warmth

For Magpie 145
I'm curled up in the bright red chair by the window.
It's raining out, it has been for most of a week.
At least, that's what the soft one says, every morning as she prepares our breakfast.
Kibble for me, bacon for her. I usually get half her bacon. She purrs at me, though, so I know she's not mad.
The soft one smells like this chair, even though it's mine, she sits in it sometimes, on cold nights. I join her, curled up on her knees instead of the soft cushion. It is not as comfortable, but her warmth makes up for it. The soft one is very warm and bright, with fur that comes off and I can sleep in, in the worn-fur basket. I like that basket almost as much as I like my chair, by the window.
I can see the garden from behind my twitching tail. It's very wet out there, no birds to catch or squirrels to chase, just green green green and grey.
Inside is bright, with my chair and the soft one's furs and pictures on the wall and fire in the hole.
Fire is not for me, the soft one says, and when I was a kit she hissed at me if I went too near.
Fire and I listen to each other, though, my purrs, his cracks and spits. It warms me, and I do not touch it.
There is no Fire to hiss and purr to today, the soft one is Out. She says this to me, "Well, I'm going Out" and click clack shuts the door.

I do not know why anyone would want to go Out into the rain and leave this nice, soft red chair, so snug and warm.

After Letter 1

Based on the book After by Francine Prose.

It's good, creepy and awesome.

From the Journal of Sara Dale:

 They came during science today. Mr. Mishu had been about to mix the chemicals when they came in and all hell broke loose. Some of the younger kids were crying, the 9^th graders. I was too afraid, too in shock, to cry. We were the good ones, right? The ones who obeyed every new rule, every new policy, who read only what was asked, did what little work we had, kept our mouths shut as they stole our rights- in the name of keeping us safe. They made us leave everything, but I saved this scrap of paper and sketching pencil.  Is this how people feel during evacuations during wars? One minute home, afraid but home, the next on a train or bus to the unknown? To death?

  All I know is we are going west. Mom must be so afraid. Surely someone heard the more resistant kids shouting and called the cops, right? Writing this calms me, but not enough. I wish Geric was here, to hold me and say everything would be ok, but he was one of the first to go. Sent away to some detention center because of an essay he wrote. Isn’t that breaking the first amendment? I wish we’d covered more in history, but after the shooting, well…

We just crossed state lines. I remember an old mystery I read--- this is a kidnapping. My mother never would have signed anything! This is against the law! I wish that just saying that would make them stop. It won’t- words of a child are powerless against the-wait Why is the government helping? I see police among the men and women on this bus, watching for- oh no! they see me writing!

Whoever finds this, know that Pleasant Valley high students are being taken to their dooms- tell our parents our final goodbyes. Crap, he’s coming, what do- the windo~

Finally

Magpie 142

They never tell you quests can be boring. Arriani thought, staring into space. When she'd joined Kallin the Warrior's traveling party, she'd expected quests, and they'd had one- nothing more than the tiniest errand boy quest of finding a runaway girl- just a normal girl, like Arriani herself. Not even a princess! But a quest was a quest, and if Kallin the Warrior was leading it, She'd thought they would have some adventure. But no. They'd found the girl, gotten her away from her nasty aunt and to a new home, and were just wandering. Kallin said adventure would find them. Arriani wished it would hurry up.

She got up to check the horses- she was alone in the camp- Kallin and Zara the Shieldmaiden were in town getting supplies and seeing if there were any quests to be had, the other members were hunting, but Arriani, as the only member of the party with any knack for animals(or cooking, as it turned out) was  to stay with the horses and prepare supper. One of the horses, a bay cob, lipped her shirt and headscarf, and she laughed.
This was the part in the story, she thought, where bandits would attack and she'd fend them all off with her glaive alone- but not a twig snapped, and not even a squirrel came to steal nuts from the packs.

Bored, bored, bored. Arriani slumped against the rock outcropping that served as the camp's lookout and sighed, her knees up and arms dangling. She checked her scry stone for danger- nothing. She touched the Sight pendant around her neck and stared into the shadows of the trees- sunset wouldn't come for an hour yet, but it never hurt to use a little magic. Nothing but squirrels, keeping their distance. Bored, bored, bored. She half dozed, until-
"Arriani?" It was one of Kallin's oldest friends, a legend himself, Rasime. His face was scarred from years of quests.
"What is it?" the girl asked, getting to her feet. He probably had meat for the stew. Bored, bored, bored. What was the point of bringing Gran's teak and Isani steel glaive and knowing how to use it, if all she did was cut meat and keep the horses from running off?

