Lucifer Always Collects

Melchior entered the sanctuary of his office, striding angrily over to the sideboard and throwing ice into a glass.  His harsh breathing created a fog in the cold darkness of the room.  The remains of a fire and the lamp on his desk were the only illumination; he preferred it that way.   He muttered incoherently in his rage as he poured his drink.  His mind was already plotting his next move against the enemy.   Perhaps another assassination attempt...

 

"It isss time, Melchiorrr." the sibilant voice was low, but an echo of sinister certainty poured into the cavernous room.  A slithering rustle of movement emanated from the darkest corner, and the air became suddenly oppressive.

Melchior blanched. The drink he had just poured fell from suddenly numb fingers; the sound of the glass shattering was swallowed up by the darkness.  

 

Had it been a thousand years already? The bargain had not been completed!

"No! That cannot be!  I have not eradicated the dragon!"  Melchior's eyes searched the darkness.

"Neverthelessss."  The voice seemed to feed on the shadows, becoming more substantial as the darkness grew. 

"I am so close!"  Melchior screamed.  "I will not go!  I need more time!"

 

"You would dare argue with ME?"  Barking, gutteral laughter seemed to come from everywhere at once.

 

Melchior felt the tortuous weight of cold air pressing him into the floor.   A whispering of anguished screams skittered around the room, and an icy wind of displeasure stirred the papers on Melchior's desk.  An impossibly huge shape began to coalesce within the darkness in the center of the room.  The last embers of the fireplace flickered, fighting to maintain what little light they could.   

 

Melchior's eyes focused on escape.  He pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, a brief flicker of hope in his chest. He had left the door on the other end of the hallway open!  Freedom was ten steps away. 

An icy talon gripped his ankle, and a wail of despair was released from Melchior's lungs as he was dragged back into the darkness.  The sound of his screams accompanied his departure.

Write on Edge Prompt: This week, write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece about a time one of your main characters finds himself or herself paying back a debt–financial or otherwise.  This post goes along with this particular storyline.

Forever Is A Long Time

 "For the heart wants what it wants."

The gravelly voice came from behind me, just beyond my peripheral vision.  I sighed heavily.  My irritation at the interruption was compounded by the inconvenience of having to turn around in my seat to see who was speaking to me.

"Excuse me? "   I frowned as I put down the book I had been trying to read at the coffee shop and turned around to greet the person attached to the voice.

He was certainly not a keeper, to use the local phrase.  He was a bit on the short side, and he had a unibrow.   I had intended to look him in the eye, but the mole on his nose yanked my attention right to it. 

 "I said that the heart wants what it wants," the man was right next to me; I could see the pores on the parts of his nose not completely covered by that mole.   I stared at him in confusion, and he pointed helpfully at the book. 

"Your book--it's a biography of Emily Dickinson."

"Wha--oh."  I felt kind of stupid.  I frowned at myself.  How could I not know that?  The man, who I was already calling Unibrow in my head, stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Calvin.

"I've been watching you, and I think that you're the woman for me." Calvin said.  A small smile played about his large mouth.  "We are going to be together forever, you and me, that's what I think."

 I stifled a pang of disgust, trying to be polite without encouraging.  It never paid to get the crazy people riled up, my mother always said.   I didn't know this guy, but his assurance made me nervous.

"Okay, Calvin," I began gathering my things to leave.  I thought that I might have better luck reading at home.   "It was nice meeting you, but I have another appointment."

"I suppose that you do," Calvin smiled broadly as I brushed past him. 

I walked out of the shop and headed to my car.  The sun was still bright in the sky as I threw my things into the trunk and made my way to the driver's side. I barely registered the van parked next to me as I put my hand out to open my car door, and then I felt a bright spark of pain in my arm.  My body began to spasm, and I had time to wonder if I was having a seizure. 

Then I was falling into the iron bands of Calvin's arms. He quickly opened the side door of the van and lay me on the floor, putting the taser down and tying my arms and legs with the the duct tape he had ready. The tape was warm as he put it over my mouth, as if it had been in the van for some time.  He stepped back when I was secure, surveying his work.

"You're a keeper," Calvin said with a wide smile, as the door of the van slid closed. I didn't see the sun again.

