Free Write Friday - The Ring

I almost hadn’t seen it.  My eyes were tired from traveling, constantly watching my surroundings.  As I’d reached the last hill before the edge of town habits of complacency returned and I’d simply walked with my head down.  How many times had I walked this same journey?  How many times had I walked past it before?

The sun simply reflected off something in the grass.  I’d taken a few steps past it before I’d realized what I’d seen.  Reflections meant something shiny, if it was money I’d spend an hour trying to find it.

I traced my steps, circling the same area trying to catch a glimpse of the same glare.  I got down on all fours scouring the earth.  Then I saw it, a simple silver band laying, almost hidden, in the tall green grass.  I picked it up, propping my knees up in front of me.

It couldn't have been there long.  The silver showed no signs of tarnish.  The only distinction on the band was a simple, red, cross-hatch pattern painted along the inside of the band.

“No gems,” I sighed.

A silver ring without a gem wouldn't even cover my expenses for a week.  Plus, the time put into finding someone to buy it might not even be worth the effort.

“It would have been so much easier if it was money.” I complained.

The town I lived in was dying.  It was one of three towns supporting the Galadaer Kingdom.  As the nobles got richer, everyone else got poorer.  It was happening more often that people couldn't pay their taxes.  They usually gave them a month to find the money, but with the amount rising the whole time, nobody could ever afford it.  They’d be put into servitude until they had cleansed their debt.  But, I’d never seen anyone come back after they’d been taken.

I had been getting by, barely.  I spent most of my time hunting game in the king’s forest.  The rest of my time, I’d make coats or hats.  Once I even made a pair of boots.  Once a month when I was summoned to the capital to pay my taxes I’d con some rich ladies into a set of my furs.  Usually, it would give me enough for my taxes and a month of rent.

Looking at the ring, I realized, I didn't have time to sell it.  This was prime hunting season.  Maybe I’d incorporate it into my next coat.

I estimated, “might fetch me an extra 20 eagles.”

I reached to put it in my pocket and remembered the hole at the bottom.  I spent all this time making clothes and I never seemed to mend my own.  So I slipped the ring on a finger.  Oddly enough, it fit perfectly on my right pointer.  So, I rocked and jumped up to my feet.  Begrudgingly, I made my way home.

As the town gate grew closer, I saw my least favorite person.  I tried to duck out of his view and take another way into town but I wasn't quick enough.

“Oy!”  He snarled, “Don’t think I don’ see ya!”

I stopped and turned to face him.

“Hello Doran!  Oh it’s so wonderful to see you today!” I gushed with sarcasm.

He smiled at me showing a beautiful array of rotting teeth and whispered, “I don’ like you neither Rowan but I certainly like me some fresh meat.”

Doran was a simple man.  What you saw on the outside was exactly what you got; a brute with a long sword.  He’d been a part of the Galadaer Guard for at least 5 years.  Took him 3 years to put together what I did every day outside the gates.  I guess he finally realized that I left with an empty pack and came home with a full one.  I usually gave out food to those who needed it.  Yet Doran was the only one who demanded it, and didn't need a bite of it.  He barely fit in his uniform.  I agreed to give him one of my catches whenever I saw him.  He agreed not to tell any higher-ups what I was doing.

“I didn't catch anything today.” I voiced.

“I don’ believe ya.” He sneered.

Shaking my head I pulled of my empty pack and threw it at him.  He caught it, clumsily, then felt the weight of it as he opened it.  Realizing there was nothing inside, he threw it to the ground.

“You owe me meat every time I sees ya.  If you don’t have meat,” he bargained, “then you owe me somthin’ else.”

I spread my arms wide and challenged him, “you can have anything you can take.”

He looked me up and down.  My tousled brown hair and fresh face never looked intimidating but my hand made leather armor did.  The long bow strapped on my back and the dagger at my side may have been second hand but I knew how to keep them.

Doran feigned a yawn and scratched his head.

“I’m feeling gen’rous.  How about next time you jus’ bring me two.” He ordered.

I barked, “Fine.”

Then, I began to walk past him thinking, “Like your fat arse needs anymore food.”

Only, I hadn't thought it.

“Wha’ did you say to me?” Doran demanded as I heard him drawing his sword.

I stopped in my tracks, raised my hands and slowly turned to him muttering, “Now wait a minute, you didn't hear me righ-“

But as I turned to face him, I saw his blade swinging towards my face.  My reflexes took over, shooting out my right hand to catch and redirect the sword.  My palm would be injured, but that was better than my head.  I caught the blade, feeling the steel hit my skin.  The metal flashed in the light.  I pulled my hand through, just as I had been taught, and slid the blade out of Doran’s hand.  I let its momentum continue and it flew to the ground beside me.

“You ain't getting out of this that easy Rowan.”

He took a step towards me looking towards his blade, then he hesitated.

I cautioned, “that’s it Doran, think about this.  A brawl with the locals won’t look good to your superiors.”

His eyes darted back to mine, terrified.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I calmed, “all I did was disarm you.”

He stumbled backwards, raising one arm and pointed at me.

“You’re, you’re,” He stuttered.

“Just calm down,” I breathed, “You’re ok.”

Doran shook his head and blinked but when he turned back to me.  Swallowing, he blurted, “You’re a Maker.”

The word caught me off guard, so much so that I laughed.  Which, seemed to terrify him even more.  Chuckling, I explained, “I’m not a Maker.  My Pa just taught me how to fight when I was younger.”

“Then what’s that?” Doran questioned pointing at his sword lying on the ground.

I turned to look and I wasn't laughing anymore.

The blade had been bent near the tip at almost a 45 degree angle.  The center of the bend was red hot, smoldering the grass it touched on the ground.

“Woah, woah there,” I stammered stopping Doran from stepping back, “That wasn't me.”

“That’s where you grabbed my sword.”

“Let’s just think this through.”

“And I saw this flash of light.”

“I’m not a maker.”

“My steel sword is lying there bent practically in half!”

“Maybe you did that.”

“I have to tell the captain about this.”

With that, I drew my bow and an arrow.  I could take it off my back faster than a jack rabbit could jump in its hole.  This time, it was pointed at Doran.

“You can’t do that,” I warned.

Doran stood frozen.

“Just think about this rationally, you know me.  If I was a maker, surely, you’d have noticed it earlier.”

He ran.  In the split second I had before he passed the town gate, I loosed my arrow.  It stuck him in the back of the neck between his helmet and studded chest piece.  He didn't even have time to scream.

I jogged to him reaching down to turn him on his back.  His eyes pierced my soul with accusation.

“What was I supposed to do?  You wouldn't listen to me.”

He tried to cough and a spurt of blood rose past his lips.  His pupils rolled to the back of his head.  I closed his eyes.

Then I looked around me, making sure no one was near.  The sun had begun to set.  Most people were heading back to their homes at this point.  It also meant the night guard would be here soon.  I didn't have time to think.  Right now I had to be a hunter.

Pulling out my dagger, I cut the shaft of the arrow near the base of his neck.  I was then able to pull the arrow out from either side of him.  There was a lot of blood.  I pulled his shirt up around him to catch as much as I could.

I drug Doran’s body out through the gate and around the corner.  I looked around me for somewhere to hide him.  There were some briers off to the left of the wall.  Reaching them, I lifted him and dropped him inside them.  They slumped and accepted him.  Using my dagger, I fixed the branches and leaves pulling some out from under him so he couldn't be seen from above.  I took a couple of steps back.  I could see him but only if I was really looking for him, good enough.  The sun would be down soon and they wouldn't be able to find him until morning if they looked.

Then, I walked back towards the gate shifting the dirt around with my feet.  I didn't want anyone seeing a path I had made on the ground with his body.  I inspected my work: no more path.

I jogged to the sword on the ground.  It was no longer red, but I knew it was still hot.  I couldn’t hide this with the body.  Finding the blade would be the worst thing.  If you killed someone, it was a lifetime of servitude to the family you had wronged.  If you were a Maker, your life didn't last very long at all.

I carried the blade with me hiding it nonchalantly under my cloak.  I’d taken a few steps towards the gate when I remembered.

“My pack,” I thought.  I went back and as I reached down to grab it I noticed the blood on my hands.  I grabbed some dirt and rubbed it in my hands.  I couldn't do much more than that until I got home.  I didn't want to leave blood out in the open.  I grabbed my pack, shuffling the dirt around as I did.  It looked as if it had never been there.

