A to Z Reflection

The #AtoZChallenge was my first ever writing challenge. Meaning, yes I write every day (as always) but this time to write actual stories in different genres. Most were fiction, some were non-fiction and even a couple of poems and 7-8 word stories.

The Challenge

Well, basically blog every day about something within your chosen theme. I, of course, showed up a day late and dollar short for the theme reveal. I didn’t really know anything about the A to Z challenge, to begin with, or a theme reveal. I was even on the fence about whether or not to do it. That was my fear of failure but soon came to the conclusion that the worst that could happen is that I miss a day. Then that turned into anxiety but I stuck it out and even managed my daily 6-word story prompts and random doodles. The theme I chose was A to Z genres/sub genres of writing for short stories or poems. I even created a blogging calendar so others could follow along and also to keep me on task.

Looking back, I’m glad I did it and even learned a little about myself and my writing capabilities along the way. I am now even working on self-publishing longer versions of some of my stories. I would like you opinions on which one’s you think are worth the effort to elaborate and make longer (even thinking about doing a longer detailed version of Saving River).


Adventure/Apocalyptic: Red Survival
Bildungsroman: Orange Lessons
Clock punk: Mechanical Magic
Dystopia: Darkness
Epic Fantasy: Burning Moons
Fairy Tale/Folklore: Glights
Ghost Story: The Puppets in the Woods
Historical Fiction: Fast Moving Puddle
I Novel: Permanent Mistake
Jiangshi: An American Jiangshi
Kōan: Journey
Lament: Mourning Me
Mystery: Solitary Truth
Narrative-Nonfiction: Healing Plunge
Occult Fiction: Nessie’s Demon
Planetary Romance: Asption
Quantum Fiction: Pirated Photos
Regency Romances: Prudence’s Heart
School Story: Friendship and Football
True Crime: Defiling Innocence
Urban Fantasy: Tabitha’s Wards
Vampire Fiction: Lenore’s Energy
Western Fiction: Permelia’s Plan
Xenophanic: Parked Injustice
Young Adult Fiction (YA): Guarding Blyss
Zeugma: Penning Fate

A possible merit for longer story:  Saving River

Wander through the list if you weren’t able to follow it everyday. And thank you to everyone that took the time to read the stories.  Let me know which stories you think deserve more elaboration. All in all- I survived (along with my family) 2018’s #AtoZChallenge.

Penning Fate

I made it! The last day of the Blogging A to Z challenge. Here it is, the letter Z. Even though this isn’t a genre or poem it’s more of a tool for writing it was still and added it to my theme this month. In rhetoric, zeugma from the Ancient Greek ζεῦγμα, zeûgma, lit. “a yoking together” and syllepsis, “a taking together” are figures of speech in which one single phrase or word joins different parts of a sentence.There are multiple and sometimes conflicting definitions for zeugma and syllepsis in current use but also other forms of zeugma.


She wrote her future and her novel.

She signed the will and her death warrant.

He scribbled his ideas and his masterpiece.

 

Guarding Blyss

Young adult fiction (YA) is a category of fiction published for readers in their youth. YA books are catered towards children from 12 to 18 years of age. While the genre is targeted to teenagers, approximately half of YA readers are adults. This ended up being longer than expected. There is so much more but decided that if it’s received well then I’ll post the rest later.


 

Did you know that we are all born to an assigned guardian angel? They guide us through life and protect us from harm. I once thought that this was all bull since people die, wars occurred, savagery, and so forth but there is a whole world of guardian angels and laws that we are not privy to. Here’s what I have learned. We have guardian angels because there is evil that is always trying to turn us, it’s always there. It’s like a huge cosmic game of chess where humanity is the board and the angels and demons are the pieces moved by God and the Devil. Our angels are not measured in successes they are measured by how we leave this world. They are not allowed to show themselves to us or intervene physically. They are also not allowed to fall in love with a mortal.The consequences of all of their actions and failures are both beautiful and brutal.

I just turned 16 when my mother surprised me with a used car the morning of my birthday. I know it was hard for her to make a large purchase being a single mom and working two jobs. ‘You can now drive to school, work, and all your volunteer projects. Happy birthday Blyss.’
‘Mom, this is too much. I can’t take this.’ I said through quivering lips.
‘Blyss, I know you were saving for a car, you maintain a 3.89 GPA for secretly hoping for a scholarship, you volunteer for everything, you go to work, and you help take care of your little brother. You need all the help you can get as you start to prepare to be an adult. Honey, it’s ok. You’re not the only one that has been saving. Now, it’s a good solid car I had your uncles look it over. Take the key and get to school.’ She kissed me on the forehead and I jumped in the car when she leaned down, ‘You may want to run in and put some clothes on and run a brush your hair.’

The day I turned 16 is the day that my life changed. I went to school, work, helped with my brother like I did for the past 3 years. I was a good daughter and citizen in my small town and loved my baby brother. Then I met Jasper. He was one of the high school guys that all the girls drooled over. I didn’t bother because I thought he didn’t even know my name considering I was a goody-goody.
‘Blyss?’ My mouth dropped open at the sound of his voice. He grinned this devilish grin knowing that he had me at that moment. Would you like to go out for coffee sometime? I need help with some trig homework. You can tutor, I can try to impress you with everything I don’t know, drink coffee and maybe go see a movie?’ I startled because my body was trying to tell me that it was my turn to speak. ‘I can tutor you but only for an hour. I have to go and volunteer at the animal shelter. They’re getting in a litter of puppies.’
‘Oh, ok. I can settle for that.’ He said but with this evil glint in his eyes.