Write on Edge Prompt:  Introduce a romantic interest or opportunity and see what happens.  I guess that romance is in the eye of the beholder. 

Write on Edge: Violence

Prompt:  As writers, we fall in love with our characters and shield them from negative events. But effective plot development demands conflict.  This week we’d like you to stir up some conflict, using the following quote as inspiration.

It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of nonviolence to cover impotence.
Mahatma Gandhi (1869 – 1948) 

This is continuation of this storyline.  I kind of felt that they went together.

"You owe me a new stereo, Andy."

I stood in the middle of my living room, panting from my exertion and my outrage, my hands curled into fists. I wanted to punch something. Somebody. I realized that Andy was talking to me; I hadn't been listening.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Zenna?"  Andy's voice was raised, his face red. 

"Excuse me?" I managed to keep my voice level.

"You've been standing there with your mouth hanging open, not listening to a thing I've said!  How could you be so rude?"

"You're going to have to do better than this." Andy continued.  "I have clients to impress."

I faced him.  My anger had been smelted into a white hot element composed of all the hurtful comments, the snide insults, all the little snips and cuts that had happened throughout our entire relationship.

"Maybe if you weren't so hideously boring," I heard myself say, "you wouldn't need me to impress your clients."

The right side of my face seemed to burst into flame and then I was falling.  I put my hands out, and the sound of my collarbone breaking was a shot in the sudden quiet.  The pain careened through my nervous system to collide with my brain. Panting, I pushed myself into a sitting position.

"Oh my God, Zenna!  Oh my God!" I glared at him with the eye that wasn't swelling shut. His face was white, his eyes huge and round.

"You can't tell anybody about this, Zenna! I'll be arrested--I'll lose my job!"  His voice had that wheedling quality that I loathed.

"Get out." I had to clench my teeth to speak, which made the side of my face throb even more. "Get out of my house. Right. Now."

WOE: The Cave Of The Old Ones

Prompt:  This week, we’d like you to take an honest look in your toolbox and pull out one of the tools you believe needs a little polishing. You could practice dialogue or character development, narrative description or setting, plot advancement or denouement.  I think that I have a weakness in narrative description; I was trying to be more sensory here.  I tend to want to get right to the meat, and skip the set up.  I'm also going to step out of first person, just because that is my comfort zone. Eeek!  

As always, concrit is extremely appreciated! 



Zenna woke up slowly, feeling the unfamiliar warmth surrounding her and snuggling into it until her back became painfully aware of the hardness of the floor beneath her.  Her abdomen fluttered in protest, the baby inside of her demanding movement.  Absently, her palm rubbed small circles on her already protruding belly in a calming gesture.  She took a deep breath, and the rich aroma of cinnamon, vanilla, sandalwood, and something unfamiliar filled her lungs.  Zenna blinked. 



And as her eyes opened, they were pulled upward to what should have been the darkness of the ceiling. Yet light was reflected off of even the tiniest speck of gypsum or quartz above her. Zenna was stunned by the intense beauty. It was as if the entire roof of the cavern had been removed and all the stars in the sky were streaming their light at her. 

It was also overwhelming; she closed her eyes again quickly and turned her head away.  She may not know where she was, but she was very certain that she did not want to vomit. 


Eyes still closed, Zenna sat up, gingerly, stretching to ease the dull pain in her back.  She crossed her legs in front of her.  A light breeze whispered over her skin and ruffled her hair. She smiled; it had almost sounded as though a large pair of wings had just stirred the air into movement.



"Welcome to my home, Zenna Boones-mate," a rich voice resonated in the cavern. "And welcome to your children, as well."

Red Writing Hood: And All Was Revealed

Prompt: This week, we’d like you to write a post – fiction or creative non-fiction – which begins with a countdown. “Three, two, one.” You pick what the countdown is for. The ideas above are just suggestions. Use your imagination and have fun with it! I am continuing to play with Zenna and Boone from last week's adventure.


"Three...two...one," a heavy sigh from behind me. My eyes covered, I waited; I sensed that Boone was stretching, unfurling after a long day. My tattoo throbbed, but I barely noticed.

"Okay. You can turn around," Boone said. "Remember--you promised. No hysterics!"

I waited to uncover my eyes until I was facing him.

