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The Train of Life
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #250 prompt: Rushing Train
Rushing
Hurry
Without a pause
Get there
Hurry
Beat the train
Get that education
Get that job
Find your person
Have those babies
Stay firmly on the
Treadmill
Rush
Hurry
Do what you
Must do
The train won't stop
You must stay on it
Until you die
That is what they say
But
You can take a moment
Take a breath
So what if you
Miss a stop on the line
You can catch the next one
Go back to school
When you are older
Or
Not at all
Work with your hands
Work with your art
Have kids early
Or late
Take a pause
Take a break
Another train will come
You needn't rush all the time.
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Shattered
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial 240 prompt Broken moonlight. Mood board via Pinterest.
Broken
Shattered
Fallen down
Out of the sky
No way
To place the pieces back together
Right?
No!
Never
You are still breathing
Still alive
As the moon is still whole
Even when it is looks broken
You are as well
Still whole
Even when you feel
And are perceived
As all sharp pieces
Like the quarter moon
Hold fast
You will again shine as bright
As a harvest moon
You just need to find
The right person
To place you back together
Someone who isn't afraid of your sharp edges
Remember
The moon isn't shattered
It is just hidden
You and it will shine bright again
I promise.
#my writing#fff240#flashficfridayofficial#shattered#mood board picture via Pinterest#broken moonlight
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Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #249 prompt: Open your eyes.
For Joshua
Open your eyes
The day dawns
Open your eyes
The night has gone
Open your eyes
Don't be afraid
Open your eyes
It is a brand new day
Open your eyes
There is nothing to fear
Open your eyes
Your mommy is here
Open your eyes
The terrors of the night have passed
Open your eyes
The day has dawn at last
Open your eyes
Your Father has you
Open your eyes
He won't let you fall
Open your eyes
God watches over all
Open your eyes
The troubles of the day will come
Open your eyes
For the Maker of the stars
Has conquered all
Open your eyes
My son
Open your eyes
For a new day has dawned.
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Long Days, Short Years
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial 243 prompt
Glitter spills across the floor. Her daddy sighs while her mom just smiles.
“She is only two, once.” She remains him.
Four years later, the glitter and chaos multiplied with her two sisters. Hands work to keep the shiny stuff away from the baby.
“No, no, you can't eat that.” a toy is handed to her instead. With a six year old, a four year old, and the baby, one, glitter becomes a fact of life.
“It won't always be this way,” this time it is him reminding her, “they will be grown soon enough.”
He doesn't realize how right he is.
Ten years later.
“Mom, please zip me up.” She is ready for her first formal. Her parents aren't. They are full of pride mixed with bittersweetness. Her sisters look on with longing.
“That will be me in two years.”
“Lucky you. It will be forever for me.” The other laments.
���Don't wish this time away.” Their dad says as he looks at his oldest. She is stunning in her gown. The beads sparkle like the long gone glitter.
Ten years later
She swallows back tears at seeing her in her wedding gown. Her dad weeps unashamedly.
As they watch her dance with her new husband under the blue tinted dance floor, he says, “You were right. I shouldn't have complained about the glitter and enjoyed their childhood more.”
“God gives second chances. We will let our grandkids spill glitter everywhere.”
Remember, the days are long but the years are so short.
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Forgiveness
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial 237 prompt: A fool's quest.
“It is crazy. He will never forgive me.” She thought. Still, she has to try. Squaring her shoulders and trying to still her heart, she walks into the room. Her father looks up.
“Yes, my child?”
“I’m pregnant.” the words are but a whisper. Her head is bowed awaiting the blows of his rebuke. They never come. Instead, she feels his arms wrap around her.
“Don't worry. We will handle it.”
“What I did is unforgivable,” He softly says, “breaking my marriage vows.” He waits for the shouting. Sobs are heard instead.
“Not unforgivable. It will be hard but we will get through this.
“I am sorry. So sorry. I should have never hurt you like that.” The man says from the hospital bed where he lay dying.
His daughter shakes her head, taking his hand.
“It is all forgiven dad. Go in peace.”
“No way it is that easy. Just say your sorry?” The drug addict says to the preacher.
“Are you?”
“Yes,” a head hung in shame, “I have hurt so many people. I shouldn't be able to be forgiven.”
“None of us should. That is the mystery of Grace.”
A fool’s quest, to find forgiveness for what we see as unforgivable. A life altering mistake, a break of trust, a history of abuse, a wasted life. Maybe it would be, were it just up to us. Praise God it isn't. We can forgive the unforgivable in others because He has forgiven the same in us.
Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift! This fool's quest, called forgiveness.
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Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt
Ending
It isn't how it starts
It's how it ends
That is what they say
A good ending can
Redeem a bad beginning
Maybe it's true
I pray so
I wasn't a good mom
Unhealed from my own drama
A childhood influenced by my own
Mom’s unhealed trauma
Having my own children
Being able to parent them
Without the poison
Unremoved from my soul
Cut away
I damaged them
They have forgiven me
As I forgave my own parents
The ending counts
Please God
Don't let my grandkids have
To offer the same forgiveness!
May the lessons learned
Become a blessing in their lives.
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Flight is Never an Option
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial . For Rebecca
The anniversary of my mom's passing is approaching. Should I wallow in grief? Would that be what she wants? No! A thousand times, no! She raised a warrior. When it is a choice between fight or flight, she would always want me to fight.
I know the times I disappointed her most was when I chose the other way. To honor her legacy, to be the woman she raised, mostly on her own, I need to fight. To be an example to my granddaughters, I need to carry my own sword.
The last year has taught me that quite well. The next year, well, God alone knows what it will teach me. But with the blood of my Irish and native Ancestors flowing through my veins, with the examples my mom showed me, with the Spirit of God, in me; well there is nothing I need to run from.
So whether it is my stubborn brother, who won't follow the heart healthy diet, my elderly dog with the inevitable effects of aging, my own Fibromyalgia diagnosis, or a struggling friend, I will stand and fight
Flight is never an option.
#my writing#fff236#flashficfridayofficial#flight or flight#flight is never an option#personal writing
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For @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt 239. Also for
A prompt I have been wanting to do for awhile.
She doesn't know what woke her. Something deep inside just knew. With a groan, she turns towards her phone to check the time. It is flashing.
“What the…” an emergency broadcast, you know the kind that are always tests. ‘ if this has been an actual emergency type things. This time though - it is flashing one word, again and again, “RUN!”
Her heart starts to thump. Some joke, right? It has to be. Raising on shaky legs, she looks around for a threat. None is detected still that flashing message won't let her just go back to sleep.
She grabs her robe, slipping it and her slippers on. After a second thought, she changes them for her sneakers. ‘Run!’ If she needs to sneakers will be better.
She picks up the heavy flashlight she keeps by her bed, again just in case.
This is insane, she thinks. Still the part of her that keeps track of the oddities of life, it raises the hair on the back of her neck. It knows.
She walks through her house, flipping lights on. Still nothing. That is until she looks out the window. The sheer horror freezes her in place for a moment. Something beyond comprehension, a monstrous presence, is attacking her neighbors. She backs slowly away from the window.
Run! No! No no no! She isn't going out there!
Her hands are moving before her brain catches up as her fight or flight instincts take over. She closes the curtains, putting down the shades. She bolts the seldom used dead bolt ( it is a safe neighborhood, was). She moves through the house making sure all windows are locked, all doors are secure.
She finds pieces of wood left over from where she built her own bookshelf. These she criss-crosses over the back and front doors, securing them with the biggest screws she can find. She does the same with the windows.
“Locked in tight.” She realizes she is saying it aloud in a strange monotone. Shock. She is in shock. But maybe just safe from whatever is out there.
She gathers water and cans of tuna and a few sleeves of crackers She picks up the butcher knife and adds it as well. These she brings into her bathroom. It has no outside windows. Taken the last of her extra wood, she places it over the door, locking herself in.
Then she waits.
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Not Taken
For @flashfictionfridayofficial 229 prompt.
It is hazy
the road not taken
A nebulous path
cloudy in the distance
What ifs and regrets
what could have been
If only…
College was finished
A move to a different place
With different people
Changes that would have changed
Everything
But
Would you really what to?
Even if it were easier
If there was more happiness
Less heartache?
