A writing forum I like to visit offered this image prompt to its aspiring writers:

You saw the dog lying outside of town, where the witches were buried.

– Image property of Jenna Barton

My story:

Everyone in the small sleepy town knew the legend. Witches! Fearful women twisted by power terrorizing the town, put to death by the brave Christians and buried in the cold ground near Breyer’s Bend. A lonely stretch of road, curving away out of town, past the tumbled remains of Breyer’s farmstead. Maybe once it was a tidy little farmhouse, but by then it was just a caved in timber roof, sagging over piled stone walls. Surely the witch must’ve lived there! Brave kids us, we used to dare each other to race across the overgrown pasture and touch the walls of the broken down farm. Thrilling as a child. Just imagine what could lurk in those shadowy walls! What’s that under that bush? Reaching out and brushing trembling fingers across the stone, fingertips gone rosy with cold and dread. Then we would run away again, shrieking in joy at our own daring. Our imaginations supplying the dangers we had just narrowly avoided. We would race away from the sinister shadows, down the lane. Calling out the life beating in our chests.

Brave children, tumbling down the road, laughing and pinching each other.

Brave children, long gone now.

Once, I had an imagination. Shadows could hold evil spirits. Those howls I heard in the night were dire wolves, circling our sleepy village. Intent on marauding. Trolls lived under the bridges, and if I crept through the forests quietly enough, I just might stumble on a unicorn, ready to be tamed and to carry me away from this small town.

I admit, I held on to that small comforting fantasy far longer than I should have, keeping myself “pure” so that one day I might be found worthy by a unicorn. When the other girls were sashaying about and batting their eyelids at boys, I just could never find one that would measure up to my imagined unicorn; never felt any attraction that justified the risk of being found lacking by a mythical beast. My mother would tease me, tell me I had one foot in faerieland, and my head in the clouds.

Then the real world happened, and my imagined mythical companions and hopes all drained away. I traded my unicorn away, bit by bit, bargained that dream away for security and happiness and the idea of being a good productive city dweller. A nice car and a mostly reasonable mortgage, and a respectable seat on the volunteer board. Well, these things must happen, after all. One must grow up, move out, and settle down with a nice respectable life. Oh, there were good tradeoffs however. Meeting the right someone, settling down, building a small urban life together. Someone with smooth hands who had never known a tumbled down farmhouse, never fallen out of a tree and broken her collarbone, never run with the neighbour’s half-wild dog that everyone else was afraid of, yet was gentle as a lamb to you. I had been a rough and unpolished rural woman, trying to make her way in the Big City. She was the sophisticated urbanite, with the perfect nails and the sleek hair. Our friends joked that we had to be together, to balance each other out. She loved me for the dash of irreverent joy I wore like a fine perfume. I loved her for her social graces and easy conversation. She grew me tigerlilies on our balcony flower boxes, to remind me of my childhood woods. I had kneaded her sore feet, tight from being crammed into the work heels she wore, the ones that were just a little saucy for the boardroom, but her subordinates never cared. She had that effect on people. You couldn’t help but admire her smooth determination to succeed, and love her a little bit for the compassion and charm she exuded while doing it.

I had been so happy. We had been so happy.

I had the gift of those years, and even better, I knew they were the good times, while they were happening. I had traded in my uncouth edges and daydreams, and supported my love in her career. Every day I had thought how good I had it, and how glad I was to have found the one I resonate with. Sure, I had walked away from the forest and only sometimes thought of it, but that’s just because life was so good. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine telling my younger self what I had become. Gone was the unicorn rider, she who dares to touch witches houses. Gone was the wild girl, creeping thru the forest looking for dire wolf puppies to raise.

And yet….

Here I was.

Walking the quiet lanes around my childhood village in the pre-dawn light. I didn’t sleep very well any more. She was gone now. No more lazy Sunday mornings, waking up in each other’s arms. No more cozy dinners in our condo. My condo only, now. Really, the mornings had been my favourite. Slowly stirring, the golden sunlight streaming into our condo, through the big windows that led to the balcony. I would cherish the gentle times, the faint scent of lilies….

