Fiction

THE CREATURES 
1oo millo jumps (10:40 pm)

Once upon a time, by a small cottage in a meadow, filled with summer flowers and corn, children played. Their names were “Jack and Sally”. Their father, Greg, was a farmer and built their cottage from the trees in the nearby forest long ago.

Italy
 

     It was October, but Margo was still wearing short summer skirts. Her bulky swear fell over the skirt in a perfect wave and her bangs covered most of her eyes, although the rest was only shoulder length.

She sits down, her small, tight box in hand. The girl, clearly a young child, opens the black box, and reveals the pieces and parts of a flute.

The tiny lights along the edge of the cabin framed our faces in pale yellow light. We stood there. Not a word was spoken. The crickets played their notorious song in harmony with the loons to fill the silence.

            He was in the middle of the pine trees, their scent mingled with wet dirt. I could see him just breathing these shallow, exaderated breaths as if doing so would make it real.

The barracks were full of women. Tall, short, middle-aged down to teen and back up to seventy. Women, all dressed identically in long, thick tunics, black, white, or grey, depending on your rank.

Somehow before I even opened my eyes I knew I was in the Silver Lake Woodlands. I could tell from the crisp smell of the air and the cool breeze that stung my face.

The moment Jax woke up, her ears were awash with a loud buzzing—the buzz of voices, all around her. For a moment, she lay, frozen, immobile, until the reality of her situation converged on her, and she sat up, gasping her discomfort into the noise.

I knew it was getting bad when I stopped washing the pears before eating them, not caring anymore if the infectious chemicals the farmers used made me sick. It got so bad that I became somewhat of my own strategist.

I've recently started a little thing. I hope I can get some feedback. I've already got another novel on my mind, but this one has really captured me, and I'm not nervous about the fact that I'd like to start it.