Then you wouldn’t be the person
You are now
Looking back the mist covered way you came
You see you never walked alone
He was beside you
Every path wasn’t made straight
But
Every stumble
You were lifted back on your feet
That hazy path ahead
Seems a lot easier to travel
When you see how far He has brought you
And you remember that He will bring you home.
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Hand in Hand
Written for the @flashfictionfridayofficial #238 prompt: Take My Hand
“Take my hand. We can do this.”
She smiles and does. Her hand fits perfectly in his as they scale the mountain. It is an interesting and memorable first date.
“Give me your hand!” He grins as he does, filing away that she is scared by horror movies.
He slips his hand into hers as he prepares to meet her parents. She gives it a reassuring squeeze. Her dad’s grip is strong.
His hand shakes as he holds out the ring. “Yes!” Hers quivers as she holds it out and he slips the ring on it.
Her dad slips her hand into his. “Take good care of her.” He says under his voice.
“I promise.”
They hold tight to each other's hands as they watch the little stick, waiting for a plus or negative sign. Laughter and kisses as the plus sign appears.
“Hold my hand. You’ve got this.”
Her eyes are almost feral as she hisses, “Do you want to try it!”
Hands gently cradle their daughter. He touches her tiny hand. “I will always be here for you.”
They each take one of her hands, helping her to walk. They hold tight to each other as they walk away from her kindergarten class. She holds tight to his arm as they bid her and her date a good night when she leaves for prom.
“Sir, I would be honored to take her hand in marriage.”
“Daddy, he is the one.”
Her hand is tucked into his arm as he walks her down the aisle. He is proud it doesn't shake as he places it into her man’s.
She hands over their grandson with the gentlest touch. He cradles the baby, a tear rolling down his face.
“Hold my hand. It will be alright. I will be waiting for you on the other side.”
He does, his daughter and family gathered around.
Hand in hand until the end.
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The Girl
For @flashfictionfridayofficial 225 prompt: I Can't Tell
She watches, shimmery in the late summer sun. The huge truck is unloaded. Couches, tables, chairs, dressers, beds, are carried out and in, along with the boxes.
A car pulls up. The family emerges. She watches closely. An adult male, female, a male child, oh, a female child.
The little girl stops, her head crocked, like she hears something.
“Come Ariana. We have a lot to do.”
“Mom, there is another little girl here.” Her mom frowns. She looks around.
“Where?”
“By the trees.” Her daughter says.
“Come on guys. I wanna set up my room.” Her brother, Aaron adds.
The new family enters their new house. She watches them go.
She sits in her new room, placing her toys in place. She watches her.
“Hey, you can come out.” Ariana says. “It is okay. I won’t hurt you.”
“Squirt, who are you talking to?” Aaron stands at her door.
“I don’t know her name yet.” Her brother frowns, looking around her room.
“You’re being weird.” He declares.
“Mom,” she calls out, “Aaron is being mean to me.”
“Well she is being weird.”
A sigh comes from down the hall, where their parents are working on setting up the living room. “Behave you two.” Their father yells out.
Ariana puts her tongue out. Aaron gives her a dirty look and heads back to his room.
“Brothers,” she shrugs.
The unseen girl giggles.
Her parents come in to tuck her in. “Good job in getting your room set up.” Her mom praises.
“Thanks. My friend helped.” Her parents share a look. Their daughter had a imaginary friend but she had faded away when she was five and entered school.
“What friend?” her dad causally asks his six year old daughter.
“I don’t know Daddy. She hasn’t said her name yet.”
“It is the move.” Her mom says. She lays next to her husband. “The stress most have brought Dawn back.”
“She said she doesn’t know her name.” There is something about how his daughter was talking that raises hackles deep in him.
“We don’t need to worry.” The words are automatic. The belief in them though…
“I hope you are right.”
Aaron watches as his sister seems to talk to herself. She sits in the backyard, by the tree, the big one. Their parents say it is Dawn come back. He knows better. It is something more. Scary.
“I know. It is good. I have been lonely too. Friends are important.”
He stands, hands fisted. She is a dweep and dork but, she is his to protect. He doesn’t know how to do that from this unseen force.
“It is okay. I won’t tell.”
“You aren’t allowed to keep secrets.” Aaron calls out.
