Day 159 Writing Short Stories

Fair

The cheer of the crowd roared over his voice. The sound lifted the crows up into the air. Their cawing added to the cacophony. He tightened his grip on his mother’s hand, who was watching in awe as the potion man showed the potent of his tonics. People were already lining up to buy his poisons to ward off all ailments.

He had his eyes on the puppet show, which was drawing all the children in. The king was there, the jester was there, the princess was on the stage, all taking a bow as the puppet master made his dolls dance for him. The sounds, the people, the acts made him duck behind his mother’s skirt. There was something sinister in the air. There was something bad coming, but the people didn’t see it. They laughed, they bought, they danced and ate. They did all the tricks of the fair, getting their desires met, getting their fortunes told.

The crows circled over the crowd. He shifted his gaze to them, watching them swoop over people, measuring, taking in the view. He could see everything through their eyes. Smell the morsels of food here and there. But they weren’t after the scraps. They were there because of someone. His Nana had told him that he had the eye, that he should never let others know he carried it within him.

“No, young child should see and know what you know,” she had said. She carried the eye with her. She had kept the house safe until last week. She had died, and now the lands were up for taking. The fair had come. It had never come as it was now. There were now cows, no sheep, no cheese. There were only wonders and laughs. He didn’t trust the laughs.

He cocked his head toward the stage where the tinkerer sold his potions. It was there behind the stage, behind the curtains. He slipped his hand off his mother’s and walked into the crowd. She didn’t care. She was too mesmerized by the man and his silver tongue.

He walked towards the stage, taking the steps up behind the curtain, seeing the magician behind it all, grinning and swirling his hands in the air as if to orchestrate the whole fair. He saw past his grin, his clothes, his hair. The man had no eyes. The man had no heart. There was only rot and hunger. He was feeding on the crowds.

“Stop that,” he said.

The magician turned his hollow eyes to meet his.

“This is my land. I rule here,” he said, despite wanting to hide, wanting to run.

The magician laughed. “A boy? She sends a child to fight her battles?”

“I’m no child. I’m the land. I’m her. I belong here. You don’t belong here. Go back to the cities, go pray beyond the sea. But here you are not welcome.”

The grin turned into a frown. There was merit in his words. There was power in his eyes, in him. He had felt it sneak in when Nana died.

“Leave,” he said, buffing up his chest.

The magician coiled out of the word. He shielded his face, and when the boy blinked, there was nothing but the clothes. The cheers stopped outside. The cawing was gone, and when he returned to his mother, she had her eyes back. She looked at him, bewildered, and whispered a request to go home.

Fair Princess

I skipped this one as I wrote the first one of such length. Additionally, I’m not particularly fond of the prompt. The princess loses her looks and is glad about it.

Ghost

The first took everything out of me. I wanted to write this one, but my mind is drawing a blank. It is like there is no song, no words that echo with the prompt, even when I can see the ghost roam the halls of the house, haunting it. Next time.

The prompts are from the book A Year of Creative Writing Prompts.

The odd mood is continuing. I have become more attuned to the present, more focused on the little things, and I appreciate the good things in my life. I have been able to write more and see the world through the lens of stories.

Thank you for reading! I wish you all the focus today ❤