Boone was crouched, one knee on the floor, to accommodate the space in my bedroom. From his shoulder blades extended leathery wings covered with iridescent green scales; the scales flowed over the rest of his body. I watched the light dance over them, and noticed that Boone's feet had doubled in size. Enormous claws had erupted from his toes. I followed the leg up into the chest and shoulders, to find him looking at me, intelligent green eyes glowing in a face surrounded by a green frilled collar.

The man I loved was really a dragon!

He stood up gracefully, aware of his position in the tiny room, and had to duck his head so it didn't end up in the attic. He towered over me, and it should have been intimidating and scary.

Instead, I stepped toward him, and his wings seemed to curl around my shoulders. My hands slid over him, slowly. His skin was cool to the touch, but softer than any other skin I'd ever felt. I leaned in close, closed my eyes, and inhaled Boone's incredible scent. This snapped a cord within me, releasing me from myself. At that moment, I desired nothing less than to let my lips replace my hands and continue my frenzy of exploration. Stepping closer to Boone's chest, I softly pressed my lips over his heart. He shuddered.

"Oh Boone," my voice a whisper. "You're magnificent." "I want you now, Zenna," his voice was a growl, barely contained. My breath hitched, my skin electrified.

Then his claws tore my shirt off in one move.

Red Writing Hood: The Doorbell

Prompt: We’d like you to craft a piece of fiction or creative non-fiction around the holiday season, keeping in mind that for some people “the holiday season” begins around Halloween and doesn’t end until well after the New Year is underway.
The piece should begin with “The doorbell rang” and end with “snow began to fall.”
This is fiction, and is sort of connected to this piece and this piece.

The doorbell rang. My tattoo felt hot on my skin, and I knew. I sighed heavily, wiped at my puffy eyes, pulled my robe closed, and shuffled downstairs. As I opened the door, I could hear the voices of carolers drifting in the cold air.

The man that I would love with my last dying breath stood there. Boone. The dragon who had ripped my heart from my chest with his sudden departure two months ago. The heat rolling off of him had melted all of the snow around the front door; I looked up to find Boone's green eyes glowing, his face haggard.

I bit my lip, willing myself not to cry in front of him, and moved toward the living room. He followed. I stood awkwardly in front of the Christmas tree. I clenched my teeth; my emotions were too raw for conversation. I wanted to just scream out my heartache; instead, I kept my eyes down. Boone reached out and wrapped his hand around my wrist, pulling me closer. His touch made my dragon tattoo writhe like a living thing. I cried out at the sensation and then I was pulled into his arms. He was still so much a part of me. My arms knew exactly where they fit to hold him close.

"You are in danger every second that we are together," Boone whispered into my hair. "You know my secret; you know what hunts me and my kind."

He pulled away, lifted my chin so that our eyes met.

"But I simply cannot be without you. I don't want to leave your side ever again. I love you, Z."

I pulled away from Boone and turned toward the window. My tears, and the snow, began to fall.


I can't keep writing about these characters using only pronouns! I like the name of Boone for the guy character, but I'm having trouble with the name for my heroine. Any suggestions?

Red Writing Hood: And Her Glory Shone All Around

Prompt: This week we’d like you to write a piece about hair. It can be about you or one of your characters where hair figures prominently. Don’t just describe it. Use it as a vehicle to tell us something about your character, a situation, you and your life. This is a continuation of my dragon story, here.

A dragon!

Drawn by the light of an enormous fire, Arik watched the dragon from his hiding place in the forest. He had witnessed the change from dragon to woman, stunned. He had stared in disbelief as she stumbled from the fire and crawled to the cooling waters of the lake. As she rose from the water to stand, smoke rolled away from her pale skin, and all was revealed to Arik in the moonlight.

He was transfixed.

Even wet, the dragon’s new hair caught the firelight and consumed it, until the rich obsidian waves seemed to glow in the darkness. Arik could not take his eyes off of the thick, rippling waves of hair that undulated down her shoulders to her waist. Her hair seemed to be a living entity, enticing in its sensuality. He wanted to grab those locks, to feel them flow over the bare skin of his hands. The urge was so visceral that Arik clenched his hands into fists, feeling those tresses slide through his fingers. He drew in a breath.

At his inhalation, the dragon turned slowly toward the darkness surrounding his hiding place, as if she could see Arik, or feel the weight of his stare. Her eyes glowed. He froze.

