Solveig had gathered nearly everything Old Baba had asked her to bring for their midnight meeting on the strand and underneath the clear-night crescent of the new moon; the girl had yet to find the final potion ingredient, water scooped in a wooden cup, from the Silverword Cascade, a waterfall rumored to be located in the third chamber of one of the many caves on the far side of Hidden Cove. Continue reading
Source: PNGEgg.com
“What is all this stuff?” George leaned into the workroom, one hand on the door frame, afraid to step beyond the door sill and into what looked to him like an explosion in a junk yard. Continue reading
They’d gotten a good ten inches of snow, on top of a well-seasoned base from earlier, lighter, snowfall. Heavy enough to soften the trail that ran by the still-open creek and led the woods, she figured she’d get the best skiing at sunrise, as cold as it was. Continue reading
1. New Holiday Tradition
“Mom! I can’t find him anywhere!” Janie stumped down the attic stairs, empty-handed.
“That’s ok, I got us something new.”
“Elf on a Shelf is a Christmas tradition!”
“We have to change with the times. It’s been a rough couple of years.” Mom pulled the new tradition out of its paper bag. “Isn’t he cute?”
Janie looked doubtfully at the curving horns, tiny fangs and sharp cloven hooves. She read the tag. “He sees you when you’re sleeping.”
“Go hide him, Janie!” her Mom tossed the tiny goat her way.
“Ouch!” Something sliced Janie’s hand.
The goat’s eyes glittered.
She perched, edge and center, on the metal folding chair, ankles crossed and angled toes barely touching the floor, her SoftRose painted lips pursed, her eyebrows raised even higher above their normally penciled boundaries, a single vertical line deepening between those brows, but slightly favoring the left, while two small circles of color heated each cheek, as if they’d been purposefully applied with a sable brush. Continue reading
He peered over the edge, at the green and white rush and pull of salt water. He knew he wasn’t ready, felt he never would be. He was different than the others. Continue reading
It could have been a field of flowers, apricot sunrise honeying all. It could have been a berry patch, spread round with her the center, fingers damp with morning dew. It might’ve even been a dragon’s hoard, doubloons spilling from ruby-studded chalices, heavy pendants on worked, chain necklaces, diamond and emerald tiara resting on her head, proclaiming her queen of all she surveyed. Continue reading
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
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Stories and thoughts about being a queer girl geek in the 21st Century.
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