Take Me With You [repost]

For seven years, Kiara had toiled at Wolf Castle. She’d been grateful they took her in of course, that night she’d arrived, sick and bloody, with a broken hand. They had fixed her. Then they’d put her to work.

“Don’t think you’re here to learn secrets for petty revenge,” Lady Wolf had warned her repeatedly. “We have important tasks to fulfill. You’ll do as you’re told.”

But Kiara had learned the secrets and spells. She burned for revenge against the cruel man who had hurt her back at the pretty cottage by the sea, where she’d felt safe surrounded by flowers and lovely things, until that night. Here, all was dark and cold and ugly, but no one hurt her. Not in that way, not like her stepfather had.

Now, seven years later, Kiara was ready to return. Quietly, she packed a small bag with poisons she’d concocted from ancient books and a sharp knife she’d pilfered. She crept down the stairs and went around to the back door, the one they used to exit to the graveyard.

As she began walking past the crumbling stones, Kiara heard a noise, a breath. She stopped. Something brushed past her and she half-screamed.

“Quiet!” he hissed, moving his hood back so she could see his face. “They’ll find us.”

Kiara recognized Thorn, Lady Wolf’s strange son, who up until now seemed to communicate only with animals. His eyes glinted in the moonlight like a cat’s, and she shivered. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve been watching you,” he said. “I know you’re going back to the sea.”

Kiara couldn’t deny it. “I need to settle with someone.”

“I’ll help you.”

Kiara’s fury rose up. “He’s mine!”

“I want to watch.” Thorn smiled and white teeth glittered like jewels. “Take me with you.”

~*~

Image source unknown.

©️2021 Paula Light and Light Motifs II. No unauthorized use permitted. Please check out Paula’s books for sale on Amazon. Thank you.

Bacon [repost]

Last night I dreamed [FF dislikes dreamt ~ so much for writing Rebecca II] I was in a house with my father and some other woman, idk who. Kevin Bacon, my brother, was coming over. This was normal. As I got the door, Kevin said quietly, “Hey, is Dad single again?” I said yes. He just rolled his eyes.

The four of us sat in the living room and Kevin picked up a romance novel that was on the coffee table. “You still reading these?” he asked me.

I told him I was and he asked why.

“I don’t know. They’re just fun.” I stared at the cover where a couple smiled at each other dreamily. There was an aqua ocean sparkling in the background and a light blue sky with fluffy clouds. “Look how happy they are, Kevin. They’re much happier than any of us.”

He laughed. “Can’t argue with that.”

Then I woke up.

[Note: I’ve been watching The Following every week.]

~*~

Image from Pixabay.

©️2021 Paula Light and Light Motifs II. No unauthorized use permitted. Please check out Paula’s books for sale on Amazon. Thank you.

The Quiet Life [repost]

“There she is!”

“Oh, my God! She’s really alive.”

“Can you believe it? After all these years!”

The Countess waved gracefully to the crowd gathered on the lawn. She had agreed to answer a few questions and pointed to a reporter near the edge of the stone steps. Two armed guards stood at the bottom of each side of the steps, ostensibly to deter anyone from coming too close.

“Countess Greta,” the reporter said. “It’s so good to see you again. What inspired you to emerge from your solitude?”

Greta smiled and indicated the perfectly maintained grounds. “I wanted a fresh lemon for my afternoon tea.”

Everyone laughed politely. It wasn’t a real answer, for they all knew the Countess could summon a servant to fetch a lemon.

Another reporter asked, “We were used to seeing you dressed in mourning black. Does your more colorful attire signal a change in your lifestyle as well? Will you be entering society again?”

The crowd murmured. It was a bold question, to indirectly refer to the death of the Count. No one really knew what had happened, though of course there were many stories and rumors, some of them bordering on the scandalous and vile.

But Greta appeared unfazed. She touched the lace of her heather pink dress and said, “Oh, thank you for noticing my gown. It is springtime after all. But I do prefer the quiet life of reading poetry and painting watercolors in my studio.”

