The Tea Tree

First part of the story, minus a few paragraphs: Here.

Now for an excerpt from the second part:

( TW for violence, death, war )

Apologies for any typos or general crappiness. Writing this while waiting for Toyota to stop holding my car hostage. They said 1PM and apparently they plan to hold to that estimate.

Tschuess.

Hagaas taught not to hate.

She repeated the thought in tune with her breathing, forced and careful, against the hammering of her heart and mind.

It was such a silly thing to hate someone for. Plants grew back. They weren't like people, smashed to pieces and then lost forevermore. But they weren't like clothes either; she couldn't run to the store and buy a replicate, good as new and immediately replaced. Plants needed time and care. She had spent innumerable hours among the flowers, removing weeds one at a time if she needed to, protecting them from too much sun or water, even shielding them from the last rash of frost earlier in the year.

And some asshole overnight had stomped through her flowers, tearing some out of the earth, smashing others, and definitely stealing a few. Ripped petals littered her front patio and led down to the very edge of her yard -- deliberate vandalism. Not a single plant was left untouched, though a few poor things were still standing, bared and dying in the early morning sun.

She wanted to smash them apart, break their bones and rip their clothes, leaving them to dry out in the sun. But such thoughts were unwarranted; she didn't need Hagaas to tell her that. Violence could not be justified or rectified with further violence. Death was never justice, but revenge that would haunt the murderer just as much as his victim.

He continued on to speak of understanding, and how a kind heart and loving hand would help bridge all differences. Clearly, Hagaas never had his garden smashed to pieces.

----

All of my characters have major problems, so I figured SOMEONE out there should be pissy over something everyday and not traumatic.

Eilís lived a pretty privileged life and I never really focus on her much, so there we have it.

For origfic_bingo, prompt "hatred".

First, what you all are more interested in: more of the Gareth story from yesterday.

( Soft TW for phantom limb mention )

Really, I just wanted to share that last paragraph. And also share that it took me at least a MINUTE to remember the word "ambush". I stared at WordPad thinking "There's a word for when a group surprise attacks you. I KNOW there is... But what is it?" I was just writing out a text to a friend to ask when it came to me. Thanks, brain.

Also I apologize for my writing being awful lately. I've been severely out of the habit, and Zoloft-brain is being pretty bad lately in creative writing.

And then, to explain the icon: ( TW for anxiety )

Now to continue this story and hope it gets a bit less like pulling teeth.

Tschuess.

hc_bingo is one of my favourite bingo games on here, due to the interesting premise.

( TW for one sex-change prompt and quite a few violent ones )

Should be fun.

Eventually I may post a whole story here, but my brain's been a tad ADD with writing lately.

cottoncandy_bingo, Deciding to have / not have children

( Read more... )

Hope you are all having a lovely weekend. My new laptop came in and it is shiny and beautiful, though I may have to change the resolution settings because I am, unfortunately, blind as a bat and this text is a tad too small. I can see it and read it, but my nearsighted/astigmatism combo is making it feel a bit wobbly.

Perhaps I will make some characters in the Sims and share them. I always start fresh with new computers -- growing up my father would have to regularly format my computer's hard drive because old Windows was hilariously unstable, and that computer was just evil anyway. It meant new petz, new everything, and while technology has come along enough for me to fit the entire petz 3 game on my USB, I still start all other games with a clean slate.

Tschuess.

It was a tall, imposing tower -- impenetrable, some of the wiser or more verbose may say. Sleek white stones in a perfect circle, up and up, until reaching the battlements, which likely were perfectly spaced to the last millimeter. No flag or windows could be seen, nor was there even a tiny arrowslit. No doors had ever been found, hidden or otherwise. It was a perfect structure, beyond the capabilities of man to create.

And he was expected to scale the damn thing.

-----

I plan to expand this one, really. But what I love currently is how it still manages to be self-contained flash fiction with only one real paragraph. That DAMN TOWER, man.

For origfic_bingo, space "Tower".

Tschuess.

Work was crazy busy for the first half of month since our lab was due for inspection by a major accreditation facility. Think OSHA + FDA. They showed up Wednesday and there were a few moments when I thought the whole thing would fall apart... But we only got a single deficiency for an overdue fire drill, which apparently is incredible. If one more person congratulates me, I may dissolve into the floor to hide.

This weekend is very much recovery weekend, but here, have a tiny bit of writing:

( For gen bingo, one of two tropes, not sure how it will play out yet )

Rose May is such a petulant 1800s teenager.

This story will be me trying to write 1800s schooling, Welen-style. I imagine it as like modern schooling, but that is just SO inaccurate. 1800s schools were both stricter and more lax than ours. Physical discipline was commonplace, but apparently so were guns since a good chunk of the school shootings listed on Wikipedia are some punk kid shooting his own foot while playing with a gun in class.

Rose May grew up and was educated on a farm up until some serious bullshit occurred (apparently that story isn't up on DW! Will have to get it for you guys). It's only been a year since her life was violently uprooted, so naturally, her opinion of everything is shrouded in doubt.

Tschuess.

(Prompt from an old Bingo Card: trust)

( Meander? )

A young Meander (estimated 12-13 years old) talks with a sailor to be smuggled to the continent of Welen.

Meander was orphaned very young, with no name or identity. I imagine he went through an orphanage or two before living in the streets instead. He understands the Eroqi tongue (not sure which one it is) very well, but cannot speak it as well, and can only read a few words (even then, he's associated that "symbol" with the object, so not "true" reading). What he DOES have is a more-than-photographic memory thanks to untrained telepathy. Hence, when he remembers things, he can cough them back up in the exact same voice, emotion, etc. Ability to do so fades as he forgets, of course, but some memories are strong enough for them to stay vivid... Like the mystery stranger who gave him his name.

Edit - Leaving a note mostly to myself, though you're welcome to ask for details (TW anxiety on those, though):

"My brain is in the feedback loop FROM HELL"

Written for darkfantasybingo, prompt "psychological turmoil".

( Which means the trigger warnings are probably kind of obvious )

I've had nasty writer's block lately, making writing this feeling like pulling teeth. So if I don't post often, that is why.

Tschuess.

Theory at this point in time it's in an ear/sinus infection. Hoping it magically clears up by tomorrow, but I had to leave my meetup early because I was melting into a blob and unfocused.

Regardless, I did get some writing done.

( I may have to buy fairy tale books just to do better research for these guys )