We didn’t go to the coffee shop and instead I decided on the library. He didn’t even have his books. He looked over at my work and not following along on his own paper.
‘You’re not going to learn anything watching me do trigonometry. I’m sorry but my time is precious and I can’t afford to waste it on someone that doesn’t even want to try. I closed my book and started packing my bag when he gently grabbed my arm, ‘You’re wrong. I learned a lot by watching you. You’re careful about how you hold your pencil because it looks like you’ve got a broken nail down to the quick. You bite your lip when you’re nervous. Your red curly hair looks like fire in the light.’ I looked at his dark blue eyes and felt uneasy. Why was I feeling uneasy? I should be flattered and in awe of this beautiful guy that is taking interest in me.
‘I know you have to volunteer tonight but do you think afterward you would like to hang out? There is a party on the lake at my buddy’s house.’ I should’ve said yes but instead something in my soul told me not to and that it was a bad idea.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to take care of my little brother.’ I finished packing my bag and told him,
‘If you’re serious about getting help with your math grade meet me here tomorrow before school with your book and paper.’ I left, rather quickly not giving him the chance to say anything back to me.

I went to school the next morning and not surprising to me, Jasper was a no-show. The rest of the day was great. I made A’s in all my returned grades and just felt happy. I picked my brother up, took him to his afterschool program, and headed to work. I loved waitressing. I had regular customers that became like family. I had the occasional rude but it was few and far between and it was normally a regular having a bad day. I would get those customers a piece of ‘Grandma Whits’ famous triple chocolate cake paid for by my tips and listen to their problems. It’s amazing what a piece of cake and a friendly ear can do for a person. I had to work until close today because our other waitress was sick. I just got done with all my closing duties, Merle was getting his grill shut down and a group of boys walked in. I didn’t recognize any of them.

‘Hi guys, sorry we’re closed.’ I said gesturing to the empty dining area.
‘Your lights are on and the sign says open,’ said what must be the leader. I looked over at my shoulder towards Merle who could feel my uneasiness. Something told me to go back to the kitchen. ‘I’ll be right back,’ I said excusing myself to escape to the kitchen. I don’t know what Merle said but the boys left.
‘I’ll be walking you to your car tonight.’ Merle told me. I knew that there was no arguing with him and as he walked me out those boys were waiting by there car which was parked next to mine. How did Merle know?

There were instances like this over the next few months along with papers notifying our small town of robberies, assaults, and arson crimes. I soon formed a buddy system at work, took my little brother everywhere and locked every door and window. My mother even became extra protective of us and the house so much that we got our first family dog ever. Oscar was a German Shepard that my uncle gave to us. He was a trained protector for when mom was working the late shift and we were sleeping. My uncle said, ‘It’s the most vulnerable time for the kids and Blyss can’t stay awake 24/7. My mother accepted Oscar who seemed to fit in quite nicely with our little family. My little brother had a permanent sleepover mate because that’s the room that Oscar chooses to sleep in.

I was leaving work one night and the leader of the group of guys approached me. I froze. I could hear a voice in my head telling me to get in the car. ‘GET IN THE CAR NOW!’ it seemed to scream. I felt the force of something heavy on the back of my head as I turned to unlock my car.
‘Blyss. Blyss, I need you to open your eyes. Can you hear me? Blyss? These cloudy words swam around in my head.
‘The ambulance will be here shortly.’ I recognized that voice. It was Merle’s but he sounded less confident than normal. I opened my eyes to see a young man hovering over me.
‘Blyss, don’t move. You were struck in the back of the head and you may have a concussion.’
Of course, I didn’t listen and as I sat up the blinding pain ran down my spine. I cried out and as my body gave into the pain I could feel the strangers hand gently grasp the back of my head to gently rest on the pavement.

I woke up in the hospital with my mother holding my hand.
‘Mom, mom…where’s Caleb? I have to get him to school.’ I tried sitting up in a panic but felt a lesser version of the pain in my head.’
‘Blyss, your brother is fine. Your uncle is taking care of him. Blyss, can you sit up?’
Mom started to raise my hospital bed which I realized was a better way for me to sit up.
‘How are you feeling baby?’
‘I’m ok I guess, what happened?’
‘Do you remember anything from two nights ago?’ She asked.
‘I’ve been out for two days! I have to get to school, and I need to get a hold of the animal shelter. Ugh, mom, I missed my final!’
‘Shh…everything is taken care of Blyss. The shelter as arranged a therapy dog to come and visit you when you wake, the school will allow you to test when you get back, and of course, the diner said to return when you’re ready.’ I relaxed back into the bed.
‘The boy!’ I said out loud in realization.
‘The boy? Oh, you mean Zaq? My mom informed me and all I could think what kind of parents did this boy have to name him that?

My mother explained, ‘Zaq was pulling into the parking lot to change a flat tire when he saw a boy approaching you with a pipe hidden behind his back. He apologized that he couldn’t get to you in time but was able to wrestle the attacker to the ground and detain him until the officers arrived. The boy that hit you was also arrested for other assaults and robberies in town. His friends have all been arrested for their part as well. Zaq is a little small town hero. Would you like to talk to him? He hasn’t left the hospital waiting room wanting to make sure that you were ok.’
‘Mom, that’s a lot to take in but yes, I would like to meet my hero.’ I was more curious than feeling thankful.
Mom disappears just to reappear with this young blonde, green-eyed, somewhat muscular guy that smelled like lavender and chocolate.
‘I’ll leave you two alone.’ and with that, my mom was gone.
‘Hi. Umm…thank you for saving my life?’
‘I didn’t do that. I actually failed to keep you safe. I should’ve told you to have Merle walk you out that night. I’m not allowed to interfere or interact with you but I couldn’t stand to see you fall victim to the true evil and revenge that man had planned for you. I don’t know how to be anything but honest and I don’t know how to…sugar coat things. Is that the correct phrase?’ I nodded that it was.
‘I have been protecting you all your life. We helped guide your mom to the safest car available and Jasper just wanted to have his way with you. We are all so proud that you volunteer and help your mom. I’m your guardian angel Zag short for Tzaphqiel. I just couldn’t leave until I knew you were ok.’
‘I was hit harder in the head than the doctors realized.’ I said but wasn’t panicked for some reason and just rolled my eyes resting my head back on my pillow. In my hazy fog, it made sense. How else had I stayed safe all these years? Learning to walk, ride a bike, drive, there were so many times I could’ve been seriously hurt. Not to mention, my grades and the drive to volunteer and help.