But that is all gone, now. Snatched away in a squeal of brakes and the crumple of metal. The place is empty without her, the joy in the sunlight gone. I had tried to stay strong, to grieve and move on. But the once delicious food was as ash in my mouth now, and my eyes only saw shades of grey. I had been struggling on, outwardly doing alright. There had been a few concerned friends, but I had pushed them away. I was ok, dammit, I would be fine. I would eat, though it was tasteless, and sleep, though it was restless. A shambling semblance of the life I used to have.

Then one day, the lilies died too. My fault, overwatered them.

And that was it. And then it seemed life could not go on for me, either. And a quiet death by pills seemed the least burdensome way to escape it all. But my friends had known me better than I knew myself, it seemed. It had been one of her best friends whose turn it had been to check in on me that night. When I didn’t answer the texts, and my last social media post had been a picture of the wilting flowers two days ago, they knew something was wrong. She got in with a spare key my love had given her, and found me on the bathroom floor. I remember a slap. Someone yelling that I would not dare leave them as well, dammit, not me too! A flurry of phone calls and a trip to the ER later, I was chastened. I couldn’t even escape this pain by following my heart into darkness and death. I saw the pain I caused all around me.

So here I was. Back in my childhood home, searching for unicorns again. But that was an innocence ago, before I knew what loss and regret were. Unicorns don’t feel regret, after all. And neither do unicorn riders. So there was just me, walking in the damp morning, dragging my feet in the yellow brittle grass. All the loss in my heart, all the grief for one who is gone.

The grass whispers. The wind is slight, barely moving the vegetation. The fog swirls. I drag my eyes upwards, and find myself back at Breyer’s Bend. The farmhouse is even more dilapidated than I recall. Just like me, a broken down thing left behind. My thoughts stain the world around me. I struggle to hold back the grief, deny it, and move forward. Darkness on the edge of my vision. I stand in the lane, near where the witches lie. Small dark motes drift up beside me, swirling around in the slight breeze. They dance on my skin. What’s this? I stare at my arm, dully amazed. The dark motes drift upwards, brushing against my temple, wreathing my head. Pressure! Sound! A sudden pounding comes to my head, like great wings are all around me, beating about my ears. Then, with a snap, the drowning weight of grief falls on me, and tears stream down my face. The feeling of loss curls outward from my body, and I see the small black motes twinkle darkly, spinning away and down. I follow the trail of darkness with my eyes, and am somehow not startled by the lean dog shape laying sphinx-like on the shoulder of the road. A dog? No. Perhaps a lean wolf, shorthaired like it comes from a warm place. The dark motes swirl out from her head and shoulders. Her? Yes. Brilliantly glowing eyes pierce into me. Her head tilts to the side, ever so slightly.

*You come seeking death?* Her voice purrs into my mind, all low sibilant sounds and crushed velvet warmth.

Dumbly, I shake my head. One of her finely sculpted ears flicks backwards, then pivots to face me again.

*Ahh, you know death. You loved, and dared, and gave your heart to the safekeeping of another. You have felt and lived. And you have lost.*

I nodded, the tears slowly tracking down my cheeks.

She stood up, lifting one elegant paw and placing it closer to me. I see her soot black claws dig slightly into the sandy lane. She takes another graceful step towards me. The nose flares once, twice, scenting me.

*You are angry that she has left you.*

I stumble back a step, shaking my head in mute denial. The dark canine paces towards me, delicate, implacable. Her glowing eyes catch me in their intensity, and I feel my feeble protestations burned away. My hands lift trembling to my mouth of their own will. I tumble to my knees on the rocky damp ground, and the sobs tear free, wracking my body. Yes! Why had she left me?? She was my entire world, the shining star in my life. She burned brightly and dared greatly, and she achieved what she set out to do. I was the supporter, the nurturer. I made the meals, and made sure the bills got paid on time. She was the brilliantly burning one, why did she have to be gone!? The hurt poured out of my mouth, wordless wails of a festering pain cut free at last. I sobbed for the light of my love, snuffed out and gone. Leaving me, oh so alone.