A few more questions followed regarding her taste in poets and such. One of the guards subtly shifted position, at which point, the Countess said, “It’s been lovely chatting with you all. We shall do it again soon.” With that, she disappeared back into the cavernous castle.

“She has so much class.”

“So ephemeral.“

“Such a great beauty, even now.”

“How old is she? Does anyone know?”

“The guards seemed more concerned with keeping her in than keeping us out.”

~*~

Written for The Daily Echo.

Image credit to Sue Vincent (RIP).

©️2021 Paula Light and Light Motifs II. No unauthorized use permitted. Please check out Paula’s books for sale on Amazon. Thank you.

Assignment [repost]

I have not been told why the subject is under surveillance. It was not necessary for this assignment to inform me of details other than a description of the subject and the fact that he appears here at the bridge every afternoon precisely at 3:00. I have my suspicions, of course. I believe he is calculating something, perhaps a sniper shot. The route the officials will travel next month is classified, but someone knows it. When the time comes, if they tell me to kill the subject, I will do it without question or proof. That is how things are now.

The subject appears at 3:00 exactly, as he has done every day for seven days. He is dressed in his usual nondescript dark pants and windbreaker. He walks to the center of the bridge, places his hands lightly on the railing, and looks out. He makes no notes and does not appear to be communicating with anyone.

Today he leaves six minutes earlier than usual, striding away in the direction he appeared, opposite to me. As I turn around, I spot someone watching me. My observer quickly blends into the shadows of a door. It may be a test. This entire assignment could be a ruse. They do that to keep us in the dark. I may never know. Or I may be cut down as I walk past.

End encrypted transmission.

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction 37

Image from Fandango.

©️2021 Paula Light and Light Motifs II. No unauthorized use permitted. Please check out Paula’s books for sale on Amazon. Thank you.

No Vacancy [repost]

My daddy was no Elvis, but he sure liked singing along to the King’s music as he wandered from town to town, hitching rides on boxcars, destination Bangor, Maine. Sometimes he’d do a couple hours labor and make enough to buy a cheap motel room, no phone, no pool, no pets, but he had enough for a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of cheap whiskey.

That’s how he met my mom. She worked in the liquor store across the street from that motel in Bangor, and it was the end of her shift. They chatted for a while outside and ended up back in his room.

“You do this a lot?” he asked.

“Only a time or two,” she said.

They had their rendezvous, and he hopped a train the next day. Six weeks later, my mom discovered he had left her a present and tracked him down. She found him at the end of Lonely Street, called her daddy to meet her, and they knocked on his door.

“You’ll marry my daughter or else,” my grandpa said as he waved his gun at my daddy.

“Yes sir,” my daddy said. “Go find a minister and I’ll get dressed.”

But instead of getting dressed, my daddy jumped off the roof, which is why they call it the Heartbreak Hotel.

My mom went back home to her parents, and that’s where I was born, but she was never happy in Maine again. We began to wander like my daddy had, staying for a time in various small towns while Mom found a little work, and then moving on again.

We traveled around the midwest and back; by the time I was in high school we were living off aid because employers didn’t care for my mom’s perfume: eau de booze. That winter of my junior year we were staying at a crappy motel halfway between Erie and Pittsburgh, when one Tuesday I got home from school and couldn’t wake her up. She’d mixed a bottle of sleeping pills with her gin. She was my mother and I loved her, but she put me through hell. I grabbed my things and got out of there before the authorities could take me from the Bittersweet Motel.

Then I began my own journey and some of it’s a bit hazy in my mind right now. I know I headed west; the East Coast had nothing for me but heartache and pain. I can’t remember exactly how long it took me to end up on that desert highway, cool wind in my hair, but the important thing is that I got here. I knew when I saw her in the doorway as the mission bell rang that I had found my way home again.