‘There is something I don’t understand. If you’re my guardian angel then how come my mother and I struggle so much? How come you haven’t helped us win the lottery or me a full-blown scholarship or a rich boyfriend.’
His laugh was like a song that I heard as a lullaby when I was little.
‘I’m your guardian angel. I’m here to guide you through life not hand it to you on a materialistic silver platter.’
‘Fair enough. Can you tell me my future?’
‘I’m not a fortune teller.’
‘You physically interfered. Does that mean I’ll get a new angel?’
‘Yes, Blyss. I will be punished and your new angel will continue to guide you through life.’
My heart ached at the word ‘punished’.

‘Wait, punished? You saved me. You should get an angel medal!’ that’s when panic settled in and for some reason, I felt as if I was losing a loved one.
‘Blyss, guarding you was my greatest achievement. I have watched you grow and you made decisions where I didn’t even have to intervene. You are a kind and loving soul. Your new angel will be proud to guard you.

Jo/© thecreativeptsdgal.wordpress.com

Parked Injustice

Xenophanic: The Greek originating adjective refers to poets who use satire and witticism. Xenophanes (6th c. bc ) was a native of Ionia and an itinerant poet who visited many parts of the Greek world. He was also a sillographer ( q.v. ). Thus ‘Xenophanic’ may be used to describe a wandering poet with a witty and satirical talent. The Goliards were Xenophanic. Oh goodness. I am not funny nor can I be witty on demand. This may prove to be my most difficult yet. Wait, haven’t I been saying this for a month straight?


Oh, my dear woman, you cry about injustice and horror
in the world to whoever would listen.
In this speech, you expressed the fundamental importance of order,
and how the world is changed.
You expressed that people need to change with it,
and the lack of their changing has caused you great despair.
My dear woman, the change you seek isn’t in the community.
The change needs to happen to you.
The kindness you sought after ended when
you lashed out crying of injustice.
There wasn’t a wolf at your door nor a monster under your bed.
It was clear to see,
that the parking spot next to yours was free.


I think I nailed it…because I even laughed. This was based on a Facebook post about a stolen parking spot.

Jo/© thecreativeptsdgal.wordpress.com

Permelia’s Plan

Western fiction is a genre of literature set in the American Old West frontier and typically set from the late eighteenth to the late nineteenth century. The American frontier comprises the geography, history, folklore, and cultural expression of life in the forward wave of American expansion that began with English colonial settlements in the early 17th century and ended with the admission of the last mainland territories as states in 1912.


 

Just standing around all you see are buildings that are supposed to be destroyed by time but now under the care and protection of California. It’s now another trap for people to come and visit. The only difference is back in its gold mining days people lived and died by their hopes and dreams and now we are just memories for soda guzzling, an ill-behaved kid having, no sense of respect type of people come to gawk. Bodie was filthy, dangerous, exciting, freeing, incarcerating, a beautiful booming mining town. I didn’t want gold or a husband, I wanted the freedom of owning the town.

While you’re standing in the what’s left of my entertaining parlor let me tell you of a story about a dark curly-haired girl that wanted to be something more than a wife and mother. Traveling by a covered wagon to a place that my husband deems fit and we wait years to have the perfect cabin built only to be attacked by natives or die due to the elements or disease. I wanted more. I wanted to be my own woman and only depend on myself. I was the type of girl that didn’t need to be kept or owned.

It was the season between the season of winter and spring. My family expected me to either become the teacher for our small town or marry.They preferred the latter since they wanted to make sure that I was not only taken care of, a mommy, but also protected from heathens. I was never going to be able to leave these shackles unless I was going towards other shackles. I found several advertisements for teachers wanted in California.
‘Papa, I’m going to be ok. The stagecoach will have men to protect the women on their long journeys not to mention husbands of other women. I won’t be alone and I’ll have a greater chance of meeting a more suitable husband.’
‘Permelia, stagecoaches get robbed, lost, or savaged.’ My father would stress but it was my mother that was the voice of reason. I kiss my parents’ goodbye, packed trunks, and a basket full of food I was off to California. The only problem was the facade of which they let me go. When they thought I was going to be a teacher I was actually heading towards the small remote mining town of Bodie, California.

The stagecoach ride was absolutely miserable. It was uncomfortable after the first few hours, not to mention the dust, the cold nights, and only stopping to take care of the ponies or the drivers needed a full night’s rest. After 6 weeks I was a new resident of Bodie, California. The town was mostly men and the women that were there were either the wives of miners or entertainers. I wasn’t going to be neither. I was going to be the owner of a business. I’m not going to be a wife, mining for gold, or entertain. My father and mother sent me with a dowry of sorts. I basically had enough money to rent for a year or I can go and double that playing cards. I had been playing poker with the schoolyard kids since I was old enough to count. After procuring a hotel room, shower, clean clothes, and food I set off to the saloon across the way. After turning down several propositions and courting promises I was able to slip in on a poker game. Six hours later I had quadrupled my money.

