Drabbles

A three year old boy strums on his new guitar, like a cat purring.

He’s been hitting upended pots since he was one. Using any microphone shaped object to sing into since he was two. Now he’s three and the real music can begin.

Performing for his first audience, in his parents’ kitchen his song fills the room with happiness, like a balloon filling with helium.

In twenty years, time he might be a doctor or an astronaut or a teacher or farmer or be playing at Glastonbury, but right now, at the age of three, he’s a rock star.

“No heart beat,” says the sonographer, “Measures about ten and a half weeks.”

The size of a shrimp, the woman thinks. But still visible in black and white; head, body, legs drawn up and arms closed tight.

But that’s it.

There’s no movement.

Silence.

Feeling nothing, except unintended moisture slide down the right side of her face, the would-be-mother stares at the ceiling.

“At this age it wasn’t anything you did,” continues the sonographer, “It wasn’t your fault.”

She tries to shed guilt, like snakes shed skin. But is unaware how much she’ll have to let go, to get through.

Known for his bravery, Lee King has tracked a unicorn, and found a missing Griffin.  His hardest mission yet is to find himself.

The last time he was seen was nearly a year ago. There have been numerous sightings, but these all turned out to be facsimiles of the brave Lee King.

A year ago, was also the time the WereCat appeared.

Yes, Lee King changed, and he must find out how or his future will be built on an unanswered question.

Will he wrestle the WereCat now or be hunted by it later?

Lee King is not a coward.

There are five Islands off the coast of Janaru.

Every other year Rachel would sail to the second Island to visit her Ancestors, the Witch and the Wizard of Falma.

Playing in their gardens, running circles round their giant pet spider, walking the narrow lanes, mastering castles on the beach and taming the waves of the ocean, she trained to become an Ancestor.

Then one year, the year she came of age, she sailed to the third island and watched the moon darken the sun.

That was the year a Wizard died, and a Witch was born.

Rachel never returned.

Dragons of the Northern Mountains are known by the beast within.

They can transform at will.

But sometimes one will go too far and stay a beast. These become Wild Dragons, Lost-Names.  One Lost-Name didn’t Turn because of a tragedy or circumstance, he chose to Turn and killed a village the night he did.

Forbidden from killing their own kind, the Dragon Queen called on a Malekhi, of the Middle Kingdom, a Warrior named Tiller, to hunt the Lost-Name.

An epic battle ensued.

Tiller was triumphant. He was hailed a hero, and banished from the mountains for killing a Dragon.

There were once four dragon brothers. The eldest was Destruction, the second Annihilation, and the third Ruination but the last was named Flower.

Whilst his brothers destroyed, he nurtured. But whatever he created they would tear down.

They’d also call him Petal and Leaf, because these things were fragile and faded over time. But despite their taunts he still grew toward the sun. Taking her example, he shone bright every day and conserved his strength at night; the time his brothers were at their most violent. 

Until one day leaving nothing to destroy, they tore down themselves.

Then Flower bloomed.

There were once four sisters, who wore the suits of the Deck.

The eldest, the warrior, bore the emblem of the sword and the suit of Spades.

The youngest dressed her hair with flowers and leaves. Always favoured by Nature she wore the suit of Clubs.

The third sister was gifted by Fortune with treasures and jewels and wore the suit of Diamonds.

But the second sister, the off-centred one, was not a warrior. She didn’t feel favoured by Nature or gifted by Fortune. She was a giver. Caring for everyone in need, she wore the suit of the Heart.

At the Edge of the Light, just before the drop into the Chasm of Darkest Nothing, stands a sign announcing that “The Bridge is Coming Soon”.

But what is a bridge?

A connection between two sperate places or a path someone has already taken.

The Mortal Master died in the Wild.  Following the unbound Red Tape to the Chasm of Darkness Nothing, he steps over to the other side without a thought.

But then reaching back, he offers a hand, like a big brother helping a younger sibling cross the stepping stones.

The waiting is over.  The Bridge has arrived.

The judgement of others is hard to ignore, and we carry it like weights around our hearts. Sometimes they’re too heavy and we fall.

Although they can’t remove the weights we choose to carry, our families inspire us to get back up. Our friends share the load and every day strangers help.  

Stumbling in our choices, we keep going for those around us, even when we fall again, are stripped of our identity and defined by others.

We might lose ourselves, be buried by their hate, jealousy and fear but we will rise stronger.

We’ll keep struggling to be good.

“Obsession is the state of being continually preoccupied,” she quotes from dictionaryonline.

“See, I told you,” says her friend, stretching out on the just-made-bed, like a satisfied cat. “You’re definitely preoccupied with Theo.”

“Obsession makes me sound like a stalker.”

 “You’ve taken Maths and Computing because you knew he’s doing those subjects.”

“I choose Computing because I want to be a software designer.”

“At least you can still rationalise your decisions. You haven’t fallen completely.”

“Just mostly,” sighs the girl and falls back on the bed. “What do you do when you’ve mostly fallen.”

“Climb back up or let go?”