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Summer’s Goodbye (A micro-story)

Though the sun shone brightly, and the songs of birds still filtered through the air, it was the chill in the wind that declared Summer was at an end. Mornings were brisk and the merchant pulled on his jacket while stepping on his porch, ready to start another day.

Standing on the lower porch step, looking out onto the grassy field, was a fairy. Her thinly veined pink wings shimmered in the morning light and the wind was playing with loose strands of her hair. She had first appeared to the merchant many months before – on that very step – when the snow was melting. Before that day he had only heard stories of the fairy folk. Since her arrival the merchant had a swell of luck and a companionship which had been different than others he had known. Looking at her there now he felt a weight in his stomach.

“Tell me merchant, do you feel it?” Spoke the fairy, her voice light and mixing in with the air as it always did.

The man approached her slowly, stuffing his hands into the jackets pockets. A sense of dread slowly washed over him. “Mmhm,” he nodded, looking out at the field. “The weather is changing. Autumn is here. I’m not worried. I’m more prepared this year than ever I was before.”

With a small shake, the fairy’s wings spread out to their fullest. A small jump and suddenly she was already more than a few feet away from the porch and starting upwards to the sky.

“Wait!” The merchant yelled, running after her. The fairy had come and gone many times throughout the warm seasons, but this time her leaving felt different. Permanent. “Where are you going?”

She paused in her ascent, arms spread wide as she turned around to look at him. Sprinkles of magic fanned out from her wings. “Summer is over, Merchant, I cannot stay with you any longer.”

“You can’t leave. What am I to do without you?” The weight in the merchant’s stomach increased and he reached his arms out to the fairy. She had not only brought him luck over the last few months, but he had grown attached to the mystical creature. And now she was leaving.

The fairy came down and the merchant sighed as he felt the warmth of Summer in the hands she placed on his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her. Though she smiled at him it was sad and looked out of place on that face he had – until now – always seen filled with joy. She spoke softly to him. “I am a child of Spring’s birth, and Summer heat. There is no place for me in the short days of Autumn, or the chilly world of Winter.”

He shook his head, not in disbelief, but because deep down he knew it was true. “Why did you not tell me you were leaving? Were you simply going to leave without saying goodbye?”

The fairy began to pull away, and the merchant strengthened his hold. “I won’t let you go.”

She brushed a hand over his face, and the tips of her fingers ran through his hair. “Goodbye, Merchant. I will always be with you whenever you remember the warmth of the Summer sun upon your face, and the birth of Spring in your heart.”

The merchant loosened his hold and the fairy drifted away from him, once again climbing upwards in the sky. He watched her until he saw her no more, and then he looked longer still at the sky, watching the clouds.

Though he would always remember her, the merchant never saw the fairy again.

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Posted by on October 16, 2015 in story, writing

 

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In the Shower

Have you ever just wanted to go into the bathroom, shut the door, turn on the shower, and sit in the tub, letting the water pour all over you? Never even bothered getting undressed, simply sat under the water however dressed you are. No? That is what I’ve been feeling like those past few weeks and everyday the want only grows. I believe this is all due to stress; the voices are not helping.

Some of them have wild and crazy ideas that I would never dream of doing in actuality, some are more tame. Ironically, its the tame ones that alarm me more than the others. The good thing about writing fiction -professional, hobby, or otherwise – is that none of it is real. It can be whatever the writer wants it to be and, because I get so emotionally drawn and attached to my characters, I could live vicariously through their lives. Could.

For example, the earlier statement about the shower, if I can’t do it in reality then surely I can have a character do it for me. Write out all that I have going on in my head and feed it to the character. Even if a new one – someone random – had to be created solely for that purpose. It’s okay to put real emotion into the character, it gives them substance, dimension, gives them a slice that the reader can relate to.

I think that many are afraid of putting their feelings into the character. They think it makes them vulnerable. I’m not saying that someone should make a character that is a carbon copy of them-self – that may be a bit strange – but, if the character is angry, you get angry. Sad, you get sad.. The same for happy, confused, and the whole well of emotions that are out there. How is a person going to write a feeling when they have no feeling to give?

I also think that, if you’re in a situation that you don’t know how to deal with, writing it down is a step to admitting that there is a problem. Nothing can be solved if you’re in denial.

So.

This character of mine, she’s sitting in the tub, fully dressed with her knees pulled to her chest and head bowed. She doesn’t say anything, nor does she move, as the water impacts the back of her head. The water begins to soak her hair, sending streams down her face, the clothes get wet and start clinging to her body. Arms around her knees she slowly rocks back and forth, taking slow breaths and being careful of not getting any water in her mouth.

The sound of the water beating off of her and around the tub mask the sound of her quiet sobbing. The streaks of water from her hair unto her face mingle in with the tears so there is no difference. She’s taking this small moment, this quiet time in the shower, to herself hoping that the water will wash away all the things that weighed heavily on her mind. So much to do once she left the confines of the bathroom. So much to hide under a guise of confidence she was amazed there was room for anything else. Out there she had to be strong, there were people that depended on her, that needed her; weakness wasn’t allowed.

I can do it, she says to herself. I have to do it.

A few moments later and a voice from outside the bathroom door calls to her and quick reply saying that she’ll be there soon. Reluctantly she turns off the water, wringing out her wet clothes and hair the best she could before engaging in a towel. It was time to quickly don fresh attire, cover up the wet hair, and step into the role that everyone expects to see.

 
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Posted by on February 5, 2013 in ramblings, stress, writing

 

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