The next morning I woke, had a belly-warming breakfast, and started asking about the large 3 story building that was up for sale. It was a boarding house but there weren’t enough people to fill the rooms and the hotel was cheaper than the house’s prices so the owner closed the doors and left town. I purchased the property at a steal since I was paying in cash on that day. I really got a deal because the place was entirely furnished and all I needed to do was figure out what to do with my new home. After a few months of preparing the rooms and waiting for supplies to arrive, I noticed that other women were showing up but were only settling for what they had or could do. Entertain with their bodies. What if I could teach them to read, write, and become successful on their own terms. Men were looking for wife material and since the town was full of men and woman would do but what if I could prepare them to stand out from the rest? This was my business. Permilia’s School of Homestead Domestics was born.

Signs went up and women started to arrive a few at a time. I held classes on etiquette, cooking, sewing, reading, writing, cleaning, and economics. If they did decide to go the entertaining avenue then they would have a good head on their shoulders. Slowly word got out about what and who I was teaching and the gentleman callers came knocking. They needed my permission to court and I made sure that every date had a chaperone. The girls actually dated before marriage and there was a mandatory dating period. My girls were not for abusing or using. We held parties in the main parlor so everyone had a chance to socialize. Don’t get me wrong there were many times that a knife or gun was pulled or someone tried robbing me but I was quicker on the draw. I soon gained a reputation for a woman not to be trifled with. I had many proposals but after everything that I built, I was more than content with the family I have created within my school.

After a while, men married their one and only gals of their lives and moved to better places after other booming towns were said to be better. As the men left the need for my type of services became obsolete. I then turned my domestics school into a boarding house for the weary travelers that needed a good night’s sleep and hot food. I even taught school to the younger children until their families have moved away as well. I could have left but it wasn’t in me to give up. The gentleman that owned the mercantile asked me to marry him and I accepted. I was older and content with my life. We both needed company. Howard died shortly after and I was to follow a year later.

As you’re standing in my now dusty silent parlor, close your eyes and imagine red velvet, laughter, glasses clinking, the bustling of women’s dresses, the smell of cigar smoke, dirt, perfume and the piano playing in the background. It was a majestic site to see. It was a magnolia in the middle of a mining town.


Jo/© thecreativeptsdgal.wordpress.com
Ghost Town
Western Mining Town-Bodie, California
Women During Gold Rush

Lenore’s Energy

Vampire fiction covers the spectrum of literary work concerned principally with the subject of vampires. After doing a little research I thought I would write about a Psi. Intentional Psychic Vampires are humans who possess great telepathic abilities. They use these abilities to knowingly draw the life force from others. Then there is the unintentional psychic vampire as well. Throw in a little love and evil and I have an outline for a longer story! But here is my letter V topic for the A to Z Challenge.


When you think of ‘vampire’ you probably go to a blood-sucking monster that preys on humans during the night or how about the ones that are vegan and glitter in sunlight? There are many categories of vampires but the ones that everyone thinks about are the bloodsuckers. No, I was neither and did love a good picnic at the beach or a hike in the woods. I don’t have fangs, I looked great in a mirror, and died a mortal death. Yes, now I’m immortal just not in human form. I’m something called an earthbound spirit and no that’s not a ghost.

When I was alive, I was told that I was a Psi either because I was abused as a child, lost my way with God, or was extremely ill as a child. I never lost my way with God because my mother drugs me to mass every Sunday, Wednesday confession, and any other church activity she thought I needed. I wasn’t abused when I was little. Hell, my father would’ve killed anyone that put their hands on me. Nope, I was extremely ill when I was two until the age of five. This ultimately was my ending but also part of the reason why I did and can do what can do. For three years I was bedridden, ran fevers, lived off of bone broths and mashed potatoes that my mother and grandmother would cook. My father would take me to a special park in the middle of the woods that he had built just so I could play away from other children. I wasn’t lonely by any means. My father presented me with a Rottweiler puppy when I was two and were inseparable.

I didn’t live off of other people’s blood but needed energy. I had my own energy but I was drained so easily. That’s when my grandmother insisted that I have visitors and usually set up play dates with someone that was younger than me. ‘We don’t want her to get hurt with older children. This way they are more equal in health.’ Seemed like a legitimate argument. During our playdates, the children would wear out easily and that’s when we had lunch and then napped in separate rooms. The children would wake refreshed and they went home shortly after napping. As I got older I wasn’t forced to play with anyone and was able to choose my own friends. Over time I noticed that the teens that I would hang out with would get tired and start to doze off. I was already in several car wrecks because the drivers would fall asleep at the wheel. That’s when I learned to take public transportation or ride my bike.

It wasn’t until my grandmother had gotten old and frail and decided to tell me what she knew about my special ability.
‘Lenore, sweetheart, I need to tell you something about yourself that you didn’t know. Please keep an open mind. I’m telling you this because it will help you in the future. First and foremost, when I die do not mourn me being gone. I’m not going to be gone just in a different form. There are many of us in this world both human form and earthbound entities. We are what people call a Psi or energy vampire. We drain energies from people. It’s more of a curse than a gift and it only happens to people that have had something significant happen to them when they were young or something self-induced that changes how their energy flows.’

This all made sense to me considering I learned after my first serious relationship where I was intimate for the first time. Afterward, I felt like I could run two marathons but my boyfriend could barely move. I noticed that when I was around certain people they would start yawning and I felt more alive and creative. She explained that we can astral project ourselves while people sleep and gain energy that way. It’s the safest for the other individual because their energy replenishes as they sleep. They may be a little tired in the morning but are healthy. She assured me that what we do isn’t fatal and we are not like the ‘movie’ vampires everyone thinks off. ‘When we die, our energy survives this world and we continue to seek out energy. After some of us pass we become guides for spirits to pass onto the other side or we protect human life from evil entities. Whatever paths you choose remember to always feed off the sleeping.