When you’re hunting, your mind may be racing but you can’t let your quarry know that.  The prey needs to believe they’re the only one who’s afraid.  So, I walked slowly through the gate and into town.  I kept my head down just like everyone else.  My body remained calm and acted out of instinct while inside, questions continued to grow.

I had just killed a man.  It was like there had been no other choice, but I knew better.  Granted, he wasn't the best man.  No, I was rationalizing.  It didn't matter what kind of man he was, right?  Slowly, two sides rose as I worked through the event.

“What if he had been trying to kill someone?”

“He wasn’t.”

“He might as well have been, trying to tell the captain you were a Maker.”

“But I’m not a Maker.”

“Do you think they would have believed you?”

You hoped they would have but you witnessed The Quell.  People were drug from their homes.  People I had known so well turned out to be Makers, they turned out to be threats.  The royal guard had been kind enough to send their families their charred bones after they had been burned at the stake, at the capital.

They would find Doran’s body but I wouldn't be here.  I had decided at least that.  I would take what I had made, sell it, and find a new town.  I’d never left Galadaer territory but I had no choice.  If I stayed the most lenient they could be, would be to place me in servitude of Doran’s family.  I’d never been one to follow orders very well.

I’d leave before morning.  I could climb over the wall near the pub, I’d climbed in that way enough times avoiding guards before.  The cracks in the wall provided just enough footholds.  I was pretty sure I could make the climb from the other side as well.

It was dark now.  The streets were almost clear.  I was almost home.  I looked down at the sword in my right hand.  I wondered how the blade could have bent like that.  When I was younger a troupe had passed through town.  They had a monster of a man that had bent a man’s rapier from the audience.  This was guard grade though, and much thicker.  I couldn't understand it.

So, I walked home in the darkness.  All the while, under the dirt and blood that covered my right hand, that simple silver ring with the painted cross-hatch now glowed a ruby red.



Free Write Friday will be the time when I sit down at my computer and just let things happen.  Most everything else on my blog I plan out a little bit.  Every Friday you can read something unique that you can know just got created.  If anything I end up writing on a Friday truly interests you, let me know!  If I get enough interest, maybe I'll try and take the story further.

Poetry - Pancake

I flip and flop, like a pancake in a pan.

To feel one thing would be

to be half baked.

What tomorrow’s lesson brings,

today I’ll never know.

I’d rather stop to take a simple bite.

This poem is about feeling up and down from day to day.  I wear my heart on my sleeve a lot of the time.  When people ask me how I'm doing I surprise them by being honest.

I felt like with two very short poems, I might as well post them in the same day.

Thanks guys!

Poetry - Anticipation

I’ve swallowed a hot air balloon.

It’s raising and rising inside of my heart

I can’t keep out the joy from rushing in.

A mile head is approaching.

With butterflies inside,

I yearningly, wholeheartedly leap.

This poem is about making plans for something I'm very excited about.  Tell me if you like it or think it was worth the read!

Motivation

I’m a generally happy person.  I live everything as it happens.  I ride the waves deciding moments before they hit whether I’m going to dive, ride it or keep paddling.  Sometimes this means I get thrashed by the wave.  I can be pulled under, turned upside-down and left with only my wits.  Not knowing which way is up I try to calm myself, center myself, and slowly float to the surface.  That’s the “me” I have cultivated all my life.  I would never want to waste a wave because I was trying to see the wave beyond it.  Even if it means I go under, I focus on the here and now.

As you can imagine, this means it’s really hard to set goals for myself.  How can you plan anything if you’re too busy riding the wave of here and now?  I still haven’t answered that question.  I don’t know if there is an answer.

Once or twice, I’ve tried to live my life looking ahead.  Those times, although extremely industrious, were some of the saddest times of my life.  As I looked to the future I missed out on so much of what was happening around me.  I lost my gratitude for simple pleasures.  I lost my appetite for peace in preference for productivity.

Living as I do, I’m content to simply let things happen.  Before you decide I’m a highly adjusted person let me explain the challenges this produces.  I can be extremely lazy.  I spend all my productivity at work and when I come home I have no ambition left for my own dreams.

Work is a fantastic place for me.  Having others around me acting at their best pushes me.  I’m one of the best versions of myself when I’m at work.  People usually see the highly trained qualities I’ve developed working on overtime.  Having somebody else count on me matters.  If you’ve read my “About Me” section, you know I’m a people person.  I need people in my life.  At work, they so happen to depend on me.

That’s why this blog is so important.  I need to feel motivated by some outside source in order to do what I want.  Even if nobody ends up reading the blog, if I can: 1. promise myself to post something every day.  2. actually do it.  3. and reach the threshold of time where it’s not worth it to waste all my previous efforts.  I could finally be a “writer”.  I place that word in quotations because I’m already a writer, I’m just not an active one.

If I can be my own outside source, depending on myself.  Then maybe, just maybe, I can actually achieve a dream.

I’m the type of person who believes in the rainbow at the end of a storm.  I’m the girl who dances in the rain as it pours.  But one day, before I go out and dance I’ll put some hot water on, throw some sweats in the dryer and lay a blanket on the couch.  Then when I come in I can change into warm cloths, make some hot cocoa and snuggle on the couch with a good book.

Poetry - Bad News

Bad News

Black swirls around me.

A moment locked in a cell,

while the rest of the world travels freely.

I am lost

in the confusion of:

feelings and logic.

How can a person understand another?

We wait in complacency

What could we even do?

While the world tries to

tear

     us

          apart,

our hands - stay locked.

Striving and flying,

spacing our lives

Inside the plan that

someone else

has for me.

Sometimes, you have feelings that can't come out any other way than a poem.  Thanks for reading my feelings.  We just had some very bad news in the family.  It hit my husband very hard.  We'll cope with it, I'm sure but in the moment (as I am now) I needed something to help me take the feelings out.  I could sing something but it's hard to sing when you're in a public place.  I'll do more poetry on the blog sporadically.  Usually it will be when I have something I need to say.  I'll always try to explain it or give a little snippet afterwards though.

Thanks! 

An Introduction

Recently, I had a very good friend begin a blog.  He's an amazing author.  I've always admired him for his gusto and heart.  He's known he wanted to be a writer for a very long time.  His blog features quips and snippets of his writing.  He knows the truth about being an author.  If you’re ever going to really be one, you need to be writing almost constantly.

I dabbled in writing in my younger years, writing stories, poetry and plays.  Then, I got distracted by Theatre.  I loved acting but after a year of college I realized I didn’t have the heart to take the rejections that so often accompany auditions.  So, I decided to go back to my first passion.  I changed my major in school to become a playwright.  I was doing pretty well but I wasn’t really ready to follow someone else’s plan for my education.  I dropped out.  It’s not a decision I regret.  I needed it at the time but, it does bring me sadness sometimes.

I went through a definite slump.  Ok, I went through a couple of slumps.  Luckily, I have a wonderful husband who truly believes in me.  One evening, we were driving home from my parents.  I was in a big slump, and I was at the bottom of the curve.  I started crying expressing that I didn’t know what to do.  I felt as if I had no purpose, I simply went through the motions of my life without ever understanding why I even needed to be around.

“Well, what would you like to do?” He asked.

“Nothing,” I joked but then the tears welled up behind my eyes and my passion resurfaced, “Write.  I want to write.” I burst.

“Then do it.” He challenged.

“I can’t make any money off it.  Writing takes a lot of time,” I sighed, “I need to work a normal person job so we can have money in the bank and food on the table.”

Softly he placed his hand on my arm.  “I think, you could make enough to support us with writing.”  He countered.  “I don’t think you could do it instantly, but in a year or two years.  Why not?  You’re a really good writer.”

Then I cried some more.  In fact, I cried a lot.  Finally, I let someone believe in me.  If he could believe in me, then maybe I could believe in myself.  If I believed in myself than maybe I could actually do what I’ve wanted to for years.

So, here we are.  My first blog post.  And the first of my “Personal Plugs”.  Every Monday I’ll have a “Personal Plug” where I’ll write about something in my life.  I’ll figure out what other type of stuff I’m doing in the future.  For now, I’ll be posting something every day.

Hopefully, you’ll all come along for the journey.