In lieu of trying to belong to any number of societies: Chesterton, Sherlock Holmes, the Inklings, and so on: I propose and establish one of my own. Don your intelligence cap at the door; dust off your logic and imagination; did you bring your inspiration and encouragement? We are shapers, my friends; lit lamps; light-bringers. Bring quotes*; poetry should be uplifting and thoughtful, or witty and clever, (or both). Humor is encouraged; laughter is invited back. Pull up a chair. Anyone for tea?



Magical Portals and Whatnot (Microfiction #1)

Hey guys, I entered a 6-week writing contest! Week one is over, so I'm sharing my stories here. This one got honorable mention. Check out this link to see how it works, or to enter or vote. Stay tuned for more!

Turntable Magic

Brooke flipped through her mom’s record collection, idly listening to the rain streaming down the windows of the four season porch. I’ve listened to these a hundred times, she was thinking, when she came across one she didn’t recognize.The cover was blank with only a few faint pencil-marks.

Brooke pulled the record out and slipped it onto the player. Holding her hand carefully steady, she lowered the needle onto the spinning disc and closed her eyes to listen. But instead of music, she heard the rushing of water—such a bright, cold, sparkling sound that she opened her  eyes and found she could see it.

A wide stream of water chattered a few inches from her toes. Leafy fronds and silvery berries cascaded over the bank and thick moss carpeted the ground all around, stretching as far as she could see. Muted sunshine filtered through low-hanging clouds. She looked about her in wonder, trying to decide if this was real, or a dream or hallucination. Taking one hesitant step, she felt moisture oozing up between her toes from the velvety moss.

Brooke laughed in delight and started to run, her feet falling softly in the green, gradually gaining speed. And then just before her the ground fell away, and she found herself slip-sliding and then rolling down a steep bank into a hidden basin of a valley. She came to a stop then and scrambled to her feet.

“Can’t you fly?” a voice behind her asked. 

Brooke looked around suddenly and saw a slight figure in a moss dress. She perched on a leaf, about the height of Brooke’s finger, and her eyes sparkled like water.

Brooke shook her head.

“Do you want to?”

Brooke hesitated, and then nodded, smiling.

“Then you’ve come to the right place.” the fairy answered, beckoning.

There was a soft click as the record ended, and Brooke’s eyes flew open. Rain streamed down the windows of the four season porch.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I felt hanging. I wanted to find a record to turn on just in case I could continue the journey of what s next. It would be nice to fly! Enjoyed!