My grandmother’s funeral was beautiful and I talked to her every night, learning about being a Psi. I have to admit my funeral was beautiful too. I didn’t have a family for fear of my body taking my children’s energy but had a great love in my life. He never seemed to age nor was I able to take his energy. I watch over him decade after decade and he hasn’t found another love since I left my physical body. But that’s for a different story about two different species of vampires falling in love. For now, my energy lives on as I protect the living from some of the evilest spirits anyone has ever come in contact with.


Jo/© thecreativeptsdgal.wordpress.com

Tabitha’s Wards

Urban fantasy is a subgenre of fantasy in which the narrative has an urban setting.[1][2] Works of urban fantasy are set primarily in the real world and contain aspects of fantasy, such as the discovery of earthbound mythological creatures, coexistence or conflict between humans and paranormal beings, and other changes to city life. The two share 90% of their genre DNA. However, the main differences are this: Urban fantasy focuses on an issue outside of a romantic relationship between two characters. Paranormal romance focuses on a romantic relationship between two characters and how outside forces affect that relationship. Trying to get out of the mindset of what has been done and examples can be difficult until I look at my son’s plant.


Our neighborhood in Magnolia Creek is every iconic family-friendly neighborhood street everyone paints. There is beautiful blooming trees and flowers during the spring and holiday decorations into the winter. There is a toy store that creates beautiful displays but has a special ‘display reveal’ just for Christmas. There’s the Ice Cream Parlor on the corner that serves remarkably creamy ice-cream-scoop cones and a Pizza Restaurant right next to it. The scent of marinara sauce and garlic will draw you right in the front door. There is the coffee shop/used bookstore next to an art supply store that has items from paint to photography. The pharmacy and grocery are not on the block but across the intersection tucked neatly behind large old oak trees as if it’s been there for centuries. Truth is, this small town has been around for centuries and the creatures within.

As you’re driving away from getting groceries, stopping for your favorite pizza, your going to drive towards the town’s nursery. This end of the main road leads into the town’s small plantation-inspired home neighborhoods complete with wrap around porches and iron gates. Past these homes, the road leads to farming lands and houses that are by themselves picture perfect on rolling hills. Before the neighborhood is my family’s Magnolia Creek Nursery, which is caddy-corner from the largest plantation style home which has been passed down through the family. The home came with the business or vice versa. Either way, I was born into this world, both worlds with a requirement of the name ‘Tabitha’ to always be in the family. I’m Tabitha but so is my mom and was my grandmother and her mother.

Our nursery grows and sells trees, shrubs, bushes, flowers, vegetable, fruit bushes, and herbs. We also have a beautiful assortment of stones and bricks. During Halloween, we sell some of the largest pumpkins in the tri-county area and bails of hay. At Christmas, we decorate the nursery, have snowman competitions, sell hot chocolate that features some of our greenhouse grown mint, and have the most magical looking trees for people to buy and decorate with their family’s ornaments. We even have a separate greenhouse for herbs. This was my specialty but not for reasons you would think. I do have a green thumb and can grow just about anything or help just about any dying plant. It’s my specialty because I can fill a certain order for certain customers due to my bilingual tongue. I was born with a rare gift that allowed me to speak to pixies. Our Nursery was home to the entire world’s population of these creatures. They do leave the safety of the nursery but it’s to help areas where there were wildfires or forestation that almost kill the wildlife.

A quick bit of information. THere are small towns all over the world that cater to the preservation of mythical creatures both small and large, winged and finned, dark and light. After the war on mythical creatures witches both good and bad have made a vow to protect what creatures are left. Have you ever drove through a picture-perfect town or the creepiest village as if you walked into a ghost story? If the town is too good to be true or to eerie that you wished wasn’t true, then it’s a foster town. Because both dark and light witches have vowed to take care of our world’s mythical creature there is an unspoken truce between us. There will be certain arguments from time to time but nothing that endangered our wards. Tabitha is a name that Pixies trust and is why the name must be passed down. In order to have a girl named Tabitha, I have 7 older brothers. They don’t have the gift of pixie speech which is Sylvan but they do have special jobs at the nursery to help take care of our wards from heavy lifting, being playful, to the protector.

The only danger to our mythical wards is each other. Some creatures are sworn enemies of others and some have an appetite that are like potato chips to them, you can’t eat just one. So our picture perfect or not so perfect towns are placed strategically around the world to keep mingling from occurring. It was a sunny morning when I went to the greenhouse to bid hello to the Pixies, bring them freshly baked bread and get ready for the day of filling herb orders for other witches when I noticed that the Pixies weren’t eating. I asked them what was wrong in their native tongue but all they did was prepare but for what I didn’t know. I went and asked my mom if there were any secret messages sent through flames but there was nothing. I tried to fill herbal orders but our herbs were luscious and green as usual.

We were all sitting down for dinner when my mother noticed that my brother Gunner was missing. My family went to look for my brother and I went to look after the pixies. When I got to the greenhouse they all swarmed over to me and hid under my apron, in my pockets, in my red curly tendrils, anywhere they could fit they were there. I could hear my brother hollering from the back of the nursery. The Pixies wouldn’t allow me to leave the greenhouse but I could see through the window that gunner was full of dirt and he was rubbing his wrists. My mother comes into the greenhouse,
‘Tabitha, I need you to do something that you would never do. I have prepared your room with all sorts of plants, potted trees and bushes, herbs, and some flowers. Essentially, I have turned your room into a greenhouse. Magnolia Creek is under attack.’ My mouth dropped open. I’m too young for a battle to protect the pixies. Who am I kidding, anyone is too young for this kind of battle. That’s when I realized this is because of an older witch. Before I could speak,
‘Tabitha listen to me. I need you to take the pixies to your room. You will have to make the walk alone. I need to stay behind and enchant the greenhouse and our nursery.’