Eventually, my sobs trail off to infrequent hiccups. I scrub my face with my hands, heedless of the grit embedded in my knuckles. When had I fallen to kneel over on the road? With the tears pushed out of my eyes, I could once again make out the inky black shape of the wolf. She sits at my back, staring out over me, looking down the road. So intent was her gaze, I glance that way as well. The mist swirled, and perhaps a ray of sunshine flickered, nearer to the sky. But we were still mired in deep mist down here.

The dark head swivels towards me. Lambent glowing eyes meet mine.

*You are ready to get back up and walk forward.*

Dumbly, I nod. Using her back, I stand shakily. My hand, fingertips red with the cold, rested perfectly on her back, like I had grown all my life to just the right height for this one action. She flicks an ear at me, then took one mincing step forward, dancer perfect. I sway forward, stumbling a little. Her back was warm and firm beneath my hand, and I steadied myself. Then I took another step forward.

*We will walk together, you and I. You shall know grief for its full measure, and this too is right and just. Love is divine. You mourn, and that is proper. This too shall pass, in the fullness of time. The sharp edges of grief become the spark of cherished memories.*

I stumble forward, the canine carrying my weight at times. She remains by my side, steadfast. We paced together side by side, as the mist swirled lower, and the first faint few rays of sunlight glitters on the tears in my eyelashes.

Maybe I could learn to grow lilies too.

An online writing forum I like to visit offered this prompt to its aspiring writers:

Explain why your dinner guest may not see the Aurora Borealis that may be manifesting in your kitchen.

My story:

Sure, everyone around here has seen the Aurora Borealis before. Ethereal lights dancing in the sky, whispering of uncomprehending cold beauty. You always seem to know when they are out. Watching them twist and dance is hypnotic. They always seem to be just heading over the horizon to the north. They seem to whisper of mysteries barely on the edge of understanding. You like to watch them. Your husband teases you sometimes, calling you fae for standing outside in the bitter cold, staring up and to the north. Always to the north.

“My winter elf.” He would say, coming up behind you with a blanket, and wrapping both blanket and his warm arms around you. You would snuggle into the embrace, feeling warm, feeling safe. His slightly greater height made this easy, and you would rest your head on his shoulder. The lights above you dancing, whispering…. and finally withdrawing. There was a feeling of profound loss when they finally quit the sky. You would sigh, and droop in his embrace. Then turn in his arms, looking up into his face. His smile, his warm earthy brown eyes… seemed to take the chill out of the air, no matter how cold outside it was. You would smile, a warm feeling kindling in your heart, curling in your chest. Snuggled in his arms, you burrow into his chest and shoulder. Your favourite place to be, right here.

Sometimes you fear life is speeding by. You would excel if you could just apply yourself! Words from a half dozen school teachers throughout your youth, echoing above your head. Your father nodding solemnly. Their scolding tempered by knowledge. Just a single dad, doing the best he could with an odd child, a child often lost in a world of daydreams. The past seeped away, the memories of your father bittersweet. Dead some ten years, found outside in the winter, frozen in the bitter cold. Dead. And smiling. You knew he had long mourned the wife who had… just slipped away one day. The town gossips held that a flighty woman from the cities would of course be bored with small town life, and it was no surprise she had slipped out one winter night and left your strong and proud father saddled with small young you. The haughty women of the small town potlucks would always stop their whispering when you came around, but it was easy to see the dismissal in their eyes. Outsider, born of a city woman, who had swooped in and bewitched their salt-of-the-earth classmate, your father. Everyone knew everyone here, and your father was supposed to fall in love and wed the most popular girl in his highschool. Of course he would.

