Lifted Up

A break from my writing to bring you the refreshing words of the lovely MurMade.  This short piece of fiction features the same characters from my published piece "Once Upon a Christmas Feast" in the Tales by the Tree anthology.  In fact, the Fairy Elf, the Mermaid Princess, and the Dragon Queen are none other than yours truly, Miss MurMade herself, and our good friend Theresa! [I featured one of Theresa's short stories not too long ago here.] There is nothing we like better than turning an ordinary walk into a fantastical adventure! Please enjoy!

I am a mermaid who delights in life underwater. Who collects pearls. Who stops to look at the coral. I lure fish from their anemones to play with them. I get lost in seaweed. I bask in sunshine at the surface. While lounging on a riverbank in the woods I chatter the day away with my friend the fairy elf. From the salt-splashed rocks I visit The Dragon Queen, with grand, powerful wings and scaly beasts at her command. Often we rendezvous on the shore to go adventuring. On the beach their flapping sends hot sand swirling in warm air. It dehydrates my skin. In a brief but excruciating moment my fin rips deeper and deeper. It divides into two separate limbs. Scales pull away from the fresh raw skin of pale, unsteady legs. Then I am ready.

Today a dragon also joined our party, for we were going by air. With help, I climbed atop the enormous beast, settling onto its back just as I was told to avoid the scathing heat and pinching joints of dragon scales. All at once he stood, his powerful legs pressing and lunging off the ground without ever returning. Long, blond tendrils whipped away from my face and shoulders and flowed behind me, almost dragging me backwards. Unpracticed legs desperately squeezed around the shoulders of the dragon mount. The land below shrunk, growing ever more distant as I cowered atop the huge creature, my fingers clutching to his scales like mollusks to a ship’s hull. Even my face, which must have been desperately pale, was pressed against its smoldering hide. This was no place for a mermaid.

I have no idea how I let them talk me into this. The merry laugh of the fairy elf cut through the constant rush of air past my ears. “Dragon got your gills?” my blithe companion teased, her iridescent wings easily keeping her alongside.

To the dragon, it must seem a leisurely pace.  Scowling back at her I bit my lip, but had been shaken from the fear just enough to take a deep breath through my nose.  Now to sit up.  Convincing my limbs to obey was going to be more difficult than expected.  

‘Just dive in and do it,’ I told myself.  

But that was a poor choice of words and my eyes slammed closed faster than a clam’s shell.  Rising to the same altitude the dragon queen herself offered words of confidence. 

“No need to look back, is there?  We will always have tea in the fairy elf’s tree house, take shortcuts in the woods, and hide from the giant worms that live in the mountains as we have done.  But now we can visit the cloud cathedrals, look upon starlight from the valley of crystal flowers, and show you the waterfall of mist, without a pool, which no sea creature could ever behold.  What have you to worry about?  NOTHING.  And you have everything to enjoy.” 

She was right.  If I were to slip, there was a dragon, fairy elf, and winged dragon queen all ready to catch me mid air.  Death by falling was not my fate.  But somehow my ragged breath convinced the rest of my being otherwise. 

“Just think of it, the first mermaid to fly!” the fairy elf beamed. “You’re the only one to even consider the realm of air when you could be dominating the ocean or on land catching men.  Why, you’re no longer bound to the adventures of your kin!  What fun we shall have!”

“I can’t do this,” erupted the confession to my dearest of friends. 

“You already are, just open your eyes!” her majesty insisted, not putting up with a moment of unnecessary selfish cowardice.  They would help me beat this.  I felt absolutely ridiculous.  This was so simple for them, so natural, why couldn’t I just enjoy it with them?  After longing for the same abilities, hanging on every word they spoke of flight, we had finally found a solution.  