“I know that you are there, human.” To Arik’s ears, the dragon’s voice was melted chocolate. She held out an open hand toward him.

“Come.”

I should be afraid, he thought. No one would have called him coward for running. Instead, he was intrigued.

He stepped out of the forest and walked toward her.

Red Writing Hood: Roll with the Changes

Prompt: Find the song that will be played during the pivotal scene in the movie based on your magnum opus. With that song playing, write that pivotal scene – it’s your choice whether you write it as a screen play or as it’s played out in your novel. This is a continuation of my dragon story, with the tattoo, and the love interest. I think that I went a tiny bit over 300. Sorry.


I slipped the bartender a twenty when I had arrived, to keep the beers coming instead of questions. I was glad that the bar was quiet and empty for the moment. I was too lost in my thoughts to be on guard, and I didn't need a crowd.

My life seemed to have gone completely offline.

I stared at the tattoo that was now wrapped around my wrist. A red and gold dragon, coiled on the inside of my left wrist, so detailed that the eyes seemed almost to glow. So detailed that all that needlework would have hurt. A lot. Why didn't I remember it?

Andy had been very angry about the tattoo. I would make him look bad, he told me, and would keep him from getting the partnership. Maybe he was right, I thought, and signaled for another beer.

Ever since that gorgeous stranger had kissed me and the tattoo had shown up, things had been different. Nothing in my life was what I wanted anymore, I realized. I didn't want my job and I didn't want Andy. I felt as if I had fallen into an empty grave. I shivered at the image.

The jukebox near the door suddenly began blaring out a song. I turned around, startled.

He stood next to the jukebox, the man of my dreams for the past month. I drank him in, from the black cowboy boots to the smile on his face. That smile told me that anything was possible. My lips tingled, remembering his kiss, my heart coming alive again. He motioned for me to follow, and then stepped outside.

I took a deep breath, blew out the candle of my old life. Then I tossed back the last of my beer, threw some bills and my engagement ring on the bar, and followed that man out the door.

The tattoo on my wrist began to burn.

So if you're tired of the same old story
Oh baby, turn some pages...

Red Writing Hood: The Best Ice Cream

Prompt: This week, we’d like you to take us on an actual journey, specifically a road trip? Think about who is in the car. Where are they going and why? What’s on the radio or what are the travelers talking about?


Texas was made for road trips, Katie thought, as she buckled her seat belt and started the engine. The back roads of the state rolled into the horizon, begging to be explored. Katie blew out a sigh, impatient.

The passenger door was suddenly flung open, and Laura threw herself into the car.

"Whoop!" she yelled. Katie rolled her eyes.

"It's like a rule that you can only make that annoying a sound if you went to A&M, which you did not. Now buckle up."

Laura grabbed a duffel from the curb and swung it into the back seat. She closed the door and inserted a cassette into the stereo.

The first rumblings of ZZ Top's La Grange growled in the confines of the vehicle. Katie and Laura rolled down their windows; it wasn't officially a road trip unless the windows were down and ZZ Top was blaring. Katie slid her cheap sunglasses on her face and put the car in gear.

"HEY!!!!" Katie looked over Laura's shoulder to see Cathy standing next to the car, hands on her hips. She turned down the radio, kept her foot on the brake.

"Hey," Katie said, smiling at her roommate.

"Where are y'all going?" Cathy wanted to know.

"We're going to Brenham," Laura danced a little in her seat. "For Blue Bell ice cream."

"That's a three hour trip!" Cathy was incredulous. "Couldn't you just go to the Sac 'n' Pac and buy some?"

Katie looked at Laura. The two looked at Cathy and grinned.

"Nope." Katie said. "We'll see you when we see you."

She pulled away from the curb, and Laura turned up the ZZ Top, and the two girls hollered a goodbye as they left their cares behind.

Red Writing Hood: The Breakup

Prompt: I challenge you to write a conversation. This is fiction, and it was a bit out of my comfort zone!

He approached my locker when the hallway was congested with students struggling to get to class on time. I turned around, and he was there. Over his shoulder, I could see a group of his friends stationed at a discreet distance. For once.