But he hadn’t. And now here you are all grown up, slight of limb, pale of hair and eyes in a small town filled with brown haired brown eyed hale folk. Good dependable folk, just like the man you now call your husband.

A small house, a modest affair on a small parcel of land. A small party, a dinner you invited a few of your friends to, and the more numerous friends of your husband. Your house filled with laughter from the living room, your husband surrounded by smiles. He always seemed to put people at ease, and it seemed to offset your own introverted and preoccupied manner, so you had plenty of friends as a couple. Plenty of people had come to your wedding, and sighed over such a handsome couple. Your husband couldn’t help but be himself, and people loved him for it. His habit of listening intently to what was being said to him, of offering compassion and strength, of lending a hand without being asked, of always being there when needed. All the qualities that had slowly captured your complete attention. And he had become the centre of your world, your eyes always seeking his in a crowd, finding reassurance. You tended to turn towards him like a new plant seeks the spring sunshine.

Except when the lights danced in the sky. Then your feet would take you outside, and your eyes would stare upwards. And to the north. You would listen, almost making out words… almost…. until your love would notice your absence, come out with his warm affection and cozy blanket. Your rock in the cold night.

You are in the kitchen, humming softly and cleaning up the dinner leftovers. A very nice party, now winding down with only the few close friends left. You can still hear them in the living room. And all seems well, but why is the hair on the back of your neck standing up? Why is a soft sussurus of sound just beyond hearing lapping at your awareness? You grip the plate in your hand, spine going rigid. Almost without willing, almost without wanting, you slowly turn.

Here it is. As you knew it would be. Here are the lights. Just a hint of their full beauty. In your own kitchen. The dancing glimmering lights. Your hand goes limp. The plate drops, crashing to the ground. You sway forward. Towards the back door. Towards the lights. Towards the North.

Voices cease, drawn by the noise and cold draft. The back door is open, the lights dancing there, shimmering outside. The eye watering beauty of it, colours swaying and scintillating. You are out the door, halfway across the back step, mesmerized. Yes, you can hear them! Soft voices urging you outside, of course! Now is the time, you must go and take up your destiny. A great leader, needed in the world of dancing lights. They are calling to you. Yes, there you can see a faint outline of a reaching hand. Your mother’s hand of course. You lift your own hand, taking another step. She needs you, she never meant to leave you, but you had to be raised in this world of man. Now you are ready, come take your place at her side in the light!

His voice reaches you through the voices of the light. His earthy voice, softly. “Honey, please come back from the lights.” Your husband, reaching out. The others, fearful and drawn back from the awesome sight. Your stoic husband alone daring to step forward, into the brilliantly lit backyard. You tear your eyes away from the promised land, frozen in mid stride, glancing back over your shoulder. Just one last look, you tell yourself. And see his eyes. His brown dependable eyes meeting your own brilliantly light ones. Your body turns towards him. The eyes searching your own, as they have so many times before when he has drawn you back from the lights in the sky. You can see the start of a tear gathered in the corner of his eye, waiting to plunge down his cheek. Waiting to follow the one that has fallen before. The sum of his love for you, laid bare before the light, stepping forward into the unknown and reaching out for you.

The lights whisper at your back, drawing you one more step towards the door. Your eyes lock with his, even as your feet shuffle backwards, northwards. One more step, and you are in the snowy backyard, out from under man-built roof, where the lights are almost solid, a staircase of possibility. A small smile curves one corner of your mouth. He called it your fae smile, a little sad, a little wild.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. One tear falls from your own eyes, dropping slowly, shining all the way, and shattering in ice fragments when it hits the ground. “It’s okay, they need me to come to their world. They need me there.” You implore, trying to make him see, to make them all understand it will be okay.

“I need you here with me, my Heart. My winter fae.” His voice quavers. Your knees go weak.

With the last of your will, you tear your eyes away and hurl yourself out into the darkness. To the north.

The voices of light urge you onwards, but his earthy voice cries in anguish behind you.