And it’s Chaos – Again

Amelia Livingston had enjoyed the dull, uneventful routine, where nothing ever happened.

Until it did.

And it was her misfortune to always be the last to know.

Until death do us part, he vowed.

Amelia loved all of the work she put into this old house.

Until now, when she’d probably have to kiss this thing goodbye.

And to think, she had taken him at his word.

Until it became her downfall.

Amelia knew he held the first thread of what would become her unraveling tapestry.

Until it dawned on her, grounded her, that it was still better than being someone else.

Going in Circles

circles Going in Circles

They’d start at Point A and end up at Point Z

It wasn’t the usual predictable zigzag routine.

She would turn left; he would turn right. No matter which way he went, she kept him in sight.

He’d see a bird in the air when nothing was there.

She’d touch the back of a chair, the burden to bear.

Of words written in madness, intertwined all about.

Too often the knotting just led to a shout.

From Point Far to Point Within

The dance continued with its inward spin.

Dig shallow, dig deep

As the Thief stole sleep.

It Begins…

March 2014 clean 106Aerie

The nest once belonged to the eagles, three

Until the storm took down the strong oak tree.

The mighty nest came to rest on the ledge below.

Perdita Hermione Denke dared to reach for the center

Of the mighty nest now abandoned

Hoping, convinced the new occupants were better.

Never mind her fear of heights,

Never mind the frequent fights,

Never in her mind did she give up her rights

In knowing that dragons flew throughout the night

And swooped into homes as fairies could

Bestowing charms upon the good.

Of the bad, removed the curses they had

And defended the weak from the evil, strong.

No, Perdita Hermione Denke knew the lies about dragons were completely wrong.

In this aerie, about to be born, just as evening gave way to morn

Would be a dragon she could call her own

And so would begin the greatest adventure ever known.


So begins the Camp NaNo April 2014 adventure: Diary of Dreams.


Today’s snippet is brought to you by the letter “A.”

Here We Go Again

Kat's in the Bag

Kat’s in the Bag

Forget being in the ‘dog house’ as far as June’s challenge went. I feel like Kat, cornered in the creases of the bag. (Granted, she came out of the bag at the sight of a crumpled library receipt, but that’s another story)

I failed SoCNoC miserably! In fact the word count this June was so low, I don’t think it would have been a worthy word-war total against any of the fellow NaNo-RhiNo’s in the SnoValley Writes! group!

The last time I saw a total count this low was during my first Script Frenzy, where a supposed script morphed into a novella-turned-trilogy, but I digress.

I have great cabin-mates for this month’s CampNaNo! Five fellow writers flying high on their first day/night totals – I’m motivated to try and catch up. While I didn’t have a definitive plan last month (a quasi-one turned quirky that later got stuck in the quagmire), this time, I’ve a general gist of a guide.

Yes, this month’s story is the same as last month’s (Sights on the Storm). Yes, the target word count is the same (50K, oy vey!). This time, however, I have a list of song titles – storm and weather related – to guide me through, along with various verses, poems and classics. Whether or not I can keep on a linear path remains the question – again.

Today’s start, 500 words.

Vincent Russell

Vincent Russell

“I can see clearly now…”
Dorinda Russell grabbed the windbreakers and camera case with one hand while tucking a pack of cigarettes into her backpack with the other. “The rain is gone, Dad.” She suspected he had to be close enough to see her, or hoped so. There was no way she was putting everything down to repeat what she said, let alone get caught smoking again.

The floorboards didn’t creak behind her. Mumbling a curse, she moved her hands, sneaking in a few choice words without thinking. “The rain-.”

“-is gone,” Vincent signed before grabbing the camera case from her. “Watch your language; I’m not blind yet.”

Dorinda threw her head back, aware of her neck popping, her shoulders aching and a new leak in the ceiling. Her father waved his hand over her eyes. “No home repairs,” he told her. “Your brothers’ job.”

“You can hire professionals,” she told him. “Less headache; no trip to the emergency room.”

He smirked, “Your mother’s decision.”

Dorinda snorted. “Who came home drunk?”

“Besides you? Let’s go. I saw a rainbow.” He stepped out the door, tripod in hand before she could offer a proper comeback.

Vincent adjusted the controls of his Kodak Retina before setting the sightlines on his daughter, who still struggled with her digital camera. He snuck a few shots in before aiming the lens towards the sunset.

He could have been nice, handing the empty disc tucked inside the book of matches – the small item dropped onto the kitchen floor just in front of the coffee maker. It wasn’t like Dorinda to be forgetful – about the empty pot, the unlocked door, the open burner glowing red.

It would only be a matter of time for whatever it was that he couldn’t see to come into focus. It was times such as these that he lamented her moving out of the house.