I could bravely face the pressures of bleak ocean depths, race whales and dolphins, outwit sharks, play amongst pounding waves and crawl from the surf to take human form and traverse forest and mountains.  I opened my eyes.  What danger was there here?  In the wide open spaces with, not water, but air flowing over and around me and a dragon firm and true holding me up.  Straightening my back, both arms stretched out to feel the wind.  Now I am a mermaid who flies.

Requiem For A Soul

A bit of flash fiction from the person who taught me the ends and outs of the beautiful, diverse, imaginative world of Role-Playing.  I absolutely love Theresa's style of writing and the way her words create puffs of imagery that swirl around the mind and tickle the imagination.  Please enjoy!

The torrential rains of April birth more than flowers into summertime. For me they herald gloom, death, and despair. The memory is crisp--- as if fifteen years haven’t gone by. I remember it well.


Dawn treaded swiftly on the heels of April 30th. I was twelve and preparing for examinations. Weeks had been devoted to diligent study to ensure my position of top student from the only classmate who challenged my academic reign. After dressing in uniform ensemble that fateful morning, I started down the stairwell with my briefcase. As I descended I noticed my brother, only five, displaced on the bottom step and nestled against the wall in his pajamas. Upon examination, I found him fast asleep, his rosy cheeks pressed against the cool surface. I had brushed the loose strands of sloppy hair from his forehead before observing the eerie calm. Maids usually bustled about, but not today. I rested my briefcase at the base of the rail and sat beside my baby brother to lightly rub his back. The house was pin-drop quiet. I scooped the little one up and stood upright, considering putting him in bed before heading to school.

I had placed my foot on the first step when I heard the sound. It was faint and at first I thought my foot had creaked against the polished wood, but then it came again. Had a bird flown into a window? The still air caused the third echo to zenith louder than the two previous. My curiosity exchanged the idea of returning my little brother for discovering the origins of the odd thumping. The sound didn’t come again, but it didn’t have to. Turning down the open corridor, I walked past the family portraits to Father’s private study. Silence even stronger than before lingered as I pressed my ear against the cherry-wood door. I held my breath as I distinguished muffled voices-– Father’s overpowering Mother’s. The walls and door were sound proof, protecting their words from my ears. There was no keyhole to peep through or hole through which to listen. I knelt down to prop the sleeping boy beside me against the wall. Standing again, I tested the doorknob with a cautious twist. It unlatched easily.

Up until now I was extraordinarily calm. I hadn’t realized this until a constricting nervousness harried my heart. My hand jerked away as regret consumed me. If father caught me, he’d… but the door steadily opened until a sliver of light shone through. Suddenly their voices were clear, crisp and audible and I could do naught but spy.

“I will not let you do this to my sons,” Mother’s voice came, shaking and strained, through gritted teeth. “I will not –”

“You have no say in the matter,” retaliated Father in a voice unshaken but elevated, “I will do as I must for the security of this family.”

“It’s not this family you care about!”

I strained to see, but only the back of Mother’s white gown and elbow-length, wispy black hair was visible. She took several steps backward into full view. Her face was stained with cosmetics and tears. Her arm tucked close to her side and behind her.

“I’ll ask you again, put it down.”

“I will not let him have my boys,” her voice shook. She backed out of my vision and Father entered next. His composure was calm as always.

And then it happened. I was so eager to see what had become of Mother I took a step forward unconsciously. The door pushed open with a creak. Both heads spun. Four crazed eyes bore into me.

Mother moved first, revealing a long knife clasped in her fist. She leapt towards me like a doe through mist, her hair blowing in the wind of her precise motion. Time ceased as she gained proximity. Her eyes focused on mine, some unforeseen passion driving her. My legs froze in place, hypnotized by the sight of her loving face obscured into this twisted mask. In the same timeless motion, Father grabbed Mother’s shoulder and upper arm, yanking her away before she could strike. At that moment I fell to my knees and watched an angel struggle against a devil, though I knew not who was which.