"Hey," he said. He couldn't quite look me in the eye, but he was trying. He finally turned his head toward the exit at the end of the hall, and gave me peripheral eye contact. He seemed to be rocking side to side as he shuffled his feet.

"What's up?" The door to my locker slammed as I turned around, and I stood there stiffly hugging my books to my chest. We both stared at the exit sign for a couple of seconds, then I lifted my chin and faced his profile. I waited.

"Yeah, well..." he trailed off, head moving toward his shoulder in an eloquent shrug as he stared at the ground.

"Just tell me, David." I rolled my eyes. I shuffled my feet impatiently.

"I don't think we should go out anymore." David clamped his lips together. His jaw worked as though he were chewing the bones of his words. He looked over his shoulder at his friends.

I looked up at the ceiling, chewing my lower lip. I breathed in the stale, funky, hallway air. Then I let it all go in a rush, and shrugged.

"Okay. See you around." I walked quickly away from my locker, listening for the sound of the tardy bell.

Red Writing Hood: 8:00 PM

Prompt: This week I want you to take me to your version of 8:00 -AM or PM, fiction or creative nonfiction- in 200 words or less. This is a typical 8:00 PM at my house. I refuse to acknowledge mornings until at least 10:00 AM.


A knight in shining armor races by us, plastic duct-taped sword upraised. He is slaying dragons and saving the world. Behind him lie the remains of all that he has conquered. I laugh; my knight has his armor on backwards! I look over at my husband, who smiles back at me, and closes his laptop. We pull ourselves up from the couch.

My tiny hero gallops by us again, charging into the fray.

"Time for bed," I tell him.

Red Writing Hood: Victory

Prompt: Write a piece of fiction or creative non-fiction in which athleticism features prominently. I am definitely of the potato-shaped persuasion, but I am amazed every single day by kids who struggle to do activities that others take for granted. They are the true athletes; their battles are fought every single day, with no off season. This is fiction.

*clack*

*clack*

*clack*

Her feet fly over the ground of her mind, barely touching.

*clack*

The wind parts like a sea of tall grass as her strong legs propel her forward.

*clack*

Running is freedom, she has heard her mother say. So she runs.

*clack*

Her joy is boundless, her smile the sun, as she moves fleet-footed down the track.

*clack*

*clack*

Her arms are hurting where the steel of the crutches surround them.

*clack*

Her lungs feel ready to burst with her efforts to pull in enough oxygen.

*clack*

She sees the finish line. The crowd is there, waiting, cheering her on.

*clack*

In her mind, she runs past the finish line, her arms raised in victory.

Then she feels her legs collapse in their exhaustion. The crutches cannot help her stay upright. She falls. No matter; the crowd envelopes her in their elation.

Ten steps today. Tomorrow, the world.

Red Writing Hood: Zombie Love

For this week’s Red Writing Hood prompt: Compose a post in the form of a text–160 characters. Your text must elicit or express fear.


Tap-tap-tap

Long bloody nails scrape the glass outside.

True love!

I killed her twice.

Until I join her, she won't stay dead.

Red Writing Hood: Tattoo

Prompt: If you haven’t figured it out, this week, we’d like you to write a piece in which a tattoo figures prominently.

This goes along with THIS and THIS. I personally do not have a tattoo, although I intended to get one when I turned forty. Part of it has to do with a rampant fear of needles, but the fact is that I can't decide what kind of tattoo I want. It has to be something that will hold up to the saggy skin that I will inevitably have, and it has to be something that I won't get bored with in five years.




Mela slowly opened her eyes and realized that she was in her own home. She was not in her bed, but on the floor in front of the fireplace. The fire was burning brightly; it was the shrieking whistle of the kettle that had brought her out of her darkness. She sat up slowly, disoriented. When she could, Mela grabbed the tongs that were propped next to the fire and pulled the kettle off to the side to stop the horrible screaming. A frown creased her brow. She put her hands on the ground to push herself to her feet.

And stared.

There was now a magnificently detailed tattoo of a red and gold dragon coiled on the inside of her left wrist. The veins quickly pulsing underneath the skin of her wrist made the dragon come alive; its tail seemed to undulate as it curled around her arm. In the firelight, the eyes of the dragon appeared to glow, and the smoky breath of the tattoo felt warm. Mela put her fingers on that warmth, incredulous.