There’s plenty of room at the Hotel California. They have a nice courtyard where we dance every night. There are mirrors on the ceiling and pink champagne on ice… honestly, it’s pretty fancy, and I’ve never received a bill. I’m not sure where my car is though, since I can’t find a door to the outside, but I’ll look again tomorrow. I’m tired now.

~*~

This post was inspired by Jim @ Mindlovemisery along with the following songs:

“King of the Road” by Roger Miller.
“Third Rate Romance” by Sammy Kershaw.
“Heartbreak Hotel” by Elvis Presley.
“Bittersweet Motel” by Phish.
“Hotel California” by the Eagles.

Image from Pexels.

©️2021 Paula Light and Light Motifs II. No unauthorized use permitted. Please check out Paula’s books for sale on Amazon. Thank you.

Apple [repost]

Witch, they named her, shamed her, and banished her from the kingdom. It was the King’s plot, so he could wed another.

From the forest people she learned of the wicked plague that would soon strike down all in the land, servant and noble child alike. The fairies saw the disgraced queen crying and gave her the magic antidote, hidden in an apple.

She disguised herself as a beggar and traveled back to the castle, where she enticed her darling daughter to bite. The little healers took the girl away and kept her safe until the plague had passed.

~*~

Written for the Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge [99 words].

Image source unknown.

©️2021 Paula Light and Light Motifs II. No unauthorized use permitted. Please check out Paula’s books for sale on Amazon. Thank you.

No Name Kitty [repost]

[Please note that I wrote this in 2016 and I have since moved.]

There was a kitty who lived in our parking lot. A nice neighbor, Christine, provided food, water, and shelter for him. He had a cozy bed and a covered bed too. I kept a bag of treats in my car and gave him a handful a few times a week. Sometimes he disappeared for a few days, but just when I thought he was gone for good, the next morning I’d see him snoozing under a car as I left for work.

He wasn’t a pretty cat ~ small and sturdy, black and white, but mostly dirty. I often said, “Hi kitty, you need a baff!” He wasn’t amused, nor did he ever come close enough to be touched. And he didn’t meow; I’ve read that ferals don’t. Meowing is something that tame cats learn to do to get attention from people. (Gatsby is a champion meower.) But he did know me and would stare at me sometimes as if to say, ahem, you haven’t given me any treats in a few days… whassup with that?

Last night there was a note on the main door: Christine had called animal control that morning to have the kitty put down. He had been attacked by a raccoon in the night and was severely injured. She asked us to please close the trash bin lids to discourage the raccoons from coming around since other cats prowl around the back of our apartment complex. I didn’t even know we had raccoons! Sometimes I hear horrid shrieky noises in the middle of the night, but I just assume that’s people having sex.

Poor kitty. I cried for him. I imagined him trying to defend the parking lot from a herd of vicious raccoons. They’re so huge and nasty! What was he even thinking? He should have just stayed under a car. And now I’m worried about the 2-3 little black cats back there ~ how could they possibly deal with raccoons? I hope they have sense enough to run away. I also know that people are simply not going to close the trash bin lids when they get full. That’s just how people are. We probably need another bin anyway, since the two we have get overstuffed.

I don’t know how old no name kitty was or what kind of life he had overall. But for the 3+ years I’ve lived here, I suppose he’s had it pretty good for an outside cat, until now. The lifespan for an outside cat is only 4 years. Nature is cruel and savage, always has been. Cats, eagles, snakes, raccoons… I’ve seen/read a lot about nature last few days. Can’t get these images out of my head now. Only the thinnest of walls separates us from savagery at any moment.

Thank you for patrolling our parking lot, no name kitty. RIP.

~*~

Image source unknown.

©️2021 Paula Light and Light Motifs II. No unauthorized use permitted. Please check out Paula’s books for sale on Amazon. Thank you.

FPQ: Since You’re Gone

Today Fandango provocatively asks…

Do you think that these two sayings are two sides of the same coin and that “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” is just a nice way of saying that “Familiarity breeds contempt”? Or do you believe that these two expressions have polar opposite meanings?

In the abstract, I do believe the two sayings are making a similar point, which is that we often take the people in our daily lives for granted, but we miss them when they aren’t there.

But “contempt” is a harsh word, going beyond taking someone for granted. In my case, I enjoy familiar faces and things around me, and while I may not always express my appreciation directly, that does not mean I view them negatively or completely disregard them. The lockdown gives a good example of this for me. I missed seeing my coworkers and friends! And I hadn’t realized how much I would miss social invitations, if only to turn most of them down. That didn’t mean I viewed my friends with contempt; it merely meant that I treasured my alone time too and couldn’t accept every invite that popped up. The same will happen now that normal life has resumed ~ I still need my alone time.

The saying about absence is more interesting to me, since I have to split it in half, so to speak. If I think about my parents, it’s definitely true that I have focused almost exclusively on my good memories of them since they’ve been gone. In this way, my heart has grown fonder. I no longer have to stress/worry about them, or deal with any of the annoyances they used to cause. I have loads of wonderful memories about both of them, and it’s great to wander through those.

But what about exes? In their case, it’s the total opposite! My heart has not grown fonder toward any of them, but in fact has hardened against them all. Not only don’t I miss them, but I have decided that I dislike them (as romantic partners, not necessarily as friends)… and I wonder what I ever saw in any of them in the first place. I am so grateful I am free of all that dating garbage and can live my life in peace.

I try not to get too annoyed with Gatsby when he barfs on my yoga mat or yowls at 2am because I know I’ll miss him when he’s gone. He is 10 years old now and perfectly healthy (afaik), but still. It’s good to keep this in mind with pets and other loved ones, even if they’re occasionally irritating. If we outlive them, we’ll be sad when they have to go. Of course, I am assuming I will outlive Gatsby, but he’s safe inside while I have to drive on the 405…

I hope people will miss me too and remember the good things we shared.

~*~

Image from Pixabay.

©️2021 Paula Light and Light Motifs II. No unauthorized use permitted. Please check out Paula’s books for sale on Amazon. Thank you.

Happy Father’s Day! [repost]

Support(ive) is the best way to describe my relationship with my dad, before he faded from dementia. He was an encouraging, upbeat guy, with a salesman’s type of personality. He’d get angry, but it was gone in a flash, and he generally stayed within the range of mellow to happy. Though he had definite opinions about politics (card-carrying liberal from NYC), among other things, he’d bounce back after a discussion or debate, no hard feelings.

Daddy wasn’t a griller or a BBQ dude or any sort of handyman guy. Mom actually did all that stuff (RIP). Dad believed in going out to dinner. Mostly though he just read books and of course his beloved NYT. That’s what he’d be doing today, if he were still around and able. I’d likely bake some fudgy brownies for him. Those were his favorite.

He was always up for a conversation with me. Always supportive of my endeavors. Always encouraging of my dreams and goals, though he would express his ideas if he thought I might be making a mistake. He was a good father and I was lucky to have him.

Dad and me, at his 80th birthday, 2010 (RIP).

Love you, Dad.

~*~

Image is mine.

©️2021 Paula Light and Light Motifs II. No unauthorized use permitted. Please check out Paula’s books for sale on Amazon. Thank you.

Remnant

She thought she’d obliterated all traces of him. Every photo, every gift, every text, every tee shirt had been painstakingly destroyed. But she forgot to check the attic, and tears began anew when they showed her the envelope. His words, bold and unmistakable, were addressed to her. Just that one remnant brought back all the heartbreak he’d put her through.

And then, of course, they dug up the yard…

~*~

Image from Pexels.

Written for Six Sentence Story.

©️2021 Paula Light and Light Motifs II. No unauthorized use permitted. Please check out Paula’s books for sale on Amazon. Thank you.