It was already over

Fall rolled in like a thunder storm, dark and ominous. In New England the changing season was more than a damp heaviness in the air, it was an assault to the senses, and it sent the many inhabitants of Concord into frenzy. It seemed to Abigail that the riot of color came with a warning call only the busybody could hear. In her limited experience, it seemed, people’s minds got smaller when the nights grew longer. As if the dark could shrink a person’s world view.

She had seen the hold fear could have during the last smallpox outbreak, which had taken her mother and Daniel two winters back. It still woke Abigail in the night, the way hatred had filled eyes and soured words when she had begged for help that never came. Her Father had preached forgiveness and fortitude of spirit, and she had done as she was bade, but now he too was gone. His last breaths rolling out as the fall thunder rolled in.

It was hard for her to define the venom in every word cast in her direction, but after he was buried Abigail could sense it. While the ire of the town chafed at Abigail it did not stop her. She tended the geese and family plot earning coin with her own hands.

Abigail might have felt put out if not for the pleasure of providing for herself. All the while thinking that the dreadful future Reverend Burroughs had spelled out for her after the funeral was disappearing. With each successful endeavor Abigail became more certain that independence suited her and that she did not need to take a husband. She was not just surviving hand to mouth she was thriving, with no time for mournful thoughts.

Abigail had dismissed the town’s importance.

And the town was infuriated.

It happened in an instant. One second, she was harvesting the last of her wheat by the light of a full moon. The next, she was in the commons surrounded by the light glinting off their unyielding stares. It was in their bright eyes that Abigail finally discovered the emotion’s name. Paranoia. But it was too late.

If she was honest she would have admitted it was over long before the end. When they force-fed her the tooth they plucked from her jaw, it was already over. When her joints snapped as she tried so hard to avoid the touch of their hot irons, she was beyond salvation. It wasn’t until they tied her to the sugar maple, and piled the branches filled with flame red leaves around her that finally, wordlessly, she called to me.

But I offered something other than salvation.

A given path diverges

Courtesy The Weinstein Company

Jonas struggled in earnest to make it to the top of the snow covered hill.  His focus so intent that the cold stillness of the weight strapped to his chest never even registered. The only hint that something had changed was the sled.  Jonas could not believe that he had made it to the top of the hill, but sitting on it’s red surface gave him the distinct impression that something good was just out of reach.  As he started moving downhill with increasing speed the brightly colored lights he remembered with feelings of warmth and love filled his eyes.  Jonas slipped sideways into the deep snow unburdened at last comforted by the colors which danced just out of reach in the encroaching darkness.

In a wind tinted the color of memories the snowflakes drifted back and back and back towards his community sounding distinctly like change.

*******

It had been six months and the ‘Community’ was past the tipping point.  Though requests for release no longer arrived hourly there was still at least one a week that was off the plan, and the Bureau of Genetic Welfare had noticed.  For weeks the Bureau had been holding brainstorming sessions filled with genetically pure in their white lab coats, but no solution had been put forward.

Amanda had been silent as the proceedings went on around her still slightly in shock from the violent upheaval Jonas and his predecessor had wrought upon the ‘Community’.  It might have seemed naive to the elders at the table but somewhere in their mess was the answer she was sure of it.  A silence in the room extended as the screen showed the young Caretaker of the Old Fiona being released.

“Well sameness isn’t the answer,” Amanda said quietly as she rubbed the bridge of her nose pointlessly trying to erase the image of Fiona’s blank stare. 

“Excuse me?”

In the silence Amanda’s voice had traveled to the panel’s table at the front of the room, and now one of the oldest and most respected GPs was looking right at her.

“Well I just meant that we already knew genetically forcing everyone to be the same was a bad idea…that’s why were here right?” When no one responded Amanda felt obligated to continue.  “Sameness, while not genetic, did the same thing; try to force everybody into one box.  Humans aren’t built that way.  We thrive on labels and choices.  If the failure of the ‘Community’ showed us anything its that.”