She had a sudden image of running through the forest in the twilight, glowing eyes above her, the sound of leathery wings chasing her, falling, then hot breath on the back of her neck, a male voice whispering "You are mine."

And...chanting? Chanting was only for magic. A low moan of fear escaped her.

If anyone saw the tattoo, she would be burned at the stake.

Red Writing Hood: A Walk in the Woods

Prompt: Good writing plants the reader’s feet into your story. Good writing is also concise. So when you’re trying to decide where to spend your words – where to use the most imagery and details and senses – I say setting is where its at. Close your eyes, paint the picture in your mind, and then use your words to paint it for me.

This is the visualization that I use sometimes when I need to relax. Which is every five minutes.

The lush emerald of the forest beckons me, and my bare feet are relieved to step on the softness that is my path. The soles of my feet sink blissfully into the moss; looking down, my eyes follow the dark green fuzziness that has crept up the sides of the trees.

I look ahead of me. The trees on the edge of the forest where I stand are saplings and young trees reaching for the last bits of sunlight. I begin to walk down the path, and I look with wonder at that which is before me. The young trees give way to tall and sturdy trees that extend high above me. These older trees have joined hands, and their branches have created an unbroken, verdant canopy. I become enveloped in a pool of twilight. Birdsong echoes around me, circling, as if everywhere at once. The path extends into the center of the forest, where there is a small clearing around an enormous and ancient oak tree.

As I step into the clearing, a hush falls. I sit at the foot of the oak tree and feel cradled in the arms of the Mother herself. I close my eyes to listen to the breath of the trees and the heartbeat of the Earth.


...and if I'm not relaxed by this point, I have to break out the emergency chocolate.

Red Writing Hood: The Fog

Today's prompt is to write about this picture. I apologize in advance for any typos--there is a storm rolling in and I am typing very fast!



Whenever I see fog rolling in around me, it always makes me hesitate. I don't think that the moisture droplets in the fog are actually alien nanobots here to alter my DNA. That would be odd. Come to think of it, that would be a good plot for a science fiction movie, sort of a Pod People/Stepford Wives thing. But my thoughts don't usually move toward science fiction when I see fog.

There is something about the tide of murkiness surrounding me that implies mystery. On some days, this makes me nervous. I sometimes feel as though the person I am before the fog rolls over me will not be the person I am when the fog dissipates. Maybe this is what it would feel like to have Alzheimer's, I think. Only the fog would be inside of my head. Will pieces of me swirl away in the blankness?

On other days, when I am feeling more adventurous, the grounded wall of clouds rolling beckons to me. Come, it calls. See what is waiting on the other side. I occasionally consider following that invitation. I've had dreams of ending up in a different time, or a different part of the world. That would be very exciting, unless the different time involved dinosaurs. I'm pretty sure that I would not like hanging out with dinosaurs. So I hesitate when the fog rolls in, and I think about what that whiteness holds for me.

Maybe one day I will walk into the fog. Maybe one day the cares and the worries that tie me here will fall away, until I walk out of the fog into the sunshine of a blue sky, my bare feet stepping on soft green grass. "And all will be well and all will be well, and all manner of things be well" Don't know who wrote that quote, but it fits.

Red Writing Hood: Personal Ad

Prompt: Let’s have fun this week. We want you to write a personal ad for your character, like one you would find on a dating site. The ad should tell us about your character, but should not be a laundry list – and no cliches about walks on the beach.

Make it interesting, unexpected. Is there something your character is trying to hide that you can tell by reading between the lines? Would we know which character it was (if you have a recurring one) by reading the ad? Will something be revealed? We’re not looking for the ad to be part of a piece – we want it to be THE piece. Hmmm...my character is slightly different. Plus, I've never really looked at any personal ads. I know, I'm freaking myself out. Here goes.


Mature Female with "Fiery" Passion Seeks Human Male.

I am a reclusive scholar with a fondness for flying, spelunking, mountains, and lava. I seek a courageous, adventurous male who is strong of mind and purpose. I desire a permanent alliance, as I intend to mate for life. I am to be the matriarch of a large family, so it is vital that my partner be willing to share in the parenting and education of our children, our Gifts. Warriors are preferred; a cunning mind is required. I need someone who is willing to be the Keeper of Secrets, Guardian of Clan, and Protector of Gifts. Loyalty and fidelity are expected and will be rewarded. I have many assets secreted all over the world, so I travel often An acceptance of sudden change may be required; my mate must be able to adapt. Those seeking my favor should apply in person at my home, located on the side of a volcano on the southern-most tip of the continent.