It wasn’t too bad – with Adele and her husband across the street, the boys across town, granted opposite sides of each other, and Dorinda closer to work. The vacated room became the upstairs library, the downstairs room returned to Vincent’s parents. The only question that remained was whether it was worth it to change the locks, keeping Heloise out.

Vincent sighed, worried about the path his only daughter was on; one that drove her back to drinking and smoking – his sister’s vices; Dorinda’s pet peeves. Unwilling to see her suffer in frustration any longer, he held up the book of matches, aware of the colorful metaphors escaping her lips.

“Don’t tell me you already finished a roll of film,” she said, shoving the matches in her pocket. He held up two fingers. “Well, mine will be developed faster.”

He shook his head. Was it worth admitting to her now that the last time she turned the printer on, the ink light came on? Add to that, the fact that his father had used the last of the premium photo paper she splurged on?

Vincent decided no.



Gone were the uniforms of svelte learners draped over straight backs and squared shoulders, replaced by long, dark coats with many buttons, concealing the casual attire of the entrusted, elected educators of the emerging term. The trio of silhouettes against the rising sun over the horizon had, yet hadn’t changed in in the old one’s mind.

     “Now it begins….Professors,” Jalem whispered to the men on either side of her, her heart racing at the responsibility of guiding the students through the quagmire of insanity and towards Quinton’s core teachings.

      Desmon smiled, hands gripping the solid edge of the wall that dropped all the way down to the water’s depths below. The clamoring of footfalls, the shouts, taunts, greetings and laughter rose to a crescendo as a group of teens and pre-teens ran towards the building, energetic, nervous, open to a world of possibilities. “Here’s to building the future.”

      This environment, with its steady and sure pace similar to the one left behind, had some comfort to it for Allen. Finding that sliver of freedom and hope to enjoy, confident that they could logically lead this group away from the madness that could lead to more massacres, he hoped by Quinton’s strength, they could succeed.

     They stood to their full height and enjoyed the gentle breeze caressing their faces.

Yomin Youth

a-to-z-letters-yThe beauty of Ella and Alle Yomin is not their near eternal youth but their youthful enthusiasm and hope about the worlds they have lived in. Over the years, they had taken in many of the lost –  found the paths for some, lost some others. Even though they know the truth of Atkinson’s childhood and the circumstances that led him to where they had called home, neither Alle nor Ella saw reason to shatter the young man’s dreams; their final hope.

They would lay their lives for Allen or anyone in their circle. While they know the worst is yet to come, they prepare for the best, aware of just how horrible the various wars over time can become.

Whether they will see peace in their lifetime, or better still, see their son and his generation experience that joy is a goal that has kept them living for so long.

With Love

Today’s poem share is my original pair, describing the powerful love that Ella and Alle share for their adopted son.

Elle Yomin

Elle Yomin


Tending to the Mending Heart

With the arrival of the gloaming

She first sees a lost lamb roaming

Appearing to be torn apart,

Narrowly missing a passing cart.

She steps into the cloak of evening shade

Wondering how this child will behave

He’s far from home, that much is clear

Yet his posture gives clue what he wants is near.

For her, a flicker of hope and doubt

Disciplined skill keeps her from crying out.

She’s failed once, that one far from pure.

The second time, she is still not sure

This child here, she’ll never scold

But rather heal his wounds and help him grow bold.

Alle Yomin

Alle Yomin

Embers Eternal Embrace

As the volcano’s

Fiery river dissolves

Ashes to the wind resolves,

The one logical choice to be made

To prevent the loss of another by blade,

For all the love and all the might

Were not enough to undo the blight.

Aware that the wrong child could die,

Sent to their death with a stealth-told lie,

The sureness of wind, the spirit of water,

The sizzling wrath to thwart the slaughter

To hold on now by letting go

Hoping that the child knows

The sun shines on forever.



Jalem kept score of the debates, wondering how long it would take for both ‘opponents’ to realize they were more alike than they cared to admit. True, she had the advantage of knowing something intimate about Desmon and Allen, secrets she’d keep until the end. Given the true strengths beyond the masks they wore, she expected to live a long, long time.

Maybe that was why Jalem wasn’t surprised by the bonding ceremony, a foolish hope she had even before the revelations in secret. She couldn’t define – then or now – what it was that made each man a relative outsider to the community, yet fitting in seamlessly so for safety’s sake. If Desmon knew the truth about Allen, or vice-versa, then neither friend needed to worry about punishment from the magistrates.

Yet Jalem saw the power behind their combined talents, an opportunity of throwing fire with the rain. She would only have to steer them like the winds that blew over the coastal waters, guiding defensive learning with an empathetic soul. They could succeed, guarding the next generation from the trappings of twilight. Maybe.