“How so?”

This time Amanda didn’t even take a moment to think before responding.  “You gave them ONE choice, and they choose the hell out of it.  Assisting in a 12 year old’s suicide is NOT okay.” She made it a point to make direct eye contact with each panel member.

“Step forward miss…”

“Ritter.  My name is Amanda Ritter.

“Well Ritter all you have done is lodge complaints have you anything of worth to add?”

The smug look on the older woman’s face set Amanda’s teeth on edge and made her stand a little more upright.  “Incorporate choice, or at least the illusion of it.  Allow for differences and feelings that way they will want nothing more than to belong and fear being let go. People are different in useful ways; some are smart and logical, others selfless and helpful, and some are strong and brave…like Jonas.  Your ‘Community’ ignored that, to its detriment.”

Amanda sat down unsure what else to do.  It sounded right, or at least better.  A community divided into factions working towards a goal with passion had to be better than a mindless united one working towards nothing.  Maybe she would even volunteer this time, if they really tried to get it right that is.

All rights to owner

*******

So…I recently read both The Giver and the Divergent trilogy and I couldn’t help but see some similarities.  First, isolated communities without a collective memory, which includes why they have isolated themselves.  Secondly, a child’s future being decided very early in life, 16 or younger.  Also the fact that there was very little choice, even in divergent where choice was made so important it really didn’t exist (ie if I make you choose between 5 options I decided on how much of it is actually up to you?).  The idea of an outside presence that is not fully understood by the inhabitants.  The fact that parents were not necessary after the child had reached his/her decision point.  Finally, the need for sacrifice in face of true freedom.

Maybe its just me…but in case its not here is my fan fiction take on how The Giver proceeds Divergent in a single dystopian future.

20 sentences or less: Who am I? Lord Varys or Albus Dumbledore

There would come a time when the boy must die, he thought, but he doubted if he would receive much help on that account.  That they loved him was apparent as he caught a stolen glance of the boy from the window he was passing.  Then again good of any kind always looks more pure when set against as dark a backdrop as recent events had caused.  For now the boy would serve as a figure head, a symbol that peace was not only obtainable but imminent.  His face was a study of calm happiness as he walked through the stone corridors.  The facade he must always keep in place so no one would ever suspect that even he suffered from self doubt, from time to time.  He knew eyes and ears followed him wherever he went, was even use to it, but they wouldn’t catch him falter.  He had been living his lies for so long now he almost believed them himself, but buried under the titles and council position was truth.  He would do anything to stop the destruction of the world he had spent a lifetime trying to create to atone for his sins.

Behind his solid door and heavy table he finally removed the roll of parchment from his billowing sleeve.  All day he had wanted to look but there had been pretenses to maintain.  It was the news he had feared.  He would have liked to call out for strength but there was no religion in this world which could undo what needed to be done.  So instead he whispered, to the shadow in the corner, sending one of his many messengers on their way.  Weariness pulled at him, but this wasn’t a time for sitting comfortably.  This was going to require all of his mental acuity and persuasiveness, or the dangerous game they were playing at was likely to have no winner.  As the door opened he reminded himself that this his grandest performance could have no end, I must wear it as a mantel even unto death.  “Please come in there is something I must ask of you…”

All rights to HBO Game of Thrones ®

All rights to Warner Brothers Harry Potter ®

Can you guess who the He is in my story?  I would love to read your guesses and reasoning behind them 8D. I will post the correct answer on Wednesday morning.

Non-optional social conventions

His mom sniffled dabbing at a tear, “Shelly, will you get me some hot tea?”

“Why tea,” he asked genuinely curious.

“Because I’m upset.”

“But why tea?”

“Because its warm and comforting.”

“But there are lots of warm beverages, “Mulled cider, wassail, hot buttered rum, cappuccino, tea, coffee, hot chocolate, or…”

“Sheldon! When someone’s upset you offer them a warm beverage, and if its a crying adult you give them tea,” she paused waiting for the next question.