Red Dress Club: Not Yet

Prompt: This week we’d like you to explore romantic heartbreak. For you fiction writers, here’s a chance to really delve into the psyche of your character. For you non-fiction folk, well, maybe it’s into your psyche you must delve. We all remember that first love, just like we all remember when our hearts broke for the first time. This is fiction.

There was something on my chest. A gargantuan, invisible demon was standing on my chest, it seemed. I could not even take a shallow breathe; the weight of the words fell on me like body blows.

My focus became pinpointed on the idea that I needed. To. Breathe. I would be okay if I could breathe.

"...and I think that this is something that I need to do, for myself. You just don't fulfill my needs anymore. Candace really gets me. She anticipates my wants and she brings them to me. You won't. I will come back tomorrow to get my things, when you aren't here. I can't even stand to look at you anymore. Candace is waiting for me in the car." Scott looked at me, as if he were expecting something.

That angry demon was reaching into my chest and wrapping their hands around my heart. Squeezing. I could feel claws sinking into me. I could not form a coherent thought, so I simply stared, my eyes wide with shock. My eyes were starting to tear from the pain.

Not yet.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Scott's face took on a familiar sneer. He stepped closer.

"Hello! I am breaking up with you! Don't you get it? Don't you have anything to say?"

The patronizing tone snapped me upright, my shoulders back, my chin high. Difficult to manage with claws deeply embedded in my chest, but I did it. I stood tall, even though I felt like crumpling to the floor.

Not yet.

"Well?" another sneer at me, as if I were too stupid to understand, when I understood all too well.

Demon claws squeezed ever tighter.

Not yet.

I walked to the front door and opened it, pretending calm. I could see Scott's Jeep at the curb, a silhouette sitting in the passenger seat.

I should have been angry. I should have yelled, thrown things, punched someone in the face. Instead, I stood there at the open door and showed no reaction at all. I inclined my head toward the door and tried to keep myself breathing, even as my chest seemed to constrict.

Not yet.

"I am so out of here." Scott walked out of my life, disgusted with my silence. I watched him drive off with a squeal of tires. As I locked the door, I was finally able to take that breath I'd been wanting.

Now.

Those waiting claws ripped into my heart with the malice of the past ten minutes. I felt as though my heart had been eviscerated, yet it was still beating. The pain threw me to the floor, and my numbed reactions now came spilling out of me, an avalanche of anger, fear, hurt. As I lay there, crying, I could finally speak, and I just needed to say the words.

"Don't go."

Red Writing Hood: Jeans

Prompt: Jeans. They can evoke so much emotion in us: the hot jeans we wear on a date, the skinny jeans we can finally fit into, mom jeans we vow never to wear, the comfy jeans we’ll never throw out. The assignment this week is to write a piece – fiction or creative non-fiction – in which jeans play a prominent role. You can even write an ode if you’re so inclined. This is fiction, except that I used the names of people I know, because it seemed to give it a flavor. Yes, I said flavor. I'm kind of hungry.

The sunshine felt great after sitting in a freezing room learning about the War of 1812. I lifted my face toward the sky as a gentle breeze whispered of the fall weather to come. My friends and I were sitting on a stone bench in the Quad, chatting before it was time for our next class. Cathy and Barbie were arguing discussing the Dallas Cowboys and Laura was occupied with picking hairs off of her new stunning black sweater. I glanced about, watching the people standing in groups around us or hurrying to class.

And then I saw them.

They walked leisurely right past me, a little higher than eye level, but arresting just the same. They were Levi's 501s with the button fly that everyone wore at the time. Except these were so very much more.

"Holy S***!" was all I could say.

All rational thought left my head, and every last hormone surged through my bloodstream. Barbie and Cathy noticed my face, stopped arguing talking, and turned to see what all the fuss was about.

"What are you three going on about n--" Laura turned, saw my face and looked toward the object of my transfixed gaze.

"Oh my!" was all that she could manage.

