nikki diekemper

Writing Prompt: Precious Item

Your character has a special item that they now lost. What does it mean to them and how did they lose it?

The world must run. Escape to as far as you can go and pray that you’ve gone far enough. I was born cursed. Armageddon is quite literally my middle name. The day I was born, the priests say the skies split open. A ravenous storm hailed down on our little town and the elven family at the end of our street was swept away in the flood that followed. I’m told there was a prophecy foretelling my coming. I would bring the end of the world and we all know how people love to believe in prophecies.

When I cry, the ground shakes. When I scream, the wind picks up. My frustrations lead to destruction and I actually enjoyed watching things break. I’m the one who made the canyon outside of town after all. It’s become quite the beautiful sight, but the townsfolk named it death.

You could say the old wizard who lived in the forest saved us. With his spells and magic power, he crafted a book to keep my destructive desires away. My parents read it to me every night, morning, and midday. When I could read on my own, I was to read the book in my downtime. Reading it calmed me and after time, I found myself not wanting to break things. My evil desires were tamed. I learned to create. I learned simple chores. I learned how to be a normal person and I did enjoy that. The town won’t let me forget, but with my book, I’m sane.

Now, my book is gone.

By some childish jest or godly interference, I cannot say. It was here and then gone the next. Only a day has passed and I feel the yearning to destroy aching at my brain. I’ve already demolished the dwarves’ shed. A groan of frustration and fretfulness and the boards splintered like fragmented bones. The weight of the ore inside brought the whole thing to a crashing pile of dust and the scent never smelled so sweet. My father got me out of there before I could be tempted to do more.

I can’t stop thinking about it. The cracking sounds it made echoes in my ears. It was just a shed. Just a shed. What harm did I even do? They needed to rebuild it anyway! What if I just found little things? Things that needed to be fixed like the rancher’s fence or the apothecary’s stone bench. I bet I could make it fall apart like dust.

No. I tighten my grip on my knees. All I can do is hide in the corner of my room. Hold myself hostage so I can’t go out and give in to the Armageddon within me. I want my book. I need my book. I can’t even remember what it used to say! I’ve had it for years and now that I need it, the words on it pages slip from my mind. This isn’t fair! I didn’t ask to be cursed! I didn’t ask to bring the end of the world!

The world. Who cares about the world anyway? The world is cruel. Cruel that schoolmates throw rocks and mock me. Cruel that the priests’ eyes watch me with hate. Cruel that no one will be friends with me. Cruel that my sanity relies on a stupid book! Cruel since my parents aren’t even here trying to help me hold myself together!

Maybe it is time to say goodbye to this cruel world? I could end it all. Watch it fall apart. What beauty would be in that raging chaos? How exhilarating it would be to watch the world break. The floorboards crack beneath me and the splinters make me smile.

The world must run. I won’t let it escape.

Veil of Exhaustion

What do you do at the end of the day,
When exhaustion has stolen all passion away?
There’s hobbies to do, dreams to be chased.
Yet you’re too tired to finish the race.
You give and you give and you give some more.
Scrubbing all kennels and rinsing the floor.
Hard work is your nature, you give to the end,
Yet when the day is done, you’re nothing but spent.
The dreams are on the shelves. Stuck on the back burner.
You can’t get yourself to write a page turner.
Where is the passion? Where is the purpose?
Where is the reason that makes your life worth it?
Yet, then comes the whisper from around your neck.
A symbol of faith tells you “you’re not a wreck.”
Hold on. Keep running. You can finish the race.
Passion will return and your dreams make the pace.
This season will pass. You’ll be out of the darkness.
Despite what you feel, your life has purpose.

Tribute to the Shelter Pet

Thursday was a very special day for animal shelters everywhere. It’s something called “Remember Me Thursday.” And it’s a special day where we remember and honor the lives of animals who didn’t make it out of the shelter. Animals who were euthanized for behavior reasons or medical reasons. Animals who never found their forever home and family. In their memory, I wrote this poem.

With every tear and every drop,
My heart just wants to stop.
To care so deeply and try so hard
For it not be enough at the flip of a card.
Your life cut short. You’ve gone away.
The rainbow bridge won’t let you stay.
How is fair that others have
hundreds of days to escape the sad?
Yet, yet the bites are too much, a condemnation.
There’s nothing to be done. No way for redemption.
Surely, you were just excited. It wasn’t your fault.
You just wanted a home to treasure like a vault.
But who out there wants a dog with history

That no training could hide or make mystery.
But what family, I think, just lost their chance
to fall in love with you at first glance.
To brush your soft fur and give you attention.
And make you the center of all their affection.
How many more, like you, never got to see
a home to belong and be carefree?
No more stress, no more shelter, no more behavior mods.
Just hugs and pets and fetch on the sod.
If I had my way, you’d all go home.
And no one’s heart would be turned to stone.
So, here’s to the animals who never found
The greatest place to be around.
Not the shelter, not the pound, or any other calamity.
Here’s to those who didn’t get a family.