I made sure all of my wards were with me and I didn’t walk. I ran and didn’t stop until I was in my room. The Pixies started to relax a little but the younger ones were still crying and upset. Usually, there is singing, playing, games, and helping plants grow but this time the younger ones stay close to my bed where my mother placed a large peace lily. I started to cast protection spells and incantations and the little ones worked on the peace lily. Gunnar was ok but he was the guard at my door. He’s one of the last lines of defense and I’m the last. My job is to keep these creatures safe because they have a job to do for future generations. I turned on the radio and learned that the entire town was started to turn dark and the greenery started to die. It was like the town was dying and without the pixies being able to go into the community to help ward off whatever this was attacking the town, it looked like every other town.

I could hear my mother yelling for Gunnar to stay put but to stay alert. THen I heard Gunnar outside my door, ‘Bram! What the hell are you…’ his question was stifled by what I wasn’t sure. Next thing I knew my door was pushed down by mud and the ugliest Goblin rode the mudslide into my room and after him, Bram entered. He was the warlock sworn to protect the goblin race from across the sea. The goblins do the opposite of what pixies do. Instead of helping things grow and live, they slowly torture and murder living things. Pixies and goblins will fight to the death if no one is there to intervene. More and more goblins came storming into my room and the Pixies were by my side in a matter of seconds. There was a flash and I thought I failed at my job. There were smoke and the scent of sulfur. When the air cleared I saw Bram on the floor with my mother and Gunnar standing over him with wands fashioned from herbs and apple branches. The goblins did seem to be affected any by Bram being unconscious and out of nowhere, I started speaking in a language that I didn’t even know. I looked at my mom as the Goblins started cowering and backing out of my room.

My mother stood beside me and said, ‘You are speaking Ghukliak. It’s the language of the Goblins. This means that you are both dark and light. This means you are the balance that is needed to maintain peace between all the mythical creature. THere is a lot to do!’ Her eyes were bright and her excitement was almost frightening. ‘Tabitha, first we are going to contact Bram’s family to work out a trade for the treacherous son. Then you will command these goblins to head home. Then we need to talk to the Mother Goddess and make arrangements for your future. The Pixies were back safely in their greenhouse feasting on honey wheat grain bread and Bram is the center of the arranged trade which came with him relinquishing his goblin wards over to me. I now have two mythical creature wards. I had spent some time with the goblins and they aren’t as bad as I thought. They just bring balance to life and view things differently.

The Mother Goddess was accepting of my dual abilities but informed me that I’m much more than I realize. My family and I were direct descendants of Brigid. It has taken many generations for both the light and dark to reside within one human form. It means that I have the heart that is needed to keep balance. I was then blessed with immortality. Whenever there is a threat of battles or an extinction of a creature I am there to keep balance.


Jo/© thecreativeptsdgal.wordpress.com

Pixie Language
Pixies
Goblins

 

Defiling Innocence

True crime is a non-fiction literary and film genre in which the author examines an actual crime and details the actions of real people. Crime stories are separated into three areas: Fiction, Non-Fiction, and Half-Fiction. Half-Fictions are crime stories about something that really happened, but the characters (mostly the conversations) and the procedures regarding how the crime was committed are not really based on a definite source but simply just a theory. I’m going to try to write the True Crime Half-Fiction. Everyone involved in the crime and covering up another crime is either dead, dying, feeble-minded, or hiding from what they had done to a beautiful, innocent woman. I have purposely left some parts out because it was to difficult for me to write.


CONTENT WARNING: Content May Be Offensive or Disturbing to Some Audiences.This article or section, or pages it links to, contains information about assault, suicide, abuse, violence or murder. Reader discretion is advised.

Carson was a man who did bad things but it didn’t necessarily mean he was a bad mad. That sounds like a contradiction but there’s a lesson in the crimes and the truth isn’t what you think it will be. Carson was a man with a family that he adored and loved. He had a daughter that was his pride and joy that he would do anything to protect. Even though he was a blue-collar working, Harley Davidson riding, family man he also held a past that both haunted and lived with him.

It was a hot southern summer of 1983 in a small town in Texas. I could hear my uncles’ motorcycles pulling into the driveway. I have come to fall in love with that sound of thunder. Carson kissed me, his little girl on the forehead, hugged his wife goodbye and said, ‘I’ll see y’all at supper. I ran off to play with my grandmother and our Rottweilers listening to my dad and extended family pull away. My grandmother left me to play outside to help host all my extended aunts showing up to the house and as they started showing up so did my playmates. Us kids screamed, played, make-believe, and ran as the women prepared food and the tables. My father’s house was large enough to host over 50 bikers and their significant others so that was never a problem.

Supper time came and the guys still weren’t back. Moms decided to go ahead and feed us little ones and after they would either head home and wait for their husband and boyfriends there or they would camp out with me in the backyard. It got dark enough for us to play with the fireflies and make s’mores and eventually we all started falling asleep. It was almost midnight when bikes were heard. I remember my mother asking where my father was along with other women asking where so and so was then when they were told what happened they all headed to the jail to try to post their guys bail.

One of the riders, Stacey, was always being pulled over for his past and the fact that he rode a motorcycle. Only this time when he was pulled over and his person was searched. Drug paraphernalia was found and on Carson too. Bad things don’t constitute a bad man. Stacey was also a possible suspect for drug and gun dealing as well the law enforcement just needed a reason to bring him in for questioning.  Bail was posted but Carson had to return for the next 12 weekends to serve as at the jail. He would do the custodial jobs and sleep there Friday and Saturday but made it home for Sunday dinners with me, his daughter. The cops had another agenda that they were pursuing after my father, Carson wouldn’t rat on his buddy. They went after Stacey’s wife, Amanda.

