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.”

30 in 30: Day Three: Clouds/Storm Sky

Aleathia says:

On a roll! Enjoy another one page story. Each of these stories have to fit on one side of a sheet of paper written by hand. This exercise is in part about working with the connection of the words in a more analogue way. Everything is about screen time anymore, even this blog, but know that there is still validity and scrawling ideas out.


Photo: Clouds:

Story: Storm destroys the land and kills a boy. What does the sky look like?

Los Angeles to Oklahoma

     Victoria had come to Oklahoma to visit her brother Jed and his boy Ronald after his wife had left him for another woman. He was devastated. Back home in California this was a daily occurrence. People moved on quickly to the next shiny person down the road. It was a free society, but her Oklahoma roots told her deep down it was more a lack of morals than freedom.

     Oklahoma was flat and hot in the summer, but it lacked the hazy smog of L.A. and she soaked up the blue skies and fresh, clean air. Victoria sat on the old porch swing of her grandparents house. Jed had inherited it when they passed years ago. It could have been hers, but she had no desire to stay. Ronald played with the dogs in the yard. She wondered how he didn’t feel small in the expanse of the land, but he wrestled and tumbled with the dogs as if he were 16 instead of 6.

     Jed was near an out building fixing the mower he planned on using that afternoon. When he was finished, they were going to grill food and have a nice picnic meal. For now, Victoria sipped her lemonade and gently rocked back and forth in the swing like she did with her grandmother and mother when she was smaller than Ronald.

     Something caught her eye in the distance. The sky turned the color of black pearls. Clouds contorted as if in seizure. Some remained white and fluffy while others darkened and pulled thin. They merged in a war. 

     This felt familiar to her, but Victoria couldn’t place it. She’d been gone too long from this wild land to recognize the change in pressure. She’d forgotten the feeling of impending doom living in the dog-eat-dog world of L.A. where feeling that was way normal.

     Ronald waved at her, one hand on the dog’s head, and smiled. Victoria had no idea it’d be his last.

30 in 30: Day Two: What You Wore/Something Stolen

Aleathia say:

Here we go with day two! Enjoy and share with someone if you like it. Thanks for reading.


Photo: What You Wore

Story: Something Stolen

The Good Thief

Frederica clutched the package to her chest. It was still warm, pulsatile. She cried silently in the field heading to the tree line of giant oaks and full maples. She had to escape their angry grip. In darkness, she stumbled. The moon was both her friend and enemy this night keeping its light from the ground so she couldn’t see the path, but also keeping her hidden.

The creatures in the woods called out their warnings until it crescendoed through the hills. They told of her presence, smelled the fear rising from her skin, and the blood threatening to leak from the bundle cradled in her arms.

“Shhhhh,” said Frederica to the forest, “Or they will steal from you too.”

As if they understood, the chattering of species grew softer. Frederica needed a small miracle she wasn’t sure she deserved. A quiet prayer passed from her lips almost imperceptible. Only the insects buzzing around her head knew her words.

In the distance, shouting cracked the night air like a whip. Fire torches blazed a path, the sky now alight with orange hatred. She did not turn to see their faces. Those horrible, evil faces.

Frederica’s toe caught a root and her body sailed forward with the precious cargo in her hands flying out as she reached to brace herself from the fall. She crawled through the detritus on the forest floor to object a short distance from her. Frederica sat up on her knees, hair and clothes soiled with nature, and unwrapped the waxed paper.

“My heart,” she cried, “I’ll never let them take you again.”

30 in 30: Day One: Selfie/90 Seconds

Aleathia says:

Here I am, the world's laziest blogger! My intentions are grand and my follow through, meh. I have been working diligently writing a novel which is in part why this blog has lagged this time. I have been writing poetry as well. Art projects fill my house. Walking. Pokemon. Getting healthy!

This project I am calling 30 in 30. Each day I will be posting a prompted photograph and a prompted story. Sometimes they are parallel to each other, sometimes perpendicular. The stories are flash fiction as I am allowed one side of a sheet of paper to write a story. Challenges folks, you have to put the screws to yourself once in awhile. Enjoy!

Photo "Selfie":

Story (what can happen in a second):

90 Seconds They ducked into the stoop of the closed cafe a second before the sky opened up with the wrath of an unseen god. The ferocity of the thunder rattled Cynthia’s bones. Next to her, George didn’t seem phased in the slightest having spent a lifetime amidst the cornfields of Iowa. Storms there meant life and food on the table and he never gave them a regretful thought. The two nearly strangers were tucked in close, elbow to elbow. They had “talked” for months through various social medias. Cynthia regretted this was the only way people like to meet anymore and longed for the bygone times when people met in all their awkwardness in person. It was easier to weed out the weirdos that way. Electronically, the two had investigated each other. Lists were checked off, probabilities weighed, before they decided to finally appear in human form. They both knew they were more gregarious and brave through the glowing screens in front of their noses. They could be themselves without fear of rejection or ridicule, however, they had not planned on reality. Cynthia found George incredibly handsome and rugged, but in person his charm was lacking and his conversation skills stunted. She spent much of the dinner driving their exchanges and waited for him to lead, just once. It made her feel like she was boring and that whatever interest he had in her virtually had been squandered sitting across from him. Huddled under the awning, their bodies close, but with so much silence between their mouths. When George leaned over to whisper in Cynthia’s ear he felt his heart rip out of his chest onto the sidewalk with the rain washing away his blood and courage. He was trying to find a shadow of his bravado he had online to tell her how much he loved listening to her speak, watching her mouth form words, and they way she bit her bottom lip when she was nervous. He liked her, a lot. He choked on his words as his mind went blank. Now, he was just a weirdo breathing heavy. Cynthia felt something strange in her ear and turned her head quickly. Her skull collided with George's nose and blood rushed down onto his clean white Oxford shirt. “Oh, god. Oh, I’m so sorry.” Cynthia said as she tried help stop the hemorrhage. He clutched his nose, embarrassed, and knew he had ruined any chance with her. Great, she thought, I mortally wounded him. There goes that.

***

Check back daily for more photos and stories. Note, I do work so there might be a lag on those days. As always, thanks for reading.

Aleathia