Something presses against him. It is cold and heavy and pushes him back a few feet.
“It is okay. You don’t have to.” Ariana calls out. The power lets him go.
He turns and runs into the house, calling for his mom.
“Aaron, what in the world?” Her ten year old son is sobbing and shaking. She kneels, drawing him into her embrace.
When calms down some, he hiccups out, “Ariana’s friend tried to hurt me.”
“Aaron sweetie, there is no…”
“It pushed me! It’s cold hands pushed me.” He cries out.
A shot of fear adrenaline rushes down spine. All she has feared, those at the forefront and those hidden deep in her subconscious, come rushing up.
“Stay right here.” She hurries out to where her daughter sits playing in the back yard.
“You shouldn’t have done that. I know but I wouldn’t tell.” Her mom stops dead, listening. “He will. They will be mad.”
“Ariana.” She stops, jerking her head towards her mom, “What happened with Aaron?”
“She didn’t mean to, mom.” She says standing up, “she didn’t hurt him.”
“Who didn’t hurt him?”
“My friend.”
“Her name?”
She grows quiet. Her head drops. “Mom, I can’t. She wouldn’t like it.”
“Ariana Grace, I don’t like you keeping stuff from me. Something hurt and scared your brother. Now I want a name.”
“I have too.” She addresses her unseen friend, “ it will be alright.” A sigh as she turns back to her mom. “Mary Husband. This is her house.”
“Her house?”
“Yeah mom. A long time ago. She lived here with her mom and dad. And a bunch of brothers and sisters. A lot, lot mom. She has been so lonely here by herself. She saw me when we came and was excited cause there was finally a little girl here.”
Her mom felt her knees grow weak. No way her six year old daughter would be able to make up such a story. Her imagination is great but not that great.
She feels the force before she sees it. The same coldness her son describes presses against her, leading her back. Her feet trip over something. She falls down. Looking down, she sees a grave stone. It is crumbling, obviously very old. Still she can read the inscription.
“Mary Louise Husband. 1782-1788.”
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It
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial 218 prompt.
My take on how a thirties farming community might react to a modern cell phone.😁
“What is it?” They gather around, eyes down, staring at the unearthed object. Mrs. Brown was turning her garden when she found it.
“I don’t tightly know. Now don’t be touching it ma.” Her sixteen year old son advises, “Not until Pa gets back.”
Mr. Brown ran to fetch the preacher and the sheriff. He wants to cover all bases.
It lays looking innocent enough. A small rectangle with, what seems to be a glass front.
“Maybe we should cover it back up until the men return.” Their neighbor, Mrs. Kelly, worries her apron as she looks down on it.
“No, Mr. Brown said to leave it be.”
They stand around the half turned ground, chores forgotten. Behind them, the rooster let’s out a loud cock-a-doodle-doo.
“Hush , it is way past daylight.” The son says. The rooster doesn’t hush. His almost mournful cries add to the tense atmosphere.
“God alive. Go do something with him, will you?” Mrs. Brown shoos her son off.
“Ma, he bites.”
“Pa’s belt stings harder. Go.”
He does and the women are left alone.
“I wish they would hurry back.” Mrs. Kelly frets.
“You don’t have to wait.”
“No. No. What type of a neighbor would I be if I left you alone with that.” She gestures with her kerchief covered head towards it.
“And,” Mrs. Brown adds in her head, “you want to know what it is too.” She gives her a smile.
The man return, to their relief. “Mr. Brown, we didn’t touch it.”
“Very good Mrs. Brown.”
He and the other two men gather around to look at it. The sheriff takes the butt of his rifle and pokes it.
It lights up, a picture appearing on the front. Mrs. Kelly screams and almost swoons. The younger Mr. Brown, returning from seeing to the rooster, catches her. They all six stare at it.
The sheriff takes his handkerchief and carefully lifts it up. They all back away.
“What is it, sheriff?” the pastor asks.
“I don’t rightly know.” He sits it on the small table that is full of seeds, plants, and other gardening supplies. They slowly approach it.
The front has returned to black. He touches it with his finger and the picture appears again.
Out of the ground, they can now see that the picture is unlike any they have ever seen before. A couple, wearing what at first glance appears to be their underthings. Mrs. Kelly shrieks and covers her eyes. The Browns son looks wide eyed. Mr. Brown steps in front of him and his wife. The preacher says a prayer.
“Rebury it and salt the ground.” He says.
Then it rings.
#my writing#fff218#flashficfridayofficial#how do you use 'it'#it#how a thirties farming community would react to a modern cell phone
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The Creek
For @flashfictionfridayofficial 227 prompt
Her steps are slow as she approaches the creek. The bubbling of the water and the smell of wet moss takes her back to her childhood.
Back then, anything and everything seemed possible. They played in the water, her pants rolled up, Daisy's dress held up. The cool water helped to cool them on hot summer days. Their laughter echoed through the trees with only the birds and squirrels to hear.
The Creek is where they could be themselves. There they are freed from her drunk dad and Daisy 's fundamentalist religious rules. They are just two little girls.
They would sit and watch the fish, the little minnows darting through the current. The moss was always cool, no matter how hot it got.
It is there that they shared their dreams.
"I'm not going to marry someone from the church," Daisy vows, "no matter what my parents say. I don't want my own children to have to grow up wearing these heavy clothes." She lifts the sticky sleeves away from her arms. No matter the weather, Daisy had to wear long sleeve dresses that came to her fingers and covered her feet. She would envy her friend's shorts and bare arms, were envy not a sin.
"I want to be a writer," she confessed. It was a dream she had told no one else, "and a mom."
"You can."
"So can you." They hugged, their feet in the cool water.
She grabs a branch for balance as she moves down the hill that leads to the creek. These Appalachian mountains were easier traveled when she was ten. A chuckle. Ten is a long way in the past.
The letter arrived two weeks ago. Daisy, dying of cancer, asked her to head to their creek, instead of going to her funeral. It is a more acceptable alternative. She wouldn't wish to see her childhood friend, laid out in a casket.
She last saw her when they were twelve. Her mom was finally divorcing her abusive dad. They were moving back north to live with her grandma for a while. They hugged each other tight.
"Promise to write to me?"
"Always. You promise to stay strong and not let them get to you." She says.
Daisy nods.
She did write regularly for a while. Children, though, tend to forget. By the time she kissed her first boy at fourteen, Daisy was no longer in her mind.
Life always goes on. Married, with four children, home schooling and writing when she can, childhood promises are easily forgotten. Until she receives her letter.
A trip to Kentucky is arranged. Now she approaches the spot where she last left her friend alive.
It is smaller than she remembers. Wiping tears from her eyes, she lets the memories come. Splashing in the water. Watching the tadpoles slowly becoming frogs. The brightness of the minnows. The coolness of the moss. How their voices echoed through the tall pines.
"I am sorry, Daisy. I am sorry I forgot about you, that I didn't keep my promise." She carefully sits in the creek's bed and removes her shoes and socks. The water is shockingly cold. Was it always so and they, in their youth, weren't affected by it?
The wind rises, blowing through the trees. They make an eerie sound. This place where her best childhood memories are, suddenly feels threatening. There is a sound in the wind, a voice. Even forty years later, she knows it.
"Daisy?"
She appears, more a misty vapor than anything. Older but still recognizable as Daisy. From her sturdy boots to her heavy dress, it is her.
Shocked and spooked, she would run if her feet weren't bare. Instead, she stares at her to find her staring back.
"I forgive you." forgive you echoes around them, "we were children. I didn't keep mine either." The apparition shrugs, "I married into the faith."
She finds her voice then. "I see. Was it horrible?"
Daisy 's spirit smiles, "It could've been worse. I had a beautiful daughter. She kept me sane."
"Good. If I would have kept writing to you…?"
"Would it have changed anything?" She nods, "no. It was set in motion long before. I married at fourteen. Had my Rose at fifteen. Had others but they didn't make it out of my womb."
"I am sorry."
"I'm not. What type of life would they have?"
"Rose, did she.. ?"
"She did. I refused to let my husband marry her off. She finished school and went on to college. Became a nurse and missionary. Married a man, a good Christian man, and gave me three grandbabies."
"I am glad."
"Are you a writer?"
"I am."
The ghostly presence smiles. "Will you write my story? Rose has all the notes I took. When the cancer came, I started writing down all I could recall of my life. I want my grandbabies to be able to read it."
She swallows. It is the least she can do for leaving her here, alone.
"I would be honored."
"I have to go now. They wait. My lost children. God kept them safe for me. In heaven I get to be with them, without any fears or pain."
"Wait! What is Rose's last name?"
"Saunders. She lives in Georgia."
"Okay, I will find her. Daisy, I…"
"I know. I love you too." She fades away. The water under her feet goes from cold to cool. The echo through the trees sounds comforting and not creepy. The birds and frogs resume their songs.
She sits and tries to make sense of what she has just experienced. Was it real or just her own projected guilt?
"Rose Saunders, in Georgia." She says aloud. If Rose is real then her encounter with her mom's ghost is.
Nodding to herself, she pulls her feet out of the creek. Drying them on the soft moss, she places her socks and shoes back on. A nearby rock helps her stand.
She makes her way slowly out of the woods taken in the bunches of wildflowers, the busy ants scurrying on the downed and rotten tree, the squirrel who stops to glance at her before hurrying up the tree. After all, they are part of Daisy's story. The one she will be writing even if Daisy 's ghost turns out to be from her own imagination.
She finds Rose Saunders, who looks like her mom and has a daughter, Violet, who is the spit of her at ten. She weeps while telling her the tale of the encounter at the creek. Rose cries at hearing it.
She hands her the box of journals. "Mama wrote all the time. She wanted to get everything down. Before… You will honor her?"
"I promise. She was my best friend."
Daisy 's Creek was completed a year later.
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Mary's Imaginary Friend
For @flashfictionfridayofficial 224 prompt: Torn Veil
Trigger warning for mention of angels and demons
She has always been aware of the unseen world around her. From her earliest memories, she recalls reaching out for things unseen by her parents.
"She sees angels." Her mommy said. Her daddy scoffed.
"Huh, there are no such things." He is wrong.
"Who are you talking to, sweetie?" She sits at her little table, her dolls and stuffed animals in the seats beside her. One seat is left open.
"Gabe, mommy. He is funny."
Her mommy smiles. "Which one is Gabe?" She can't recall her child naming any of her toys that name.
"He is right there mommy." She points to the empty chair.
"Oh, it is nice to meet you, Gabe." She nods to the empty chair.
Mary stops and cucks her head towards it. "Okay. He says that he knows you can't see him and that's okay. He is looking out for me."
"That is what she said. Should we be worried?" She frets that night, as she rubs lotion into her hands.
"She has an imaginary friend. It means she is highly intelligent. Nothing to be concerned about."
They are walking down the street. Her hand tights over her daddy's. He looks down on her, a frown on his face.
"Okay Mary?" He sees her other hand is tightly fisted.
Instead of Immediately answering him, she looks to her left. "Is it Gabe? Oh okay. Thanks." Turning to her daddy, "It is okay. Gabe says the bad thing saw him and his friends and left."
"The bad thing?" Her daddy questions.
"Yes, like Gabe but not nice. It scared me but you and Gabe will keep me safe."
He lifts her into his arms. She is getting to big for this but… Was there someone or something out there that is a threat to his little girl?
He looks carefully around, seeing nothing but the normal people walking around. She rests calmly against him.
"What did Gabe see?" He asks as casually as he can.
"What did you?" She tilts her head, listening. "Okay, I will try." To her daddy, "He called it a fallen angel."
This causes a cold chill to go through him. They have never taken Mary to church. She shouldn't know that term. He starts walking fast towards their house.
His wife lifts her eyes when he hurries in, Mary in his arms. She immediately starts looking her child over for any injuries. At finding none, she lifts her hand to feel her forehead. No fever.
"What?"
"We need to talk."
He is loath to place Mary away from them. She needn't be a part of the conversation. She can't be. Knowing this, he does something he could not have imagined doing before today. He talks with Gabe as he truly exists and is standing in front of him.
"I leave her in your care, Gabe. See her safe." he sits her on her bed, "Mommy and I need an adult talk. Gabe is here, right?"
He sounds insane in his own head, talking to his child 's imaginary friend but…
"Yes Daddy, he is. He says not to worry that the bad thing isn't here."
"Good. You can come out when we are through. If the bad thing returns, you can come out." He shakes his head. Can, will, shall, better! "You come out, okay?"
"Yes Daddy."
His wife impatiently waits.
"Now, what is going on?"
He leads her to a seat on their couch. It is the eye line to their daughter's door.
"I believe Gabe is more than Mary's imaginary friend. I believe he is her guardian angel."
She laughs, startled. "Did you fall and hit your head, on some sort of drug? My atheist husband speaks of guardian angels."
"I know I sound insane. But something happened." he tells her about the strange encounter, "when she called it a fallen angel, that is when I freaked. How could she know that term? Even if she was in Sunday School, they wouldn't talk of demons to a six year old."
"No, they wouldn't. You believe that Gabe protected her from a demon?"
"I can't see another option. Can you?" He wants her to say, yes, and make the nonsensical sense. Instead she shakes her head.
"No. I can't." her eyes grow suddenly large, "She is alone!" she stands.
"No," her husband 's voice stills her, "she isn't. I asked Gabe to look after her."
She falls to her seat, stunned. "You spoke to him?"
"I did," he takes her ice cold hands in his, "Mary assures me that he is there and the bad thing isn't. I told her to come out if it returned."
She starts to shake, her hands quivering in his. "What are we going to do? A demon is after our baby!"
He has no answers.
"Why is this happening?" She is walking the floor and he sees her pulse thumping in her neck. If he can't get her calmed down, she is likely to have a heart attack or stroke.
"We will find out. Call a priest or something."
Her laugh is sharp and hysterical. It freezes him. "Oh, that is good! Perfect. Just call a priest. Have our daughter exercised, is that your plan?"
"I don't know exactly how it works." he now fears for both of them.
"Oh God!" She stops walking, falling on her knees, "Oh my God!" She is weeping, her body shaking with emotions.
He falls down beside her. "Whatever it takes, we will fix this." He holds her close.
He does call the local parish. The priest sounds concerned. "Gabe, that is what she calls him?"
"It is. Does that mean something?"
"I take it, that you aren't church goers?"
"No we aren't. Before all this, I had no belief in God. Now, well if I am acknowledging the possibility of the ultimate evil, I must also admit there could be ultimate good."
"Logical. Gabe could be short for Gabriel. He is one of the archangels. A very big deal, in other words. I would like to meet your daughter."
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By Candlelight
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial
The shadows move
guided by the flickering flame
A tiny light
among many others
Sat around the room
Giggles raise from the
blanket fort
As the children play
They don’t know
that the lights are off
Because their parents are poor
Don’t know
that their clothes are hand-me-downs
No
They just know the simple joy
of making shadow figures on the sheet
Lit by the candles
as they play under the tent
In their living room
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Family is What You Make It
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #216 prompt Found Family.
She has her uncle a fact she is quite thankful for. With her parents death when she was five, an orphanage would been her future without him. She adores him, Uncle Lamb who has been both her father and mother.
He is an archeologist and her childhood is anything but normal. Not that is a bad thing. It is, in fact, quite brilliant. Traveling all over the world, learning in the most natural and unique way, and the wonderful people she meets, strangers who become friends, who become family.
There is Mrs. Fritz in Scotland, who runs the inn they stay in. From her she learns how to knit and a few choice words in Gaelic.
Ned Gowan, the barrister on a dig in London, he teaches her the fine art of negotiation.
Lord John Grey, who’s land borders one of the digs, in Cairo. He shows her how to get honey from the comb without getting stun. The secret is in the smoke.
So many people become part of her extended global family.
When she is seventeen, she meets the person who’ s family she will become a part of. Back in Scotland, he is a farmer. Jamie Fraser. He will change her life.
For he teaches her about love. She had other boyfriends but he was her first and only lover.
They marry when she turns 18 and she becomes part of a huge family. She doesn’t forget all those who are a part of her found family though. They are all invited to her wedding.
When she stands at the altar in the auld kirk, they fill the pews. Mrs. Fitz, John, Ned, Geillis, Mary, and so many more. They are all her family. She is so blessed.
#my writing#fff216#flashficfridayofficial#found family#outlander fanfic#jamie and claire#cannon divergence#outlander fandom#family is what you make it
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