Mother kept her eyes on me, fighting against Father to lunge in my direction every chance she had. Her strong grip on the knife proved useful as she sliced at Father who powerfully defended. She pushed with all of her might against his grip as they tangled within each other. The sight was menacing and I sunk until my bottom hit the floor. Tears flooded Mother’s eyes as a moment of weakness finally broke her. She stumbled back, crumbling to her knees.

“My children!” she cried, the knife still held high.

She lunged for Father this time. He forced the knife from her white knuckles and plunged it into her throat. They stood like statues, Father looming over her, both shocked and locked in motion, until her hands slowly moved towards the hilt. Her once crazed eyes were now sorrowful and empty. Her lips moved but no voice came, though I knew she called my name. Then she fell to the ground in a cascade of white like petals of a wilting flower. Everything stilled once more.

I was too shocked to speak. There was a lump in my throat, as if I had re-swallowed my heart after regurgitating it. Father’s shaking hands balled into fists as his angry eyes turned on me.

“Out!” he shouted, “Get out now!”

Scrambling to my feet, I fled, the door slamming vehemently behind me. Snatching my briefcase, I dashed out the front door as fast as I could, my brother forgotten.


To this day I wonder why it had to happen. Why was I so helpless to defend her? A heart full of rage and confusion converted into ambition. I now strive towards one goal: to someday return my beloved mother to this earth.

The Sacred Cavern: Part One

For Finish That Thought #31, my friend MurMade and I wrote about our characters Jamison and Courtney from a Role-Play we're doing together about a cranky researcher and his ever-helpful assistant who are bent on uncovering an ancient secret civilization, the Rinald.  This is her take on Courtney's findings in the sacred cavern.  My take on Jamison's is here.


Fingers trembling, she slowly unrolled the ancient document. Dad would be furious if he knew she was getting her hands on these artifacts without him. But after withholding information about the excavation and hiding the discovery of the chamber entrance from them in the first place, he deserved to be undermined a little in return. Dad would never have found these chambers without Jamison’s directions; he had every right to be down here before the archeologists. And of course, as Jamison’s assistant, she was all too happy to tag along, look at statues, fondle artifacts, and read scrolls.

Holding this one in the halo of light the lantern cast on the pedestal she examined the delicate ink marks. Twenty-six positions marked out in a circle, almost like the face of a clock, with a mermaid in the center. Courtney grinned, she immediately recognized her as the goddess, Feorna. Unfurling the scroll completely revealed a series of figures portraying each step of an elaborate dance. The realization of why this diagram was familiar caused a gleeful flutter in her stomach. It was the dance for the winter solstice. “It was a dance involving 26 people, two for each month in the Rinald calendar. They stood in a circle around the statue of Feorna. The person who symbolized when the rains came the current year would stand facing the west, the person for the previous year stood facing east, the year before that stood facing north, and the year prior to that stood south. It was an intricate dance, very beautiful, and when it finished, the person who stood facing west foretold when the rains would come the next year.” That was how a Rinald expert had explained it to the inquisitive, wide-eyed girl begging to be told about the legends of old.

Her eyes roved over the tiny black letters, familiar in shape, but still indecipherable to her, craving to know more. She looked over her shoulder at her lanky partner, who was gawking at the lines chiseled into a pillar.
“Jamison,” she called for his attention, bringing both lantern and parchment to interrupt his work, “this scroll about Paradython’s rain dance, can you see if it mentions how the ritual itself was introduced?” Tearing his focus away to glance at the document she held out, Jamison raised an eyebrow, casting a bemused glance at Court.

“Where did you see this?”
“It was the first scroll on …” she began, gesturing to a rack of scrolls near the wall.
“No, Miss Smarty-pants, how does a doll like you know what this is?” Jamison interrupted. Courtney pulled her shoulders back, lifting her chin proudly.
“I have my sources. Now does this have any answers I will care about?”
“Nah, put it back for your Father to find. All those documents will end up on my desk anyway. We have bigger things to uncover,” he said, snatching the lantern from her to shed more light on his own work.