“Oh…alright then,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “When do you give someone coffee?”

Mary looked to the heavens and prayed for strength.

*******

Ah how I would love to see a flashback episode of a young Sheldon Cooper on The Big Bang Theory. He could be quietly building his sonic death ray gun, searching for his sister’s pet hamster Snowball, or learning how to deal with the older yet less intelligent inhabitants of his Texas abode. All would be hilarious to me. So for your reading pleasure I have attempted to explain how Sheldon’s understanding of non-optional social conventions began, I hope it makes you smile 🙂

All rights to owner

The story is based off the prompt on 100 word challenge for grown ups.

The prompt this week is:

…tea, coffee, hot chocolate or…

Take it where you will but remember only 105 words in total that are suitable for a PG certificate.

The link will close at midnight on Sunday 19th January

Once Bitten Twice Shy: A Harry Potter FanFiction (Remus J. Lupin) ~And so the shack began to shriek~

Shrieking Shack as seen on harrypotter.wikia.com

Remus sat but couldn’t meet the Headmaster’s eyes as he admitted what he perceived to be his greatest sin, “I can’t control it.”

“My dear boy, it happened to you, and therefore was out of your control. However, there are still aspects we can control.”

Remus finally lifted his head, but the hope in his eyes was tempered with doubt, “What parts can I control,” he asked.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers as he leaned in, “Ah, a very astute question, which I am afraid I must answer with another question. What parts are there?” He waited unsure what the boy would say, afraid of the prejudice and hate that might pour forth.

Remus looked down thoughtfully for a moment before answering the Headmaster. “Well…it lasts for all three days of the full moon when darkness falls, I cannot be around anyone when it happens, the wounds never fully heal, it is always inside me trying to get out, it will never go away and I will always be different because of it.” When he stopped reciting the litany of offences his father reminded him of during each full moon he was out of breath and trembling with anger, “and it hurts.”

Albus had closed his eyes at the fourth statement, but with the final one they shot open. “Remus, do you know why you are here?”

“Because I am dangerous.”

“No, no at Hogwarts.”

“Oh…no not really.”

“It is because you are a gifted young wizard, and though you suffer from lycanthropy you deserve the same education as any other 11year old witch or wizard. You may have an illness, but it does not have to define you.” With his last few words the Headmaster’s eyes took on a faraway look. Then as if a silent alarm had sounded he was back. “Location, location can be controlled.”

*******

It sounded so simple. Just stay put. How hard could that be the calm cool intellectual side of his brain said, but the much louder emotional side screamed counting off the impossibilities. Control didn’t exist when the full moon rose, thought focused to a fine point centered on flesh and blood, and movement was unavoidable.

Remus looked at the boarded up window and trembled with a teeth chattering shiver of terror. The flimsy 2×4’s seemed pitiful, not even dense enough to keep out the last ruddy rays of sunset. How can they possible keep me in he thought as he laid his hand gingerly against them. Moving from room to room Remus saw nothing to bolster his confidence. Apparently in his great wisdom the Headmaster had decided to lock a werewolf into a broken down old shack just off school grounds.

Remus screwed up his face in an attempt not to cry as fear rolled off him in near tangible waves.

“What if I hurt someone,” Remus asked of the silent house half hoping that the Headmaster was lurking just out of sight. To his dismay no one answered. He sunk to the floor wishing that he could erase the memory of his fathers final words at platform 9¾. “They think that you can go to Hogwarts huh? That Dumbledore must be as crazy as he is brilliant. I tell you what Remus, go. Get as much out of it as you can, because the second they come to their senses, the first time that full moon rolls, around they are going to wash they’re hands of you.” But even more Remus wished that his father had lied to him.

