Tag: fiction

Frivolous Fairy Tales for Modern People: A Dalliance With the Sun (Part II)

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Link to Part I

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For a moment, Selene was blinded by a striking brightness. Her eyes stung with tears, and she struggled to blink them away. She held out her arms hoping that if her future child fell from somewhere, they would land safely in her arms. 

However, when the brightness ceased, there was no child, and instead, she was roughly embraced by strange muscular arms. Ones that definitely did not belong to a baby. 

“Let me go!” She struggled against her assaulter, beating on arms as firm as steel. But they did not yield and she was suffocated even further. 

Eventually, she was let go of and forcefully turned around by those same deathly arms. She was met with the smiling face of a handsome man with iridescent eyes that glowed surreally. Yet she couldn’t get herself to smile back, for there was something ominous about the air that surrounded him— it was addicting and stifling like some sort of drug.

The man suddenly spoke, and she was allured by his deep melodious voice, “Lovely lady, I see that you have called for me.”

His utterance broke her out of the momentary spell. “I didn’t call for you. I called for a baby.”

His smile widened dangerously. “You did call for me. You called for the ‘Great Sun.’”

Dread coursed through Selene. Oh no . . . was he . . . ?

“And here I am, the Sun. Here to take your body and soul and give you a baby.”

Panic burned through Selene. For all intents and purposes, she had basically made a deal with the devil— a devil that glowed marvelously— but a devil nonetheless. She didn’t want a man, that’s why she went to the Sun in the first place, but now it seemed that she would still be stuck with one. And this was a man that was far more troublesome than she could have ever expected. 

“And what if I say no?”

The sky darkened. Thunder struck in the distance. Wind began to howl. All of this happened at once as the Sun’s eyes glinted menacingly. 

Selene supposed that her remark wasn’t appreciated. So she immediately took it back, “I was just kidding. Of course, I’ll . . . I’ll give myself to you.”

Suddenly, the sky cleared and the Sun’s face brightened with glee. But it didn’t relieve her fear. 

“Wonderful! Shall we?” He asked her, holding out his palm for her to take. 

And take it she did, but not without feeling like she had just signed her death warrant.

The Kingdom of Tokavsk, Session 23: An Entry from the Diary Lord Eskyil

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They treated me as though I was a dead ennet or a commoner demanding funds. To accuse me of something so preposterous should be grounds for immediate removal, seeing as I am protected by the King and am His closest ally. The audacity of that captain makes my fingers blacken just writing about it. Those sharp eyes could cut the hardest of gems. A meaty, swollen brute of a man was he, absolutely violating the integrity of my position and the Crown. To accuse me is one step away from accusing the King Himself, treason so great its punishment is not banishment but death. He would be better scraping ice off the hulls of ships or making furbrushes. Someone as hard and cruel as he should not have access to such power. He and his filthy little minions surrounded me, bombarded me with questions, asked how much I knew about the death of Lord [name stricken]. I was afraid, and in my confusion I may have had a minor slip once or thrice. Even greatness is occasionally bound to err. I will not deny that I did not know how to react in such a situation, but I postulate hardly anyone would were they not expecting it. I anticipated the questions about my personal relationship to Lord –, but I never even in fits of ague imagined that I could be so much as suspected of such a thing. How hard I have worked to achieve my position, and they dare challenge me? I shall inform the King of this transgression first thing in the morning. I doubt He will approve of His trusted advisor being besmirched.

Frivolous Fairy Tales for Modern People: My Voice, Which My Brother Never Listens To

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A/N: I’ll be returning to A Dalliance With the Sun next week. But for now, here’s a new story inspired by Sabrina Orah Mark’s Wild Milk. It may not seem like a typical fairy tale, but that’s how Mark’s storytelling is. It’s her own wild version of a fairy tale, and I tried to imitate that wildness here.

My brother wasn’t listening to me. But I continued to call his name, my voice rising at each call — until it rose so tall that I decided to use it as a ladder. At the top of the ladder, I was finally able to bellow down to him because my voice travels better down than straight. So I jumped onto my voice as if it were a hand glider. But he still didn’t hear me. My voice landed just a few steps away from him. The steps were faint in the sand and they were so easily blown away by the wind. They screeched as they were lifted and snatched away — “NoOOoooO!!!” That my brother heard. He turned his head toward the fading steps and brought his hand to his forehead, looking into the distance. I tried calling him again — this time in a violent cackle so that I was distinct enough to hear. The cackle bounced up and down, between the sky and the ground. But then it threatened to turn more violent. I was afraid it would knock my brother over, so I chased after it while screeching like the steps from earlier. I caught onto the cackle, but it didn’t stop bouncing, so I joined it for a ride. By the time it had ceased in its vicious aerial voyage, I was battered and bruised at my brother’s feet. Then, I called his name in a waver so weak that it landed only right before me, between my brother and me. And since he didn’t catch it, he slipped on it and face-planted right beside me. But he still didn’t see me, so I tried to grab his leg. However, by then he was up again, trotting across the sand, leaving me because I somehow lost my voice and I couldn’t find it anywhere in the sand — not it raised nor bellowed nor cackled nor wavered. And by then I had forgotten my brother’s name.

End

The Kingdom of Tokavsk is Back for Season 2!

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Hello. Sorry that I’ve been silent lately, but being an eldritch being from the great beyond university student does take its toll. I’m going to continue the story I began last year using the same format. This isn’t a style of writing I’m used to, and it’s interesting to go out of my comfort zone. Season 2 will unfortunately be the final season, as I shall assume my true form graduate in May.

I started this series with the intention of making it a worldbuilding project, but because I am primarily a storyteller, a narrative gradually evolved (to find out what it is, read season 1!). I don’t have a concrete plan because the workings of my brain are mysterious even to me, but I will (hopefully) finish the story this spring. I tend to plan things on a week-by-week basis.

What to Expect from Season 2:

  • More organization (I hope). I want the throughline of Season 2 to be more clear to create a more cohesive narrative/anthology thing.
  • Intrigue. Can’t have a court setting without intrigue.
  • Interesting characters. I love character writing, so get ready to look inside the minds of fictional people.

I look forward to seeing what this season brings. Stay safe out there, especially during spooky season. Always remember that the shadow behind you may not be your own.

Frivolous Fairy Tales for Modern People: Squirrel on Bar

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Misa brewed steamed milk as usual. She forced her eyes on the thermometer rattling in a milky whirlpool. 80 degrees. She chose to ignore the chipping behind her. That was an issue for later. 110 degrees. Someone else would fix it. 120 degrees. Maybe. 140 degrees. Chip! Chip! 160 degrees. Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip!

 

200 degrees!

 

Hot milk spluttered out of the steaming mug and splashed on her face. If she didn’t have her glasses on, her eyes would have burned just as the rest of her face did. They stung like a slap or a cat scratch. If only there were a cat, then it would eat that stupi—

 

Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip!

 

Behind her was that insolent squirrel chipping away furiously on its acorn lunch. The squirrel had been coming in for one week now. And as routine, it would start its chipping at 11 a.m. on the dot, right when she was steaming milk for a latte. And each time, it would cause Misa to make some ness of some kind. She never found out why it came and she never understood why none of her coworkers bothered with it. They ignored it and its chipping whenever it came. The worst thing was the fact that it always settled behind her. Its tiny beady eyes appeared so malevolent and judging as if it were plotting her demise by scalding milk. 

 

“Listen, you.”  This was the moment, Misa thought, that she would give in to insanity.  She was talking to the squirrel, something that was most likely a figment of her imagination. Her pride hurt in acknowledging its presence. “You better answer for yourself, before I drown you in the next drink I make.”

 

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as the squirrel suddenly started to chatter angrily. Its beady eyes turned threatening, as if to say, how dare you challenge me!

 

The squirrel’s strange reaction frightened Misa. She worried that it would jump at her, so she took the foaming mug, full of hot steamed milk, and flipped it over on the squirrel, making a liquidy mess of the countertop. The method wasn’t ideal for drowning, but Misa hoped that the creature would die from the heat. 

 

However, such a hope was futile. The squirrel rattled within the mug, banging against its walls violently. Misa could see indents forming on the mug like ugly warts, ballooning dangerously. Surely, the squirrel would burst out at any moment and scratch her eyes out. These thoughts had Misa cursing her impulsive foolishness. 

 

Misa looked around for her coworkers, hoping for their help, but they all ignored her. It’s as if they couldn’t see her in her struggle. She begged them for help whenever they got closer, but they always walked past her. She was frighteningly alone with the rabid squirrel.

 

It squealed and rattled from the confines of the mug. Misa’s hand began to bruise. Wincing from the pain, she let go of the mug, and instantly jumped from the counter and hit her in the nose.

 

Then came the squirrel. It began to scratch at her face. Misa tried to pull it off, but it stayed in place, its tiny paws’ grip was strong on her cheeks. 

 

Misa screamed, but no one heard her. And when she ran out of the cafe with the squirrel attacking her face, no one saw her. Her plight was hidden from them all. She ran for days and days, but still, no one saw her, and still, the squirrel did not cease its assault. 

 

Misa should have thought before deciding to anger the squirrel, as even the smallest of creatures have the ability to cause great havoc.

 

Author’s Note: I’ve grown to love writing bizarre stories. Ones that are silly for the sake of being silly. I’ve stopped pressuring myself to write deeply and evocatively. Sometimes, all you need to do is write for the pleasure of whimsy and the hope of a reader’s smile.

The Kingdom of Tokavsk, Session 21: A Hastily Scrawled Entry from Tomon’s Servant

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Editors’ Note:  This entry was written by the same servant of Tomon who wrote the to-do list.  The handwriting is sprawling and very distinctive, and we find it hard to believe it could be replicated.

Tomon’s meetings were canceled today, and now I don’t know what to do with myself.  Tomon doesn’t, either.  I’m writing this while he isn’t looking, but even if he does see me I don’t think he’ll do anything.  He’s relaxing in his chambers and not doing much at all, going through papers, I think.  Anyway, he has expressed interest in taking a walk around the grounds.  I hope we can go this afternoon because my legs are shaking so badly from nervous energy.  I’ve heard rumors that something happened, that somebody was killed.  Some high-up of the king here.  We are forbidden from discussing it while working, which makes me feel even worse because I feel I have to talk about it or something in me will burst.  So I’m writing it here.  I heard this morning that somebody was murdered on the grounds, and now everybody is wondering who did it.  I think it was somebody who was an opponent of the guy or a person who wanted his job.  Maybe a hire since people that high don’t always do those types of things themselves.  Not that the upper classes are weak, of course.  Just that they can pay someone else to do those kinds of things for them, I would pay someone to carry out a murder if I had someone to murder and the money to pay.  I would never commit murder, but if for some reason I felt the need, I’d probably do it myself.

My favorite theory is that an opponent did it because I think that sounds the most interesting.  Maybe he disagreed with a guy on something, so that guy decided he needed to go.  Of course I can only imagine what that kind of disagreement would be.  I don’t really know much about how kings work, so it could be anything, really.  Maybe somebody wants a coup.  But if they wanted to take over, wouldn’t they have gone for the king first?  Unless it was a practice kill, which doesn’t make sense if you think about it.  That just makes you more likely to get caught.