Unfortunately, she had many speeding tickets and it was the perfect opportunity to pull her over for felony speeding. She received the same deal as Carson, only to serve weekends because she had two children and the judge felt it was better for her to come during the days and go home at night. Stacey had asked Carson to watch over his wife Amanda in the jail. Carson and Amanda would run into each other every day because my father was allowed to go to the woman’s side of the jail to mop and scrub the floor and walls. A conversation that took place was when Carson told Stacey that the officers and the guards would taunt Amanda and ask her about her husband Stacey. She never ratted or said an unkind word about Stacey or even to the guards and officers. A moment worth noting: When Carson and Amanda arrived at the jail they were given the clothing uniform that all inmates wore. This included slip-on shoes, no belts, no ties of any kind.

One morning Carson arrived and throughout the day didn’t see Amanda. He ended up over at the women’s side to mop out the cells and scrub toilets when he finally saw Amanda. She was hung from the cell’s bars with shoelaces. Carson made note that the laces didn’t match her own. Carson started crying and wailing for help when he rushed to Amanda’s side. His fingers weren’t working as he tried to untie the laces. The guards tried pulling my father off of Amanda and for some reason, the questioning officers that had visited Amanda and Carson frequently, were there to beat him over the head to gain is compliance. Laying on the ground, bleeding, he saw that the laces were so tight that one of the officers had to use a knife to cut Amanda’s body down. No one tried to revive her and as they turned her over Carson saw bruises on her ribs and boot prints on her back before her shirt was pulled back down into place. My father didn’t complete his day. He didn’t go home either. Instead, he went straight to Stacey’s house.

When Carson pulled up on his bike Stacey was out in his driveway working on his bike. Obviously, no one has told Stacey about his wife. Carson was scared because he knew Stacey loved his wife fiercely and knew once the truth was out that the ‘good ‘ol boy system with the virtue of an eye for an eye’ commence. As Carson approached Stacey an unmarked car pulled up. The officers asked to speak to Stacey alone but he insisted that Carson can hear whatever they had to say. Carson’s eyes were red from crying because of what he witnessed. The officers began to tell Stacey that his wife had committed suicide in the jail cell this morning and that no note was left. Carson was disgusted by the mundane nature of the officers that clearly knew the truth but wouldn’t’ reveal the real villains.

Stacey was beside himself when Carson slowly told him what he had witnessed when he found Amanda. It killed him to find his best friends wife hung from the bars. The two men sat and talked about what could have possibly happened. The conclusion was that Amanda was questioned by the officers and it went too far because she chose to protect the love of her life. The officers knew what they had done was too brutal and to cover up their crime they decided to murder her and stage it as a suicide. The thin blue line protected the maliciousness of the officers while her young children mourn a mother. The funeral was beautiful but Stacey decided on a closed casket because he didn’t want his children to remember their mother lifeless.

Weeks later, when my uncles’ bikes pulled into my father Carson’s driveway I wasn’t allowed greet them. In fact, I was ushered away along with my mother and grandmother. We listened to music with a higher volume than usual. The plan that the men ultimately devised was to avenge Amanda’s death, protect all the other wives, and send a message. Stacey wasn’t going to turn himself in and he wasn’t going to allow this to happen again in our town. Corrupt officers and guards were their targets.

One by one the officers either met their fate or escaped it by Stacey’s decision. People died, people lived, but the one thing that was revealed through Stacey’s and Carson’s form of interrogation was the truth. Amanda arrived that morning and reported to the kitchen for her cooking duties. There a guard approached her to have her cell searched. Even though she didn’t sleep at the jail she was assigned a cell. While Amanda watched her cell being tossed she was shown a joint that was found in her mattress. From their 3 officers and 4 guards sat her down and began questioning her about the joint. Obviously, it wasn’t hers but it was the opportunity to question her and hopefully break her silence on her husband’s small criminal enterprise. The officers wanted to make a name for themselves and the guards wanted to move up in the ranks. They broke her silence when one of the officers punched her in the face and she fell to the ground. She screamed for help. From there every time she said that she didn’t know or wouldn’t answer she was kicked or punched and that was followed by her cries of pain and terror. After she was beaten unconscious, the guard took laces out of his boots and all 7 of the men involved tied her to the bars making it look like she killed herself. Sadly, Amanda was still alive when she was choked to death against the cold iron bars as the men stood and watched. All this happened when the prisoners were at breakfast. The slipped out of the cell like snakes and left her body to be found. Unfortunately, it was my father, Carson.

The guard learned before he was hung by Stacey, that Amanda had no knowledge of what Stacey was doing. He protected her and she thought that all the money earned was from his job in the oil field. Stacey took care of the finances so she had no reason to question it.  She was a devoted wife and mother and helped other’s whenever she could. Her friends were all of the women that were with the men that rode the bikes. The memories of these people live on in me. Amanda was a kind and gentle woman. My father, Carson helped Stacey in his need for revenge and justice. From day one to the last day, it took almost 2 years. Because Carson did bad things doesn’t make him a bad man. He did what needed to be done to bring decency to his friends’ wife, make it clear that the corrupt officers and guards need to be held accountable, and to protect his own family. Stacey never married again.


Jo/© thecreativeptsdgal.wordpress.com

Friendship and Football

The school story is a fiction genre centering on older pre-adolescent and adolescent school life, at its most popular in the first half of the twentieth century. Plots involving sports events, bullies, secrets, rivalry, and bravery are often used to shape the school story. I think the worst part is that I know nothing about boarding school situations as I had attended public school. Harry Potter is often referred to as the reemergence of the genre…yeah like I can do anything like J.K. Rawling. I will attempt a short story of sorts.


