with her head laid sideways.
“Uh… About that, I think I found a job. The woman who offe-”
She cut him off with an “Oh!” As she sprung over the bench with one hand on it. Landing quietly, she strolled toward him. “There’s a girl? How long? Who is she? Is she pretty?”
A smirk crossed her features as he turned darker shades of red. When his mother got to standing directly in front of him, he looked away.
She moved to make eye contact. “Well, whoever she is, she’s got you stumbling. Doesn’t she?”
“It’s not like that.” James said, stepping around her and heading for the bench. She followed along humming whimsically. “Y’know, mom. This job will require me to move again.”
His mother took the seat beside him and her smile faultered. “What sort of work will it be?”
Just then, the sound of an engine came up from the building edge. It was only a moments notice prior to Koelle coming into view on her anti-grav motorbike. She was dressed in a dress with black skin-tight pants, no footwear and a black helmet which hid her face.
She slowly hovered around the bench and landed in the open space behind them. James’ eyes snapped onto his mothers’ gaze, which radiated a certain ‘Gotcha’ vibe.
“So. That’s her, huh?”
“She’s like a sister, Mom.”