We all stared at the jeans. The sounds around us faded into silence, and the jeans seemed to move more slowly, almost teasing.

They were filled out, firm and rounded, and moved with an almost catlike grace. The muscles were fluid, just under the surface of the denim, and my hands tingled with the urge to touch those muscles. Muscles that flexed when they walked. Muscles that appeared strong enough to sweep a girl off her feet. And keep her there, if she were so inclined. There seemed to be some wear on the inside of the thighs; could these jeans be worn from riding a horse? I wondered vaguely. The jeans flowed downward and ended, a bit frayed, at a pair of black cowboy boots. Those jeans called to me, like the song of the Sirens, as they made their way up the stairs and into the Arts and Literature building. I am a bit dangerous and very wild, they seemed to say, what can I do for you?

For just a second, I thought about chasing those jeans through the Quad, just to fling myself around them.

I sighed heavily, remembering that I had Botany in ten minutes and there was a test.
Three other heavy sighs sounded in unison with mine. I whirled around, the spell completely broken.

We all shared a girl-moment of giggles, and a little embarrassment at being so obviously taken, as we went our separate ways.

Red Writing Hood: The Ritual of Changing

Prompt: For this week’s prompt, write about a season of change for your character or you. It can be literal or metaphorical. I am trying to continue what I started here. I apologize in advance for any spelling errors; it was late when I wrote this. Concrit is appreciated!

My time came upon me, and the urge to create life became too strong. It pulsed through my blood in rhythm with my heart, until I could not sleep. I must mate.

How?

There were no other dragons, just me, I thought bitterly. I lay in my cave, despairing, and then remembered a story once told by the clan Seer about the Ritual of Changing. I had only heard the story once, and could barely recall the name of the Ritual, much less the story. Now I had hope.

I searched through what archives I could find, traveled from cave to cave. By day I read the rocks. I could find nothing! Until my eye spotted something gleaming on the side of a lonely spire nearby, I was growing desperate. A forgotten dragon lair, with the bleached bones of a human outside its entrance. The gleaming was a sword and shield. Daylight found me poring over dragon archives that were hidden away deeper in the mountain than I ever knew possible.

It was here that I found the answer, in the ritual magic of the dragons. I carefully copied what I needed on a rock of my own; I did not want to disturb this lonely place by removing the secrets it had held close for so long. I took the sword and shield with me, and dropped them as I flew over a pasture on my way home, reasoning that if I had been able to see their gleam, other humans might also.

I prepared for my own Ritual of Changing. I would be unable to eat while in my temporary form, but I would only be changed for a short time. I gathered the required materials; emeralds, obsidian, the bones of a deceased human, a knife made of silver, a small Aspen tree, a plant called rosemary, and a snow-fed lake.

That night, I moved rocks into a circle next to the lake, and breathed onto the broken bits of Aspen in the center to start a fire. I picked up the rosemary plant and walked in a clock-wise circle three times, chanting the ancient words that were now embedded in my mind. I began to sense the bones of my Ancestors stirring in the earth below me. I then held the rosemary over the fire until it began to smoke, and walked the circle another three times. The circle closed, and suddenly my Ancestors were whispering; they surrounded me. Their power filled me, seeking, but I was determined and therefore unafraid. My chanting never slowed as I placed the human bones in the fire, then the emeralds and obsidian. The Ancestors took up my chant. The fire rose higher in response, and the flames appeared blue, indigo and violet. I picked up the knife, held it with both hands over my head. Then I used the knife and sliced open a vein by inserting the blade between the scales on my arm.

Bleeding heavily, I walked into the fire. The flames seemed to feed on my blood and rose even higher. I could hear my Ancestors screaming. Then the Change began; the sudden pain as my bones began to reform made my back arch as I screamed.

I fell, curling up with the pain, the seething pain, and the flames grew even higher, consuming me. I knew no more for a time. I came to myself with the flames still cradling me, and hurled myself from the fire. I staggered, crawling, and finally was able threw myself into the cool waters. I felt the hiss of the steam upon my body. When it stopped, I rose to the surface, stood on two legs instead of my four, and made my way to the shoreline. My scales were gone, and as I looked down my pale skin gleamed in the moonlight.

I would appear human for the next ten days. Now I could mate, and bear offspring.