Our schools were always rivals even from when our parents attended. Years and years of competitiveness and bragging rights after a game won, it just came naturally. It wasn’t something that was taught just something that was. So when my parents moved us to our rivals’ town I wasn’t the happiest kid on the planet. We pulled up to the house and all I felt were the new neighbor kids judging me for being their sworn enemy. ‘Dad, why did we move here? You could have found another job in our old town. You’re doing this just to punish me. I have no friends and won’t have any friends. Do you know what school I’ll have to go to?’ I could see my dad roll his eyes but he let me whine for a little bit before barking, ‘Get out and start taking your boxes to your room. We have the weekend to get this done because you have school on Monday. Might as well get it all over with now.’ That’s when I rolled my eyes.

All weekend we were stared at but Monday at school was even worse. I knew no one and thought I would be able to blend in as just a new student until my first-period teacher spoke, ‘Class, I would like you to welcome Megan to our school. She comes all the way from Tigerton.’ Only two people clapped. I’ve now been sentenced to middle school death. All through the day no one really talked to me and even had a delightful spitball thrown at me. Gym class is what I was great at. When I run or play any kind of sport I tend to relax and zone out all my problems. Today, was dodgeball day. My new classmates learned real fast I have excellent aim and since I don’t have friends I didn’t care about who I slammed with the ball.

Over the next few weeks, the bullying was at a minimum. I think it’s because they have seen I am a force to be reckoned with in gym class. I have managed to make a few friends but not the ones that are popular. They are just as much as outcasts as I am but we had so much fun together and a friendship of honesty, loyalty, and compassion. We enjoyed sleepovers, campouts, and showing each other our hobbies. We rode our bikes to the library to do research on local town legends and to see what kind of trouble we could get into. It was in the middle of fall that we decided to join the experimental all girls football team. There were no flags or touch football. No, we got to play football like the boys did. Later, we learned the only reason our school seemed to be moving forward is that our rival school or my old school were doing the experiment first. Does this make me a rival with my old friends? I haven’t heard from them since I moved.

At practices, my new friends and I were extremely good at the sport. We had no fear. Becuase I had grown close to the twins Sandra and Samantha, Melissa, Ashlee, and Kimber, we were unstoppable. The other girls on our team didn’t really want to hang out with us but that really didn’t matter. They only acknowledged that we existed when our scrimmage team would win. As he leaves began to change colors and the wind had a little more briskness it was the signal of our first game. Outside of all the bullying, outcasting, and ostracizing, we were ready. Ready to prove to the school that it was ok to be different. I was teased about our the first game was at my old school, my new school’s rival. Girls on my own team expressed concerns that I wouldn’t play so the other team would win.

The night before the game my friends and decided that we would have a sleepover to help get over the nervousness. We pigged out on pizza, ice cream, and fell asleep to the movie, ‘The Gate.’ We had watched it a million times so it was more background noise than anything. Before we all had fallen asleep we had made a pact that no matter what happened tomorrow that we would have each other’s back at the game. Both on the field and off the field.

We were sitting in the locker room getting the pep talk from our coach but the truth was no one was really paying any attention. Our nerves were louder than any Go Get Em’ speech. ‘Don’t blow it, Megan. If we lose we will all know where your real loyalty is,’ Stacey said pushing past me. She was one of the most popular girls which meant that she was also the meanest. As we ran onto the field I could hear a familiar voice. One that once brought me comfort and warmth. I looked across the field and seen my best friend Jules. We had grown up together and even had the chicken pox together. She hasn’t called me once since I moved. We made eye contact but sadly she never waved back. At that moment, I not only felt pain but more devoted to my new school and friends.

The first quarter we were down by 7 but it felt like a million. The second quarter we came back ahead by three. I had taken some really hard hits and I could feel it in my back. Sandra and Samantha were the first to tell me to sit the third quarter out after halftime but I really wanted to be in the game. I had to prove to myself that I am as much of a Woodchuck as my friends. I may not have grown up in this town but it is my new home and I’m as much a part of it as anyone else. I made it to the last five minutes of the fourth quarter. Jules and I were set to tackle each other in the next play. She whispered to me that I betrayed her. How in the hell did I betray her? It wasn’t my decision to moves and I couldn’t exactly help it. I groaned getting up off my back. Jules hit me so hard I was seeing spots. My friends were right there asking how many fingers did I see and if I could feel their hands on my legs. I sat up more angry than defeated. Jules smirked over her shoulder while her team was huddled.

‘Megan, sit this one out. You’re hurt. We can do this without you and you gave us a great advantage.’ At that moment it wasn’t my friends telling me all of this, it was my team. My family. This gave me the strength I needed and combine that with my new found devotion I was ready to win. The ball was passed to me and I took off to score the winning touchdown. The twins ran interference and there was great blocking but Jules got through and had me in her sights. I tucked the football in tight dug in deep. Just before I reached the line I could see Jules at my side so I did the only thing I could do. I took the leap for the goal line when I felt the punch to my side. She had rammed into me like a great white shark into its prey. Everything went white.

I woke up on the sidelines with my friends all around me. The first words out of my mouth were, ‘Did I get the touchdown?’ ‘Not only did you score the final touchdown, you got the points we needed to win the game.’ My coach said to me as I was loaded into the ambulance. In my hospital room, my friends didn’t leave my side. I had two broken ribs and a bruised hip. I was going to be released the next day. Jules walked in and my friends formed a wall between her and I. ‘I just wanted to see Megan. How are you doing?’ She asked shyly. ‘She’s fine.’ Kimber spoke with protective authority. ‘Why did you not call?’ I asked over my wall of friends. Jules stepped forward. ‘Guys, can you give us a minute?’ Jules left and my friends entered after she and I finished talking. ‘You ok?’ ‘I’m fine, but one question. Who are we playing next? We have to keep this momentum going.’


Jo/© thecreativeptsdgal.wordpress.com

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