Anne’s No Rules Friday 01

Read Part I

黃金比例
(The Golden Ratio)
Part II

With dragging steps, I entered our shop’s darkened door. A rush of air hit me. It was heavy with smoke, yet everywhere clung traces of her perfume: orange, plum, clove, jasmine, peach, and vetiver. Eager to find Māmā inside, I tripped over an overturned clothing rack, and my knees slammed into the floorboards. Come morning I was going to be a solid bruise. Crawling on hands and knees over the wreckage that had been a successful dress shop hours ago, I made my way behind the counter.

I brushed against an assortment of scissors, bobbins of thread, and stacks of price tags before locating a zhǐ xīng jí. The paper crinkled between my fingers. I prayed it was one to light the oil lamp, but couldn’t see my hand in front of my face let alone the number written on the delicately folded paper. It took most of my strength to heft the oil lamp off the counter. I managed to bang it against the counter with a metallic clunk. The inky black of the shop pressed down around me.

The world shrank until all it contained was the hand that held the zhǐ xīng jí and the oil lamp. Even my steady breathing had ceased to exist inside an endless night. I snapped my eyes closed and squeezed them tight, sucking a quick breath and holding it, I lifted the thick glass shade and gave the wick raiser a quarter turn. I sent a quick prayer to Māmā and our ancestors for luck.

I gripped the very edge of the zhǐ xīng jí and said, “Flame!”

A small burst of light shone pink through my closed eyelids as the paper caught immediately. I smiled and held the dancing flame to the wick, a warm glow greeted me like an old friend. I replaced the shade and yanked the lamp back onto the counter. Shadows remained in the corners. The upended mannequins resembled bodies, causing me to shiver violently.

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“Crystallize” by Lindsey Sterling Inspires Audrey

The Butcher’s Daughter

Alchemists lust for gold.

They tried to create it from lead, from fire, from bones.  But it never worked. Uncle, a great alchemist, nearly lost his mind trying.  And somewhere, teetering on the edge of sanity, deep in his sunless workroom, he found it, the key to limitless gold.

I have my fingers in the dirt when he comes for me.

Uncle says nothing, but I understand.  I am to help him with the Dust.  I rise, wiping my unclean hands upon my apron, and follow Uncle out of the sun.

In his workroom, my eyes adjust to the light, which comes only from a fire under a large black cauldron. The air is dry and smoky and my throat burns.  Tears itch at the corners of my eyes, but I will not let them flow.

Uncle has me keep the fire burning.  Stick by stick, I feed it so it never gets too hot and never goes cold.  I must be doing well.  He shows me a woody plant that he boils to make a soft white powder and teaches me how to measure out the ingredients for Dust like I do in the kitchen when I bake.  I smile when Uncle places his hand on my shoulder and nods his head.  He will let me come to his workroom again.

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“Crystallize” by Lindsey Stirling Inspires Julie

Blood and Ice

I was swimming leisurely toward the ice when it happened, following the patterns in the cracks with my eyes and spinning myself in dizzy circles with my tail. Breaking season wasn’t far off; soon the ice would be patchy, and mothers would surface with their new calves for a first breath.

I kept an eye out for shadows above and a surfacing hole. It had been about eight hours since I’d come up for breath, and I didn’t want to waste energy breaking a new hole. Surfacing holes were also dangerous places: Sometimes birds dove in for fish, or seals or bears lunged through. I had seen my wakefriend, Nela, attacked by a bear when we were just outgrowing the pup stage. She had scars that ran like ice fissures from her shoulder to her belly and across her face, leaving her blind in one eye and a lopsided swimmer.

As I gazed at the blue and green ice above, the hollows where mosaics of bubbles gathered, I saw odd shadows. I flipped onto my back and paddled my fins so that I could get a better look, stifling an exhale that would send up a new stream of bubbles.

The shadows moved slowly, like a stalking bear moved. But there were only two dark spots, oblong in shape, instead of four round ones. And the creature making them was nearing a seam in the ice.

There was a groaning sound as the creature’s weight caused the ice to shift. I bit my lip, and a gush of bubbles drifted up. My dense down hair stood on end as they came to rest with soft noises against the ice.

The shadows stilled, then grew into one hazy shape which lengthened and solidified as the creature spread itself across the slab. It was nearly as long as me.

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“Crystallize” by Lindsey Stirling Inspires Jen

Crystallize by Lindsey Stirling

Fated

The sun is aggressive, beating down into the street.  Sweat sticks my t-shirt to my lower back and I imagine icicles and snowy hills of winter instead of the blistering city in the dead of summer.

I hate July. 

I’m going to have to run to catch the shuttle at Cheverly. The metro lines are down again as if the trains are protesting the sticky putrid underground air. It seems like they always are lately, but maybe it’s my mind playing tricks.

My feet slap the pavement and I have an arm up to ask the driver to wait, though I know the cause is pretty much lost.

That’s when he catches me.

Eyes green like apples but blue like the water when I was on Caribbean cruise before my family hated me. Eyes that are crystalline, light, and not paying attention.

A cab runs the red, and I know he’s going to die.

My runner’s legs tense, and I know before I turn in his direction that I’ll be too late.

A car horn screams, the sound too light and high for the pounding in my chest.

Somebody yells, “Hey!” but that won’t stop the cab or move the beautiful boy.

The cab clips his left hip, he scorpion falls to the pavement, limbs flailing, smacking his head with a crack like lightning. Beach glass eyes close as he rolls to a stop.

Dead.

Someone screams.

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