Rasime stopped her as she walk to the cook fire. "No. You carry that pretty pigsticker. Can you wield it, or is it just for show?" his voice wasn't harsh, but neither was he teasing her.

"I can use it, elsewise Kallin would have brought along some other mage, a better one, who could join in the fights," If there were any to be had she thought but didn't say. "Why?"
"Zara's sent word-" Rasime pulled on the spelled communication pendant he wore. "There are some nasty men in the village, looking for that girl we helped. Kal and Zar need a hand or two. It won't be much, but it's a skirmish all the same. Fetch Sir Kilona's sword, she left it behind, she always does, fool Lady Knight, and follow me. We've got ourselves a real and true adventure now- Seems our runaway's of importance to someone high up."

Arriani froze. This was it, her adventure, a real adventure, to protect and fight villains by the sides of heroes!
Rasime sighed. " Today, youngling. Goddess's Tears, it's always the same with you new questers. Grab the gear and let's go."
Finally, finally, finally- excitement!

Kiss

Magpie tale 141
He kissed me in the rain, my hair loose and wet, my face pink with the raw wind. The sky was misty and dreech, and we were all alone in the streets, grey and dark and wet. But I wasn't cold. I was warm, pressed against him, our doubled heartbeats a song that rose into the air and echoed in my ears. the rain thudded against the ground, heavy and strong, cold, and I knew- I loved him.

We were walking and laughing in the rain, dancing through puddles and moaning half heartedly about wet socks and soaked shoes, thinking of hot chocolate and warmth. He was warmth, and me as well, and we clung together as we walked, pausing to look up in to the pearled sky that let loose with rain and wind that rushed the leave to the ground in whispers.

He kissed me then, for all the world to see, though the world wasn't there to see it, and maybe it was the rain, the wet, but I swear there was something new about this kiss, something magic. I held him and he held me, my leaky umrbella forgotten, and kissed him back. The rain beat down but we, we flew.

Solitude is an Empty Porch Swing

Solitude is

An empty porch swing

Rocking back and forth

In the wind.

Tap. Tap. 

One shoe pushes the ground

Just hard enough

To go faster than

The breeze.

The girl waits

In silence

Unsure of why.

A bell tolls the noon hour

But she sits

Still as still.

the Outside is empty

Coated with snow

And dead rose bushes

Solemn 

She doesn’t care

Her swing

Rocks

back and forth

Slowly

in Rhythm with her breath.

Peaceful,

As the wind toys 

With her hair

And the snow

And the rose petals, brown with frost.

Solitude is all she craves

for the Silence

and the Wind

and the empty porch 

Are the best of

Listeners.

My very own

Magpie tales 140

I have a dollar in my pocket.
It's not crisp, not new, but old, worn, crumpled.
But it's mine, my very own, to do with as I please.
My little hand creeps down to the pocket, to squeeze my dollar with five year old fingers.
I take it out to look at it, memorize it.
There is ink, dark, dark green so it's almost black, and places worn away so it's only just the color of grass.
A man's face, not smiling but not frowning either. He looks very stern, like Daddy, only Daddy's hair is black, not white.
And on the back is a pire-uh... pire-uh...Pire-uh-mid! Only it's not done and there's a triangle of light with an Eye floating in the sky above it. God's eye? I'll ask Daddy, he knows EVERYTHING.
And the number. 1. One. Oh En Ee. One.
That's a dollar, one hundred whole pennies worth, all mine, all for me, I can buy whatever I want with it.
I could save it and buy a new doll, or maybe even a pony, but that would take lots of dollars and I only have one. It's not new and crisp, but it's mine, to do with as I please, Mommy said.
She said that means I can do whatever I want with it. I could give it away or keep it close.
I don't know what I'll do with it.
but it's a hundred whole pennies, a whole dollar, my very own.

Hero

A Hero is... someone who does the right thing, even at the cost of his or her own life, status, wealth, and so on. A Hero is someone who sees darkness in the world and tries to change it, even if they can't do much. More importantly, though, a hero doesn't quit. Maybe they can't save the world, or fight evil... but they don't stop. They don't say, " I can't, I won't, find someone else." ( Or if they do, they change their minds and fight on anyway.) Of course, it doesn't always come to that." In the real world," to quote a favorite novel( Squire by Tamora Pierce), " there aren't many places without any light." There aren't many Evil Overlords and there aren't any magical Prophecies... but there are still heroes. Some unknown, others unsung and unremembered. Some were heroes for dying so that others might live, others for standing up for the rights of others, risking not death but beatings, jail, and public scorn. Still others are even simpler heroes- schoolyard vigilantes that guard the small from bullies, or a mother who reminds her child how special they are.