Each pawprint here is a dog whose story I’ve been a part of since my time working at a shelter. There are more dogs that we’ve lost than the ones featured in this photo. Each one were amazing and sweet canines who lost the battle against shelter stress. Only a few were put down for medical reasons.

The dog featured in this post was named Nelly. She had a lot of energy and a hard mouth that ended her on a bite hold. She loved to be loved and play with stuffed toys. She and another dog named Penelope were euthanized on 9/22/2021. A day before Remember Me Thursday.

Those You Don’t Forget

Written October 2013

Best Friend:

With a pouty face she turns to me and holds out her unopened screw-off water bottle. I let out a laugh seeing her face and in one easy movement I take the bottle and open it for her, “Thanks,” she mutters quickly glancing around for that one guy who can’t pick on her enough for her not being able to open the plastic thing.

“Can’t you open it on your own yet?” I tease as I turn to open my band locker.

“It’s harder than it looks!” she lets out defensively.

“Uh huh.” I raised my eye-brow at her, knowing she hated it when I did that.

“Oh, come on! We gotta go.” She snapped before snatching the flute from her own locker and heading for the door.

I chuckled as I grabbed my flute out of my locker and hurried after her.

*****

First Rival:

The battle was intense, fiery, and flooding. I had just lost my great avian to his overpowered fire blast, my bubble jet and seed dinosaur were down and out, but they had taken down two of his monsters as well. I was down to my final two. Throwing out my powerful shellfish I was able to knock out his flying flame, but his next monster took out my precious shellfish. I was down to my last one. My fists were clenched in anger; I hated to lose, especially to him. When I looked up at him I could see the victorious smirk spread across his face, this had to be our thousandth battle, but this would be the first time I would win. Looking back down at my gaming device I threw out my last monster; it was a genetic monster that was given to me by our oldest brother. He knew how much I lost so he lent me his most powerful monster in order to take victory for myself.

“Where did you get that?!” he exclaimed seeing my secret weapon.

My turn to smirk, “From a friend.” An ally more like it.

His face turned to a hard frown, “That’s cheating.”

“No it’s not!” I snapped, “He’s just like all the rest!”

“He’s a legendary; you’re supposed to be using your own!”

“Maybe he is my own!” Yeah that was a lie, I had to give this one back after the battle.

His brow furrowed further, “Yeah right.”

“Can we just finish this?!”

This was it, my final, borrowed monster against his remaining monsters, only victory was on the line.

*****

Four-legged Friend:

My hands gripped the cross made out of twigs and grass tightly as they laid her in the ground. I remember when we got her, how adorable she as a tiny puppy in that pound. Tears raced my cheeks as my brother stood look out for those trucks who’d shoo us away. We came to this old dirt road before with a ball; let her off the leash and throw it as far as we could, she’d race back with bright eyes and tail wagging. My mom started saying a few words. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t crying. Back home I remember playing hide and seek with her. I’d throw the ball, then hide, and make her find me. If she didn’t I’d steal the ball she dropped and throw it again. I gasped for air for my weeping lungs silently as I watched them push the dirt atop her; she was wrapped in the blanket my mom loved to give her comfort in death. I thought I cried enough so far that day, in the car as my mother and my brother went in with her to put her down. How I wept and sobbed and here I stand fighting the tears in front of my family as she’s covered in dirt. When it’s done they step back and I step forward with the cross, placing it at the head of the grave.

“Farewell Mysty.” I cried as the cross was sunk into the ground, “I know He’ll keep his promise to take care of you, I’ll see you again soon.”

The Light in the Stuck

Do you ever feel stuck? Like you’re in a place you just can’t get out of no matter how much you want too? Whether it’s being stuck at a job, in a relationship, a living space, or just not moving up the “ladder of society?” Maybe you have all these desires and dreams, but you can’t make them happen. Can’t get a new or better job because no one is hiring. Can’t get in a relationship because no one looks your way. Can’t get a new apartment/house because the housing marking is outrageous. So, in the end, you just feel miserable because you’re stuck and your dreams won’t come true. Maybe you don’t even know what your dreams are anymore?

It’s a nasty feeling being stuck. You start comparing your life to the lives of others. Maybe all your friends are married with great careers, houses, and plans on expanding their families, and you’re just trying to make it by. Maybe you’re the one with the great career, house, and expanded family, but you’re still comparing yourself to someone a little higher up the social ladder than you? My point is that everyone feels this way at some time in their life. Everyone knows what comparison feels like. What it feels like to be stuck with no sign that anything will change.

Someone once said that comparison is the thief of joy, and you know what? It really is. Everyone has their own paths to walk and one person’s path isn’t going to be the same someone else’s. Just because your friend got their own place before you did, or got married before you did, doesn’t mean it isn’t going to happen to you. It just takes time and patience. There IS a plan for you, but you gotta believe it. I know it sounds like I’m just spouting encouraging words that you can find scrolling through Facebook. “Oh, another uplifting ‘don’t compare yourself to others’ story. Guess she couldn’t think of anything else to write about.” I could think of other things to write about–thank you very much. However, this has been on my mind a lot in the past couple weeks. If you think I can’t relate to everything written in this post, you’re wrong. I’m probably the person most guilty of comparing myself to others.

I’m 27. I’ve never been in a relationship. I live at home and I work at a position where the most I see is the underside of someone else’s boot. You know those kind of jobs where you’re reminded in the little things that you’re expendable. I have a Bachelor’s degree and yet I clean up animal feces, vomit, and other various body fluids for a living. So, when I see a friend announcing a new and high paying job on Facebook, or updating their relationship status, or see someone getting a call from their agent about a chance at a big break, or even hearing of cousins making their way up in the world and at their own place…it can be VERY discouraging. Almost enough to make you question everything you do in life, make you want to give up, or throw the feces in your hands in someone else’s face and just walk out the door (because throwing them forcefully into a trashcan just isn’t as satisfying).

I like to believe that every part of someone’s life (mine and yours) has meaning and purpose. Even when you can’t see it for yourself. Sometimes, you just have to look back in order or have your eyes opened by someone else. As for me, I think I’m stuck where I’m at because it’s this place where I can find growth. A year ago, I wasn’t someone that anyone could look up too. I was timid. If something bothered me, I didn’t address it. And I was a follower–a major follower. I wouldn’t step up to lead anything unless I could hide behind a computer screen. But through the course of the year that I’ve been at my job, I’ve been learning how to lead. We’ve had a lot of new hires lately and when our team lead is away, they look to me. Not only that, but I’ve had quite a few of my coworkers tell me that they wouldn’t have made it through the year if I hadn’t been there to support them. I found it hard to believe, but thinking about the previous year, I had been encouraging my coworkers a couple times or listening to them when they needed to get something out or just cry. It made me think that even though we’re the ants under the boot at our work, we support each other and make the job bearable. Learning to work as a team and treat each other like human beings instead of coworkers is something we can carry on to other jobs later down the road. We’re learning lessons that change our outlook on life and you know what? My job became ten times more bearable when my coworkers told me the reason behind their appreciation for me. If I can help or support someone through a hard time, that’s definitely worth the pocket change of my paycheck.

Maybe it’s the same with you? Maybe you’re stuck where you’re at because there’s a skill you need to learn or improve on or maybe there’s a coworker you’re meant to make a good impact on? When you’re stuck, it can feel like you’re stuck in a bog. Unable to move your feet and unable to see the way through the darkness. All it takes to see your way out is a little light and that’s something that you could be.

Don’t be silly. I don’t mean you should find some radioactive puddle and roll around in it until you start glowing. I simply mean you could be the light with your actions and your words. You’d be surprised how powerful one encouraging word is and how much it could lighten somebody’s burden. Sometimes, you don’t even have to say anything. Just be there and listen. Be the outlet someone needs to get the weight off their chest.

“But Nikki, why should I be nice to those ungrateful people at work? They’ve never done anything for me!”

That’s a bitter and selfish attitude, isn’t it? It honestly makes me sad to hear stuff like that. The world isn’t going to change with everybody hunkering down in their own little corners, complaining how the world treats them unfairly. I hate to say it, but…

The world doesn’t revolve around you, or me, or anybody else for that matter.

We’re all on this planet together. We’re all facing hidden battles and the everyday negativity on the News. If we try to fight these battles alone, we’re not going to survive. I mean, think of all the stories out there where someone tried to fight alone and realized he was better with his team: Harry Potter, Voltron, even parts of She-Ra on Netflix. And if you really think about it: The Lone Ranger wasn’t alone either. He had Tonto. People are meant to fight their battles together, but sometimes it just takes one person to selflessly rise up from their corner, walk over to someone else, and say “I’m here for you.”

Kindness and selflessness can change the world. It can brighten the world and that’s something I firmly believe. So, when it comes down to it, maybe you’re stuck in the place you’re at because you’re meant to be the light. The light of encouragement lifting others up and challenging them with your actions day after day to grow beyond themselves. Being stuck, sucks! I can testify to that, but being the light in your stuck? Seeing the impact you’re making in others. That makes it worth it.

Tales from a Renaissance Fair

This past weekend, I had the great opportunity to go and enjoy a Renaissance Festival. I’ve always loved them. The costumes, the buildings, the reenactments. They all add to a kind of magic that fills the air. I was super excited to go. I hoped it would reignite my passion for my stories or give me some ideas–you see, I’ve been in kind of a slump lately and haven’t been working on my stories as often as I should.

I remember going through the front gate. It was wattle and doub styled like the medieval days with iron gates and banners strung about. People in costume and out of costume were walking by and I was trying not to stare too much at the people dressed up. My brother had already given the lady at the gate his ticket and I was next with mine and my mom’s tickets. The lady was dressed up as a medieval peasant and I was trying not to admire her outfit too much. I’m an extremely awkward person, so when I walked up, I didn’t know what to say. I just held out the two tickets with both my hands. She said something, a jest about having no choice but to take the tickets, but she was wearing a mask and that made it difficult to read her. My mom ended up responding to her while I just stood there having no idea what to say or do while I waited for the woman to take the tickets and tear them so we could enter. Eventually, she does and she hands them both back to me. I hope I at least muttered a thank you, but I felt so awkward about the situation that I just wanted to get away from it.

Then we were inside and the awkwardness I felt melted away as soon as I looked around. We were at a fountain, the style of this area mimicked a main market just outside a castle’s gate. Lots of people were walking around in costume. I saw plenty of doctors with plague masks, warriors, elves, and there was even a show of dancing fairies to our right. Yes, the show was just people dressed up in fairy costumes, but with a small tweak of imagination, they were flying with their ribbons and creating colorful lights and patterns in the sky. Ren Fairs always reminded me of one the major cities in my novel and seeing those fairies brought it a little to life.

We move on. My family and I start going shop to shop with the quest of building our own outfits. I’m going for a kinda Xena Warrior Princess theme and I already have a pair of awesome, leather pauldrons for it (pauldrons are shoulder guards for those of you who don’t know). The shops were all wonderful. Beautifully handcrafted wears lined the shelves and walls. Be it paintings, clothing, goblets, weapons, and all the medieval like. We ended up walking into one shop called the “North Tortuga Trading Company.” They had a lot of pirate wears–shinies, seashells, and clothing. Their shop was even decorated to reflect their theme with fishing nets, skeletons, and a flag. Walking in, my imagination went wild. These were honest people, making an honest living, but in my mind’s eye, we were walking into a pirate’s shop where every good on the table was stolen from somewhere across the vast seas. The lady who owned the shop was decked out in pirate’s garb, looking like the captain of a mighty vessel. She was very friendly and nice, but I imagined she bartered with every person that came in to get the most coin out of their pockets. We walked out without buying anything, but given the character I’m trying to build, I imagined we were thrown out for accusing these scallywags of stolen wares. Shops that trigger my imagination like that get two thumbs up in my book. I always make sure to get their card–and I have quite the collection of cards–so I can come back and purchase something later down the road.

Eventually, we make it to the artisan’s row. Metalworkers, blacksmiths, and leatherworks. They’re all lined up with their creations and signs offering lessons on how to make their beautiful creations. My mom and my brother are big fans of blacksmiths (they love the smell of the forge), so naturally, they move on ahead to get a good look at the blacksmiths working–equipment, wares, and all the like. I try to follow them, but–like always–I get distracted. I lean over a rope railing to admire down at the leatherwork all laid out upon a table. There were pouches and weavings–very beautiful items–and then I get caught by the maker–an older man with roughened hands and an outfit to match his craft. He smiles at me, then grabs a wooden bowl from his table and holds it out. “Dragon’s Tear?” he asks.
“Oh no, thank you,” comes my automatic reply. The man only has about five left in his bowl. Five little flattened, glass pebbles. They obviously weren’t real dragon tears, but something you could find in an everyday shop. I didn’t want to impose and dwindle this man’s stock of tears when there are likely children who would enjoy them more than I.
“Aw, go on,” the man nods to his bowl. “You can have one, free of charge!”
Now, my annoying bashfulness takes over. I smile back at the man and give a light nod. When I reach into the bowl, I take the brightest one out of all of them; a beautiful blue. I thank him and the man nods back to me and returns to his work. My brother ushers me back to the blacksmith, but now I’m distracted by the little, blue pebble in my hand.

I can’t help it. It hits me as I’m walking away. As I’m feeling over every smooth edge of this Dragon’s Tear. There’s a story in this tear. There’s a story in the interaction I just had. A young, peasant girl who aspires to be greater–a warrior, or a knight. Yet, she can’t rise above her station. Then one day, a mysterious artisan enters the market. Eyeing her potential, he offers her a single, blue pebble: a Dragon’s Tear. But people hand out fake Dragon’s Tears all the time. She doesn’t realize this one is real and it sets her off on an adventure that turns her world upside-down.

As if I need another story to write. I guess this one will get filed later, I suppose.

One of my favorite things to do at a Ren Fair is people watch. It helps ignite the imagination, makes others feel better about the hard work they put into their costumes when they catch you admiring, and you catch different interactions you may not have seen before. I especially like watching the people who work at the Ren Fair. All dressed up in the garb of the times, they stay in character throughout it all and when they pass each other, you can catch snips of a jest, a blessing, or a lengthy regard to royalty.

I’d encourage everyone to support their local renaissance fair. The people here do a lot of work to keep the magic alive. You just have to take the time to slow down and see it.

Writing Exercise: I remember…

A couple days ago, I was reading this webpost about advice from famous authors. I never got to finish it and I can’t find it back–you see, I was trying to read it and work with dogs at the same time and we all know that’s never successful. I ended up losing the article from my phone and by the time I went to look for it back, my phone refreshed all of it’s featured articles. However, one thing I do remember from the article is a writing exercise one of the author’s suggested to the creative mind flowing or just keep you writing in general. Just start with the words: “I remember…” Because apparently that’s a hard sentence to NOT finish. The author suggested keeping a journal and have each page start with “I remember…” However, you shouldn’t link memories. Don’t let the memory from the day before dictate what you write the next day. Change it up.

Well, I started thinking about that exercise and honestly…I don’t want to write what I remember. Not only will I probably remember wrong, but I couldn’t remember anything at the time that I wanted to write about. How would my memories help progress my writing anyway? So, I decided to change up the exercise. I’ll remember something, but not something from my life specifically.

You remember Justin? The main character from my novel (which I will someday publish)? Check it out:

I Remember; Justin’s Favorite Treat

I remember, as a kid, sneaking out in the middle of the day. My father was in his lab working on whatever alchemists do and my mother was cleaning the house from top to bottom since we were going to have company that night. I was bored. My father didn’t want me in his lab, but he didn’t want me leaving the house either. I tried helping mother, but I ended up just getting in her way. Eventually, I noticed my best friend across the street. He was waving his arms to get my attention. From the look in his eyes, he had an adventure planned. It wasnt hard to sneak out. My father never paid me any mind and my mother was too distracted. I was able to slip out the front door.

My friend ended up leading us to the main market of the city. We both liked browsing the stalls and fantasizing what we would buy if we had any money. Our favorite shop was the blacksmith. We’d go there and drool over the swords or listen to stories from the travelers or soldiers who were stopping by the shop for new equipment. One time we even met a squire doing an errand for the knight they served. He had great stories.

Anyway, this particular day–when I snuck out–we didn’t go to the blacksmith. My friend ended up leading us to the baker’s stall. He had a lot of desserts out in preparation for the Warrior’s Festival–a time when the entire kingdom comes together to enjoy jousts and other tests of warrior skills. I remember the smell of the vanilla tarts that day. They were fresh from the oven and even had almonds sprinkled atop them. I wished I had money. Those tarts from the baker were the best dessert this side of the castle walls. My best friend was drooling over the chocolate pudding cups. Unfortunately, our lingering was upsetting the baker and we were shooed away.

I suggested we head to the blacksmith, but somehow I ended up at the market fountain by myself. My friend ran off. He did say he would be back, but he was gone for quite some time.

When he did come back, he had a vanilla tart and a pudding cup in his hands and he was grinning like a fool. I asked how he got them and he said the baker just gave them to him! He handed me the tart and started eating the pudding. I couldn’t believe it! