CrescentDreams' Stories

Daddy

2008-07-19T04:22:12Z

I am lost in dreams of the past.
I wonder what you might think of where, who, what I am today.
I hear your voice telling me loving things.
I see a photo of you laughing at someone taking a picture.
I want to feel your arms around me, keeping me safe.
I am missing you so much.

I pretend you can see me, from where you might be today.
I feel your presence, even though you cannot be here.
I touch the ring you gave me, so many years ago.
I worry about her, with you gone.
I cry at movies, when there are characters that remind me of you.
I am still grieving your loss.

I understand it was your time to go.
I say that it’s okay, and told you it was, when you needed to hear that.
I dream you are still with me, helping me find things.
I try to be the best I can, someone you’d be proud to call your own.
I hope that I am that person, and that you are at peace and happy.
I am always your daughter, your girl, your pumpkin.

Tried to Make Pat J's Day [Make Someone's Day Challenge]

2008-07-19T03:44:18Z

This seemed like a really neat challenge to me. I’ve been here a while but tend to lurk, and the idea of comments, prequels and sequels has always intrigued me, especially when started with other ficlets as opposed to images (which is how I started).

So, I used the link at the bottom of John’s challenge, and found http://ficlets.com/stories/32188 – “Something blue” by Pat J. It reminded me strongly of “The Little Prince” by Antoine de Saint Exupéry, probably because of the fox. I liked the sci-fi, and the androgenous narrator. It really pulled at me. And, since Pat started with something blue, I decided to follow with “Something borrowed” at http://ficlets.com/stories/37795.

I really hope that it pleases and is interesting. It will be interesting to see if it goes anywhere or languishes. I hope that I left it open enough to do so.

Something borrowed

2008-07-19T03:21:04Z

I felt it slide – too sugary sweet, like wedding cake frosting – down my throat and grimaced.

I waited. Listening, being in the moment, waiting. And realized I could hear small sounds, slow breathing. I could smell the dank, murky scent of someone’s nervousness, the scent I often wore just before an interview, in fact, that no deodorant ever quite masked.

My eyes flew open.

The sky was… the sky. It was hard to tell, was it blue or blue-green or red? It looked … right, suddenly. The quad seemed intimately familiar by scent and sound. In front of me stood… me.

And I said, “I told you, it won’t hurt you.”

I sat down abruptly, my legs wobbly, eyes wide, mouth agape. ...something borrowed, something blue...

“You borrowed my body?”

The fox, in my body, canted my head to the right, which looked very out of character, from the outside anyway. “And you have borrowed mine. And we shall see what we shall see.”

Stunned, I could do little more than snap my mouth shut and follow his lead.

Stage Dressing

2008-07-02T04:36:42Z

She pouted and blew a bit of hair out of her eyes, leaning forward over the alteration counter.

“Ready to brace me?”

She crossed her wrists, palms up, and braced her elbows on the canvas-covered surface. I crossed mine, palms down, took her hands, and braced my elbows on either side of her arms, bent my knees and got ready to pull.

“Ready.”

Behind her, the blonde seamstress started pulling at the corset. Already hooked in front, now we were lacing it as tight as we could, then marking the laces with pencil.

“You need to blow out air, hon,” the costume designer mumbled around two huge safety-pins between her lips.

I swallowed, trying not to focus on the pink blush that matched the full lips and dark red hair. Not to mention the rapidly enhanced bustline. I shoved my left foot against the counter leg so she didn’t fly back.

“You’re almost there, then we can unhook you,” I told her, our knuckles going white.

She grinned, winking flirtatiously at me. I blushed and grinned back, “Tease.”

Morning Message

2008-07-02T02:59:58Z

A buzzing on the nightstand pulled me from slumber, echoing loudly against the wood. It lasted only seconds, so I burrowed deeper into the cover before stretching out – luxuriating in a bed all to myself.

His bed. Hm. I didn’t smell coffee. Had we finally grown so comfortable? Reaching out, I snagged my cell and flipped it open.

Good Morning, I’m glad that you are in my bed.

I smiled and thought to send a text back immediately, then shut the phone instead.

I went through my normal routine. Shower, dress, primp, altered the ritual to dab his scent at my throat, gathered up all I needed for the day, checked my clutch to be sure I was ready to go.

Then I sat and pulled a sheet of stationery and a Waterman out of the desk drawer.

Loved waking up in your bed, even without you there.

I folded the note and propped it next to the sugar bowl where he would see it later.

Lock up on the way out the door to work. Finally, a text from the train:

Good morning. Thanks for the wake-up text.

Portrait of Damia

2008-06-24T20:54:33Z

I remember her hair.

Like trapped flame, she kept the extremely straight, long orange-red strands pulled back into a pony tail. Sometimes, she wore a tight bun, just to be different.

I remember her eyes.

Those laughing green-blue eyes that sparkled over her pert little nose. She lined them in blue with black mascara so they were even more vivid against her pale skin.

Her skin burned easily. In the high desert of California, it was hard for her to avoid the sun. But she was a night child, so really, aside from requirements for work or school, she managed.

I remember her leather pants.

When she wore the black leather, her heavy black Doc Martens and the myriad long-sleeved shirts over tank tops, she should have seemed clunky. She flowed and flickered from step to step.

Her training as a dancer and her natural inclinations just made it impossible for her to be anything other than graceful.

So many years ago. Seventeen – addicted to vampires, music and dance. Wonder where she is today?

Lost in the Woods

2008-06-12T04:05:08Z

Walking down the path, you’d think that a clearing was just a few steps ahead. It didn’t actually work that way.

The fog bounced the light around so that it looked brighter up ahead. Your only choice was to keep following the trail. Eventually, you’d get out. But without a watch, a clear view of the sky, or the sun – it was impossible to judge time or guess how long you’d been walking.

How long you’d been lost.

I sighed and hitched my pack into a new spot on my shoulders, then adjusted my sweatshirt and the hood so it didn’t feel pinched in the straps.

I should have paid attention when we drove up to see the Leonids. Or brought a map with me. Or a compass. Or charged my cell fully before the drive. Most of all, I should not have fallen asleep next to the fire we lit after the asteroids stopped falling.

Then, my ‘friends’ couldn’t have left me up here in what they probably thought was a harmless prank.

Eventually, I’d hit a fork in the road. I still wasn’t entirely sure which way I’d go.

Original Chromatic Drawing

2008-05-15T01:30:58Z

Jesse took a deep breath, and adjusted the pencil just slightly. They were in perfect order now.

Her paper was square with the corners of her desk.

Her eraser had been kneaded and worked until it was pale again, a perfect sphere, in the top right corner of her desk.

And the sketch paper was still white and rough and pristine. Nothing was on it.

The dragon and clouds and castle were in her head, but to get them on the paper, she’d have to break all the perfect alignments.

Over.

And over.

She sighed. Sometimes, her compulsions really sucked.

The Morning After

2008-05-07T16:27:59Z

The shifting of colors over my eyelids woke me. Golds and greens with warm orange ambers. The faint rustling sound of the leaves would have sent me dozing back off, but the birds had been singing for quite a while now.

I felt warm, oh so safe, but should have been cold. It was autumn. Then again, I wasn’t alone.

He shifted beside me, between our blankets, cuddling me closer and nuzzling the top of my head before stretching his legs out as long as he could. I burrowed my cheek into his chest and hugged him close. After a moment or two, he kissed the top of my head. “Good morning, kiddo.”

I smiled, rolled back a bit to kiss his lips, then rested back, his arm pillowing my head so that I could look up into the branches that had been our roof.

Last night, the tree gave us intriguing shadows and sounds to accompany our whispers. This morning, the sunlight painted the leaves in jewel tones and dripped the bark with loving detail.

As comfortable as I was in his arms, all I wanted to do was climb.

In Sight

2008-04-28T04:17:19Z

Standing on the ridge, looking down across the valley, there was a sense of being both tiny and part of something enormous.

I felt the familiar, uplifting, soaring of my soul over the stream below. The water was crowded by a wandering boundary of trees to barely a glimmer of reflected sunrise. I could see it, because I knew it was there, from the memory of fishing and cleaning.

Home was within sight now, too.

Soon, there’d be a cooking fire to light. Pack to unload. Settling in. And then, when the sun set, the reds and golds and oranges perfectly visible from the cavern opening, there would be sitting. Notes of the journey and return home would be written in the journal that was currently in the pack.

It would be sooner, once I caught my breath, hitched my pack and stepped forward.

If Only

2008-04-25T23:15:00Z

Unable to move, but he still felt the warm, scratchy skin of the feet, with the claw tips on each toe. The pigeon shuffled along toward his neck, and that ticklish sensation made him want to shiver it away, move his hand from his face and brush the bird away to at least stand on his head. But it simply murmured a soft sound and tucked its head back to start a very thorough bath.

He couldn’t even sigh in frustration, trapped in stone.

If only he hadn’t walked down through the woods to the pool that day. If only he hadn’t peeped through the leaves of the low-hanging branches and the tall brush. If only he hadn’t seen the beautiful girl, in all her naked glory, the water streaming from her hair and body as she rose up out of the cool depths, rinsing from her bath.

If only he hadn’t gasped and backed away, before covering his eyes, when he realized she wasn’t just any girl.

Snapshot

2008-04-23T19:58:15Z

Standing there with the camera, watching life through the view finder, always makes it feel less real.

And yet, I can smell the salt from the ocean, the dampness of the kelp and other things that have blended with the sand. The woody wetness of the driftwood is almost on my tongue as a taste more than a scent. I feel the give of the sand under my feet. I can hear the wind, the rolling sound of water, the birds calling. The laughter and chatter of other beachcombers.

And there she is, swinging her arms. The tide shuffles in over the sand, erasing marks she’s left, tickling her toes to make her shriek. She laughs then swings her arms forward, chasing it back out.

Is it me, or are the foamy bubbles the ocean’s way of giggling back, as it plays with the beach and everything along it?