*******

A pair of glittering green eyes observed the child in his prone position heaped in the corner of the well worn room. The owner of the eyes had only a split second to make the same assessment as Remus before it began. The child’s unseeing eyes grew into solid black orbs which rolled in their sockets. His breathing quickened and hitched as the painful distortion of human bone to canine occurred. The boy’s skin rippled and boiled as fur erupted in continuous tufts, and all the while he shrieked and howled in pain. The green eyes blinked just once before Remus threw himself at the boarded up window. However, no crashing sounds of splintering wood filled the night.

At the first light of dawn only the broken boy was left in the wake of the wolf’s damage. He lay covered with bite marks and openly weeping wounds. With a slight wooshing sound the ever watchful green eyes appeared once more behind Professor McGonagall’s trademark square wire rimmed spectacles aghast at the revelations the night had brought.

*******

I hope there are a few of my readers still interested in what I post. Though after a nearly month long hiatus I fully understand if I have lost your attention. The first parts of this story can be found here if you are so inclined.

I lost my ‘voice’. It isn’t an excuse but it is the truth. I sat down to write and couldn’t. This freaked me out and scared me away a childish approach to trouble shooting i suposse. Let me just say it sucked to say the least. While this post might not be gold hopefully it will be just the first of many more to come.

Happy new year to you all!

Here’s to a year free from writers block 🙂

Once Bitten Twice Shy: Harry Potter FanFiction (Remus J. Lupin) Becoming a Gryffindor

Remus had never been so lost in his entire life. He had lost count sometime after the third right turn, the second moving staircase, and the seventh or eighth trick stair. Without the beacon of red curly hair that floated out behind Alyssa, one of the Gryffindor prefects, as if bewitched Remus was sure he would have fallen through the last staircase. Which had been more a sloped game of hopscotch than a flight of stairs. It was worth it though to find himself at the secret entrance to the tower, even if he was sure he could never repeat the trek.

The staircase, which was currently stationary, ended at a short landing. The landing was flanked by two suits of armor, each carrying a sword and shield, a trio of narrow arrow slit windows high on the right side, and a number of paintings which ranged in size from an antique locket portrait to a mural which was larger than any wall in the Lupin family home. Remus eyed each painting suspiciously trying to determine which might hold the secret. Just as he had decided that it must be the one containing three men at a table rolling dice and holding daggers, he heard Alyssa say, “Veni, vidi, vici.” Just then a portrait of a very dour and doughy woman raised her hand slightly, as if in welcome, then her painting swung forward on its hinges revealing a gaping hole. “We are home Gryffindors,” Alyssa said as the first years made their way into the common room, “consider your selves welcomed.”

Remus had slowly circled the large round room trying to get a feel for the place, but his head was still spinning. He, Remus John Lupin, was in Gryffindor tower. He caught a glimpse of himself in the window glass, as he started up the stairs to the boy’s dormitories, and wondered in what hidden recesses the sorting hat might have seen actual courage in him.

At the top of the stairs four boys sat around the fire place talking, but they all went quiet and watched Remus as he walked over to his trunk. For a moment he just stood there not sure if he should just go to bed or try to join them.

“What was your name,” the boy with the grey eyes asked.

“Oh, I’m Remus,” he said still not committing himself in either direction.

“This is James,” he pointed to a boy with messy hair and glasses who waved, “Martin,” a freckled boy that constantly blinked, “Peter,” a roundish boy who nodded but not towards Remus, “and I’m Sirius.”

“Pleasure,” Remus said shyly as he moved half a step closer to the group.

“Hey, Remus,” James said in false casual tones, “why did the professors act so strange when McGonagall called your name?” He paused and looked over at Sirius. “It was like they had heard of you before.”

“I didn’t…”

“Are you famous,” Peter asked leaning forward so that the firelight played across his face giving him a sinister look.

Remus tried again, “No, I’m…it must be about my mum. She’s real, um, sick…uh…so sick I almost didn’t get to come this year.” The lie fell flat from his unpracticed lips.

He watched as James and Sirius’ eyes slid to the side and met, but James just smiled. “So cool that they just planted that Whomping Willow over the summer, huh…”

*******

Well I almost made it. Here’s my third instalment of Witchcraft and Wizarding Wednesday, what a shame its Thursday 🙂

I hope you enjoy please leave any comments below.

