30 in 30 Week 2: Changes to Come/Waking Up Elsewhere

Aleathia says:

It's been a busy week, but I'm still making the deadline. Enjoy a short story and a photo. Thanks for reading.


Photo: Changes to Come:

Story: Waking Up Elsewhere:

Elsewhere

      Darla’s head pounded and her vision was occluded by thick, congealing blood from a gash in her forehead. Her eyelashes stuck together, leaving her blind. The more she woke up, the more she realized her predicament.

      A sullied rag was pulled tightly across her mouth leaving her impotent in her attempts to call for help. Who am I screaming for? Darla had no idea where she was or how she got there. She quieted her body and listened. The sound of steel wheels against the rail, with its rhythmic thumping, could be felt as much as it was heard. Rain splattered against a tin roof and she could smell stale, moldy earth mixed with the iron from her own blood.

      She attempted moving her arms and legs, but both were bound tight. The rope cut into the tender flesh of her inner wrists causing them to burn with pain each time she moved. Darla knew she had to get out of there, wherever there was. The last thing she remembered was walking through Page Park to get to Sarah’s house. They were supposed to go out for drinks. Sarah was perpetually late and since the night was beautiful, Darla had decided to walk the short distance to save time. 

      Now, she was here.

      It became harder and harder to breathe with her mouth gagged. Her nose was half crusted over with blood blocking one nasal passage and her belly pushed into the hard dirt. Every inhale lifted her body off the ground slightly and the gravity of her weight expelled the air too quickly. She grew increasingly tired with each breath. Darla worked in a rocking motion to get her body tipped onto its side, but was careful not to go too far. She was trying to avoid the turtle on its shell problem. She’d never get up from that post.

      Once on her side, she used her elbow and her core to get upright onto her knees. Darla nearly cried from excitement. In that position, if she leaned backwards, she could feel the rope beneath her fingers used to confine her ankles. There was something glorious about the knots as she touched them. She concentrated and worked with numbing digits. Just as she got the first ligature untied, she heard a man’s voice:

      “Now where in the hell do you think you’re going?”

Aleathia Drehmer 2019

30 in 30: Week 1: Obsession/The Moment You Stopped Being a Child

Aleathia says:

Now I know you are shaking your heads. Right Drehmer, a post every day for 30 days? I have lofty goals!! I am prepared to make this more realistic and say that I will post once a week for the next 25 weeks. That fits better with my life which is full of novel writing, poetry manuscript arrangements, writer's group, and summer!

I had originally thought this series would be all about fiction, however, this week's post requires something more personal. Weaved in the next 25 weeks you could find fiction, non-fiction, and poetry along with the corresponding photo challenge. As always, thanks for reading. Share if you find something interesting. Follow if you want to read more. Enjoy.

Photo: Obsession

Story: The Moment You Stopped Being a Child

Shortly before I turned eight years old, my brother was born. He was premature by a month. He whacked his nose on the way out and looked like a prize fighter who could fit, stretched out, on an album cover. And boy was he pissed, all the time. This kid could cry full volume for hours and nothing my parents would do could make him stop. His scream became white noise. His scream cause my mom and step-father to fight out of frustration.

My mother was 22 years old when he was born, only 16 when she had me, so she herself never had a childhood to speak of. There was inexperience in parenting involved as well as alcohol and drugs and each with two jobs. I was mature well beyond my years at eight and eventually they realized I was the only one who could make my brother stop crying. They would put him in my arms and in minutes he was cooing, snuggled in my neck. The only way he would sleep was lying in the groove of my legs with his limbs draped over, face down. He was peaceful there.

They began leaving me alone with him when they went to work. I was eight years old taking care of a 6 month old. I fed him, changed him, and loved him. I taught myself how to cook my own dinner, to make his bottles, and get us both ready for bed. I stopped being a child that year. I was a surrogate mother for not only my brother, but for myself. The rest of my life was about caution and control and doing what is right over doing what I wanted. I never learned the meaning of freedom. When I tasted free will years later, it was disastrous. This early responsibility shaped the rest of my life and I am thankful for it, but I wish I had lived a child's life.

30 in 30: Day Five: After Dark/It Starts with a Ransom Note

Aleathia says: 

Please enjoy another one-page story. This one turned out a little different than I had planned in my mind. I was going to attempt something funny, however, sad pushed its way through. Please feel free to share if you like or follow the blog. Have the best day.


Photo: After Dark:

The  Story: It Starts With A Ransom Note:

The Note

dEliVeR 50,000 In unMarKeD BillS

tO ThE corNer oF 17th anD CrUz

By MidNiGht ToMorRow or The GirL

gEts it---GoOd!

Sarah held the ransom note in her hand as if it were covered in Anthrax. She’d had a strange feeling that morning as if the universe were “off”. She’d had these intuitions her whole life and though one might find them useful, they weren’t unless they contained specific information. It all seemed a little woo-woo to her, so she never mentioned them to anyone. Sarah kept an eye out for clues the entire day, but nothing presented itself until her daughter Melinda didn’t come come from school.

Melinda was in the 3rd grade and precocious. The school assured Sarah that her daughter was placed on the bus home at 3 p.m. Sarah didn’t meet her child at the bus stop three blocks away because Melinda had insisted she was a “big girl” now and could manage the small stroll alone. Sarah had to admit that she was a clinging sort of mother and sometimes she held too tightly, but she only had one child and she meant to keep her safe. She felt very lacking in this department currently.

The note, yes, she thought, where the hell am I getting $50,000?

Standing on the porch in the dusk of coming night, Sarah dialed the police to report Melinda’s kidnapping. The sunset reflected onto her skin, the air crisp. Her arms heavy at her sides with one hand gripping the phone, the other, the note. Her body shook as she cried silently. The feeling in her gut now, the intuition, was telling her this would not turn out well. The regrets piled on top of her head. Did she tell Melinda she loved her? She couldn’t remember. Tears rolled down her cheeks, the fading sun glinting in the salted water, showing her heartache. The note slipped from between her fingers floating to the dirty porch floor. Sirens blared in the distance coming closer.

“Melinda”, she whispered, “come home.”

30 in 30: Day Four: Something Green/Please Don't Die

Aleathia say:

So, the 30 stories in 30 days is going to have a loose meaning. I definitely tried to produce stories during the work weekend, but after 12 hours in the Emergency Room there is little juice left for creativity. Tuesday through Friday will have stories until the challenge is done! Enjoy some weird today.


Photo: Something Green:

Story: Convince a plant the reasons it shouldn't die:

Crazy Plant Lady

“George?”

“George!!! You can’t leave me.” She cried to the fading plant

“Don’t look at me that way. It isn’t your time, my dear.”

Betsy paused as if to wait for George’s reply. She stared intently. His leaves twinged every so slightly. Betsy gasped drawing her hand to her mouth.

“Seriously George, I’ve done my best. You know I’m perpetually forgetful, but I’ve watered you and loved you, haven’t I?”

Nothing. He was incommunicado with her. She felt he was giving her the cold shoulder. She’d have to lay it on thick.

“Darling, you must stay. If you go, who will I say Good Morning Bitch to in the morning?  Who will I say Good Night Sweet Baby to?”

George’s leaves twinged again, but with vigor this time. One leaf stretching towards her as if to touch her cheek.

“If you leave me George I’ll have to get a cat. Please don’t make me get a cat!”

His leaves lifted high. He had a purpose, a life. He was needed.

“Oh George---you do love me.”