NaNoWriMo Best of the Daily (10)

     Maiden Abbot was true to her word and had stood like a raptdactyl ready to dive into a dead carcass, overseeing Terra’s washing of the floor, her shoes, and gathering of her soiled garments.  Pointing to the portal, the furious woman had ordered her to her quarters after confiscating her dinner token.  Terra wasn’t upset over that punishment, since she couldn’t have eaten a bite anyway.  She stood in her child sized zero-gravity mist chamber and let the crystallized water droplets moisten and exfoliate her skin.  Participant-2014-Square-ButtonIn her grief, she stood there so long that the operating system engaged the helpdesk, who asked if she was in need of assistance.  Pressing the “bake button,” as most Ancestrians referred to the radiant ionizer that dried any residual moistness remaining after a wash cycle, she’d donned a robe and curled up in her bunk.  There she’d remained, fetal position, until the following morning when the alarm woke her, and she lifted her wet face from the pillow.


Tune in for quick reads of the best (or least despicable) selections from the previous day’s word count, by virtue of my daily writing regimen for the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).

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NaNoWriMo Best of the Daily (9)

Participant-2014-Square-Button     Terra opened her eyes instinctively, but saw only the byzantium pool still holding her body lithe and graceful.  She closed them again and remembered the lighted strings that had formed chords as their ends became absorbed into her body.  But they were not here now, at least she did not see them – with her eyes.  She focused on her thoughts and feelings, her history and experience.


Tune in for quick reads of the best (or least despicable) selections from the previous day’s word count, by virtue of my daily writing regimen for the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).

Code: Yellow Butterfly – Part 2 of 2

Yellow-Butterfly-Macro - West Virginia - ForestWanderMusic reaches out from the little car’s speakers and wrestles with her mood.  Now drums – pumping her blood and thumping her foot.  Now strings – loosing her shoulders and strumming her heart.  She takes a deep breath and slows the car to the posted speed limit; she lets the sunshine fabric of the world outside saturate her soul.  “This is working,” she thinks.

Winding around the river twists of the road, she hums the change of tune – even smiles, just a little.  “This is working.”  Ahead, a fairy-like minstrel of peace is singing the sunlight through its tiny, yellow wings.  The butterfly – an electric symbol of her new attitude – darts, dances, bobs and bounces.  It tickles the scene like a paintbrush of cheer as she rounds the corner going 40 miles per hour.  Then someone pulls the plug.

The tiny harbinger dives suddenly – disappears in front of the car’s hood.  She doesn’t react.  Rabbits, foxes, deer, elk – these and more have trained her eye and steering against reacting in haste and dying on these Idaho roads.  The rear-view mirror plays the visual requiem as she watches.  The stringed instruments of her hope pluck the “money note” as the yellow dancer rises, high in the air.  Half a second after, the contralto that lives inside her mind wails the Verismo, that tragic truth she knew, deep down, was coming.  The butterfly falls, in a straight yellow line, to the road behind her. “You can’t change your mood today,” she tells the road ahead.  One last glance, to be sure, and the Aria of her intellect begins.  “You can only change your outside.”

Relaxing into her pissed off, grime of depression – she resolves to leave her anger in check with a simple strategy.  She imagines scenarios at work:  happy people, needy people, hurried and stressed people, all of them wanting more than a nod or smile as they approach.  “Yellow Butterfly!” she imagines her self talk as she encodes this lesson into her brain.  “Don’t kill it; don’t admire it; don’t think you can feed from its trough of positive energy.”  She pulls into the parking lot, turning everything motor or electronic off except her intentions.  She practices once more before walking inside.

“Yellow Butterfly – walk away!”

 

Lavie

Love Liebe 1You – who take me into the wilds of life and show me sunlight on a tree-hidden lake.  You – who reads me tiny of your conflicted soul and shares me tears from your tender love.  You – with your pillow swept hair and hard-earned freckles.  I love you.

I drifted in near wakefulness while still nestled in your lingering warmth.  And you came to me, curled up to me, and asked me.  Such tingles traveled from my ear to my neck, where you kissed me and planted your wet eyes.  It traveled to my muscles and rolled round my heart, electrified my back and legs and I had to stretch that morning stretch.

You – who bandage my fiscals and cover my scars, you water my passions and snip my anger, and you cook me sustenance and talk to me of spiritual things – the question was answered before it was asked.

Yes, Lavie.  I will marry you.

 


Photo by böhringer friedrich (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons