Ribbons

Ribbons were everywhere. Their colours blurring, tangling and surging.

Tearing at my skin,

It made me want to dance with them.

Spin around, and around with them waving to the sky.

Catching the ground only when the movement stopped.

After the time when up in flame,

Leaving me only to blame.

Written by A. Writes. 

The Teachers – Part Two ‘The Defiance’

If you missed part one, click here!

The Teachers

Part Two

‘The Defiance.’

It’s at that one, small, tiny insignificant moment. That you realized your own family has let you down, yet again. This is what Quentin had decide as he watched Mother and Father fight back their tears and whirl around their small home in fits of distress. He reached out and held his sisters, Rosa, clay hand. In hopes to comfort her in a situation that forgot to include them. Which he tried not to take to heart. For some reason his parents were shutting, plugging and locking every window, door or hole that lay their home susceptible to outside forces. “Mother.” Quentin finally said. “What did the chalice read?”

She froze. Her skin ash ridden and her hair slicked back into uneven, grey braids. She stole a short glance from Father who didn’t turn around. He was bent over, plugging a hole with stint spray – a spray on which a product is dispersed to take a surface or ‘used to be’ surface back to new by ‘stinting’ back into time. “Quentin, no need to make a fuss,  just head to your room and start packing.” She replied.

“Mother. Whatever it is, I don’t think just getting up and going is the best…” He let his voice trail off when he met Fathers eyes. They were hard, and excited. Much unlike Mothers. He seemed thrilled, and heavy – trying to hide it.

“Why do you have an opinion for things you do not understand?” Father asked, his voice booming.

Quentin just shook his head, in hopes Father takes that as his reply. He dropped Rosa’s hand and tromped to his room. What am I even packing for? An escape for the law… a sudden, adventurous family vacation?  He tugged at a velvet cloth that exposed a small mattress and an old wooden desk with piled clothing on it. Which were the only clean clothes in his room, so he picked up his canvas rucksack and dumped it out onto the floor. School books and papers tumbled out in beautiful harmony with gravity. The only thing he re-picked up from his emptied bag was a protractor and a notepad. Other than that he stuffed his mismatched clothing, his favourite pocket lamp, and a small triangular knife in the back pocket – pulled on the string to close it and slung it over his shoulder with a sigh.

“Quentin!” Mother shouted, from Rosa’s room. “Come here.”

Following her strained voice to his sister’s room where his Mother was lacing up the back of Rosa’s heat and moister dress. I guess they were leaving, he thought. She only wore that to travel. “As I was just telling your sister. You have two options here. You can stay here or come with Father and I. Both have the potential of danger and death. Your choice, sweetheart. “

Quentin blinked up at his Mother, who continued to adjust Rosa’s clothes. She’s speaking as if this, all of this, is normal. “Secrets get people killed, Mother.” He suddenly blurted out.

“And so does knowing them.” She replied to his surprise.

“You know what? Let the boy stay.” Father grumbled, walking up behind Quentin, yanking his rucksack off his left shoulder. “Your giving him to many options. Poor boy can’t make up his mind.”

Quentin let out a gasp, but quickly trying to breathe it over. His Fathers words were cruel at best, in the most harmless of ways.

“If Quentin can’t come. I’m staying.” Rosa whispered – just loud enough for Mother to hear. Her body shivered and her thoughts swirled with questions. Could this all be because of their money troubles? Or their Fathers strange, surveyor jobs he’s been taking? She couldn’t be sure. But she was sure of the shouting voices she heard rumbling through their thin home walls from the outside.

“What did you do?” Quentin, shouted at his Father.  Spinning in his direction. “That’s the guard at our door. THE guard.”

Father stared at Quentin with angry eyes. “Take Rosa with you when you leave.” He said. Plopping Quentin’s bag back on his shoulders. Who immediately rushed to Mother.

“You can’t sacrifice us, like this!” Quentin said through a shaky breath. Trying to find any trace of his beloved Mother in a shell that looked like her. “Tell me, what’s going on.” He asked again, his voice longing and sore. “Please.”

Mother just shook her head, but not to say no, it was if the words were too painful to gather into speech. “Find Earl.”

“Crazy Earl?” Quentin said, reaching for his Mothers free hand. Father’s large grasp clamped down on his shoulder spinning him back around – handing him Rosa’s rucksack as well.

His voice was firm and solid when he spoke, “Go.”

The shouting was growing louder, followed by screeching of machinery.

“No!” Rosa squirmed, “This isn’t okay!”

“It’s not, Rosa. They want us to go.”

There was a loud bang on the front door,  that seemed to rumble through Quentin’s body. Suddenly, everything about him erupted. Father motioned to leave and Quentin pulled Rosa out of the room, as the front door blasted open. The guards marching through wearing yellow masks and black uniforms for the towns colours. Each guard packing enough acid shanks in their guns to take down an army. Quentin cursed in rage, making him wonder what was going on. The guard doesn’t come packed like that, just to take out a four piece family… The rhythmic steps of the guard took only moments to cross their paths. He pulled Rosa into a spare room, searching her eyes before sliding the glass pane of the window across. The movement seemed warp and more challenging than he’d thought. He heard his Father shouting and pushed Rosa through. She landed with a graceful thump, and Quentin jumped out- hearing is world shatter with the shots of the Guard and the yelp’s of his Mother, ‘They’re already gone. Just let them be!’

Pulling both straps of the bags tight, Quentin grabbed his sister’s hand – and there feet hit the dry ground in a run.

 

Written by A. Writes.

Part Three coming next Wednesday!

Comments and feedback are always welcome.

Meet Louie!

He’s my Robin to my Batman – or my Poohbear to my Piglet. He’s my electricity to my light switch…

Meet LouieMeet Louie! My adored, beloved pup. He enjoys long walks on the beach… (just kidding! But he does really love a good walk.) He’s my sidekick that snorts a lot. But that’s just in his pug x nature. And I’m not kidding about the ‘snort’ thing. He does it all the time, it’s how he shows his love towards you when he wants half of your sandwich. That’s just one of the reasons why I love him though. And I agree with all of the dog quotes out there. You know the ones, ‘dogs are mans best friend.’ Which I find to be very true. I mean, Louie, such a comedian will always find away to make anyone closest to him grin so large it stretches off their face. He talks and greets you at the door with a tail so waggly that it takes over his entire body. My neighbours call him, ‘Sir Louie.’ Which I always get a kick out of. He’s my first dog, after being terribly allergic to almost all. He’s my heart and he’s kept me going when the shadows were growing taller than I could see over. He’s my pal. My ‘snorty,’ lively, lovely pal. Who loves anything that squeaks, and anything that he can tear apart teddy wise. And if he hears the theme song to ‘Xena the Warrior Princess’ he comes running, every time. Oh and Kleenex, he really likes kleenex. So there you have it, you’ve met my sassy sidekick. Talk Soon! ~ Alecia

The Peculiar Chronicles ~ Old times’ sake

The Peculiar Chronicles,

We get tangled into the stories that we read. They make us dream, wish and ask ourselves who we are. That’s the point of stories. Without them, we are merely unimaginative, shielded beings. At least I think so. They enlist so much in us. Just thinking of all the possibilities that words can create, makes me fall in love with them even more. You know, my mother used to take me to the local library, where we would spend countless hours of summer time. Breathing in the slightly too chilly air that picked at my fingertips and nose as I crawled into a large wooden chair. I don’t remember a lot about the books I chose, but knowing myself they were colourful, adventurous and had a few riddles to boot.  It wasn’t the most fanciest library, the books were well-loved – the shelves mismatched and sloped – but it was beautiful. I can still imagine the worn floor with the mixture of tall and short tables. I can even feel the rough wood of the front desk where I would peek over the edge and long-fully gaze at the piles of books who’ve not yet been sorted. Oh, and don’t get me going on my first Library Card, or the first time I met an Author! It’s fun looking back, visiting old places and reminiscing…

What’s one of your early memories that have to do with reading/books?

I know it has been awhile! But we can’t say that anymore…

Talk soon!

Love,

Alecia

p.s.  – check out these great cupcakes I made! (I’m learning how to ‘frost’)

TPC OLD TIMES' SAKE

 

The Teachers – Part One ‘Locked Out’

The Teachers A1

Part One

‘Locked Out’

“It’s not the end.” He said, playing with the last plastic fork they had. It felt fragile, and slippery between his fingers. “It’s just our end.” He added, pausing for dramatic effect. “Everyone and everything else will go on live in,’ we will just stop.”

“Depressing. That’s all I have to say about that, Quentin.” Rosa replied. Tugging the plastic fork from his hands abruptly and continued to bend the prongs back and forth, hoping they would snap off, so she could poke her brother with them after. They both sat angled on the floor, with their backs against heavy, velvet cloth. The room was filled with stark air perfect for Rosa’s delicate plaster skin. She’s made up of many things, after mother lost her original body.

The room itself was small, with a single rectangular bench off to the right side. Packed with the typical Guardian folded up, underneath it. It was a used model, but served it’s purpose. Quentin’s family couldn’t afford the new ones that came out last year, the material were to costly and the ‘XXX Guardian’ took up too much room, so his Father found an old one and fixed it up. Being that the new laws state that every living quarter must have one. Rosa thinks of it as a metal babysitter, where as her brother a conspiracy. But then again, Quentin was always on for a good conspiracy theory. The most recent one involving Earl of Londenq, who claims to have uncovered knowledge that the Carriers ‘accidentally’ lost.

“Depressing. It is.” Quentin finally replied, losing his thoughts of the latest conspiracy, however outrages the claims for new knowledge was. He sighed, turning to watch his sister for her sudden fascination of the fork. Her red skin glistening under the heat lamps. His sister acted as if she never saw one before, and ironically she was the one who found it. He remembers the day they both snuck off to find something odd and new to touch. It was dangerous, but he couldn’t help but explore the barrier. Give him a good chance of getting out, he’ll take it like the sick take to the medicine. Though he never knew Rosa’s reasons for leaving that day..

“Where’d you go? Lost in your head again, Quentin?” Rosa chimed in, scratching her nose before taking a stab at her brother with a plastic ending. He hesitated just long enough to give her the perfect opportunity, in her mind he was asking for it.

He knocked her hand aside saying, “And I am not lost. It’s just night-time in here, and I don’t have a flashlight to see around.”

“Su-re.” She said, laughing. “What are we to do today?”

“I am going to do nothing, as we turn to nothing.” Quentin said, glumly and plainly. Twisting his face into something awful.

“That’s a very old way of thinking.” Rosa replied, realizing that her efforts to make things more light-hearted had failed.

“But doesn’t it seem to fit? Were dealing with old issues, old ways…”  He stopped, mid sentence. Eyeing his father who seemed to have just appeared into the little room.

“Quentin, your theories are growing more wilder by the days.” He said, pulling the cloth wall aside. “Everyone is a system, and with any system there is room for error, my dear boy.”

“So you agree with me, Father?” Quentin asked, standing up. Breathing in the crisp air that rushed through the open cloth.

Behind a yellow, steel kitchen with a sink full of silver oil and a dear Mother who was reading the latest news off the chalice.

Father glanced around, then settled on Quentin. Whose blonde hair was wrapped up in a tangled heap on the top of his head. However messy it was, it matched his pale skin and blonde eyes.  Where as Rosa once resemble her mothers image, long, sweet and people-ish, she now takes to machinery. Her eyes a slate grey, her skin hard and her hair a mixture of yellow and blue wires.

“Did you read the news?” Mother asked Father her voice full of dread, not looking up from the page. Quentin always thought that being able to tell whom is in the room without seeing, is a talent to be reckoned with.

“No dear.” He replied with a smile, “What is it?”

Mother looked up. Her eyes wide and teary. “It’s about us.”

“Us?” Quentin said, feeling his brows raise in question. There is not reason for his family to be in the news. They were simple folk, that kept to themselves. Not unusually bright or wealthy – just average. He found himself walking over to his Mother, feeling the electricity buzz through the floor with each step. It always tickled his feet. Which is why he tried to stay out of the kitchen as often as he could. He stopped short of the table.

“Were leaving.” His Mother said suddenly, making great efforts to smooth out her shaky voice. “I’ll call to work, tell them I’m taking my vacation days.”

“Leaving?” Rosa mumbled, peeking through the curtain like a timid creature. She stayed where she was, “were not in trouble are we?”

No one replied, and the silence piled in masking the room off before Mother started screeching. “LOCK IT DOWN!”

And his Father started rushing around the home, as both Quentin and Rosa stood frozen, watching as the world spun around them – doing laps. Over and over again.  But before Father could empty the chalice, Quentin got a quick glance and then watched as the words burned into his memory, ‘MAYARDS RESPONSIBLE?”

“That’s our last name.” Quentin breathed.

Written by A. Writes.

Part Two coming next Wednesday!

Comments and feedback are always welcome.

If you could.

“If you could be anyone, who would you be?” I asked. Staring pass the dark stairwell that seemed all to friendly.

“Anyone?” He asked.

I nodded. “Anyone.”

He inhaled, pausing. “I’d want to be myself.”

“That’s an interesting notion.” I replied, tugging at the end of my brown hair. Just hard enough to remind me to blink.  “Most people would want to be somebody else.”

“I’m sure.” He said, chuckling. “How about you, out of the billions of people on this planet, who would you want to be, Miss Mary?”

“I don’t know. Certainly not me now… perhaps, me in seven point five years to the future.”

“That’s an interesting notion.” He responded, quoting me.

“I’m sure.” I said, grinning back.

Written by A. Writes

 AW sunset