I have no ownership of JK Rowling’s characters but I do so love to have them alive in my mind once more.

Leaving the Memories

Toby blinked in the gloom, as if awaking from a dream.  Even in the shifting light of the large wood burning oven the liquid pooling ever closer to his feet sparkled ruby red.  His head snapped back quickly at the sound of a tremendous amount of ash falling as the contents of the oven settled.  As the fire licked through the grill on the door light flashed from his closed fist.  Toby glanced down almost surprised to see that he still clutched the silver blade.

He opened his hand and really looked at it; it was the most decorative one he had ever seen, long though not as heavy as it looked, and warm.  As if the thought had burned him Toby gasped and let it clatter to the stone floor.  Shaking his head he started for the stairs his shoes squelching with every step.

Deep red marked his progress through the house where he snatched the coppers and gin he saw on the way to the shop.  Toby paused and debated going upstairs, but the thought made his stomach roll so he walked to the door instead. 

Toby crossed to the corner and glanced over his shoulder, “I thought the good Lord sent you to me,” he said to no one.  Looking straight ahead he walked brushing a tear from his eye, telling himself it was the stench in the smoke nothing else, as he put the memories of Fleet Street behind him.

Chasing Rabbits, Catching Wonder

Charles Lutwidge Dodgson hated his name, the over protectiveness of his mother, and math, but he loved taking walks with Grayson.  Once school was out and before dark fell they were always together perusing the neighborhood, unfortunately no woods or forests could be found so the two of them enjoyed the fields best.  The neighborhood had been raised on the closest portion of Old Man Darrey’s farm which meant that it was not far enough away from town to grant Lew his much desired wooded terrain yet not close enough to town that his worrisome mother would allow him to ride there and wonder the shops.  This was also the reason that three out of four sides of the neighborhood were fields.

Currently Lew’s favorite field was the one growing corn.  He and Grayson would run out into the tall crops until his sides burned, catch his breath, then play tag.  It was better than playing in the bean fields because beneath the corn was a world of green pillars and deep brown ruts where Lew could escape the persistent call “Charles where are you?” from his mother’s kitchen window.  He never felt bad about disappearing into the fields because of Mr. and Mrs. Larson who owned the property nearest to the corn who were constantly out in their yard gardening, the husband always waved and winked while his wife always called out “You boys have fun now”.  Lew knew that if his mother should venture out to find him the Larson’s would put her fears to rest, so he gladly let the hours slip away.

It seemed that Grayson and Lew had a kind of non-verbal understanding, if one got tired the other would wait and Lew would always bring the snacks.  It had worked out well so far and now that it was true summer the two had begun leaving earlier in the morning so as to reach a good resting point before the heat washed over them.  Today Grayson lead Lew to the edge of the corn field where it joined with the beans, other than that everything was the same as always.  They walked out for about an hour when Grayson froze in his tracks, in the time it took for Lew to see what Grayson was looking at it was already too late “N…” was all he could get out.

The rabbit sensing that danger had intruded upon it’s bean heist darted away and Grayson took chase.  With the only real choices left to Lew being get running or get pulled; he did his best to keep his feet and ahold of the leash as Grayson cut a ragged path after the rabbit.  Just when he felt he could run no further nor keep the leash in his raw red hand a moment longer the big mastiff came to a sudden holt.  Lew walked the last few steps to the vine-covered fence and peered down, even Grayson’s instant whining could not break the spell.  “We found it at last boy,” Lew said while scratching Grayson behind the ear, but his eyes never left the large dense copse of trees with a tiny silver twinkle of a stream at its heart which lay spread upon the floor of the slight ravine.

By the time the two were making their way back home Lew was still shaking his head as he tried to puzzle out how he had never found his way to the trees before.  “Well,” he said to Grayson “no one will ever believe me when I tell them a rabbit lead us to our wonderland.”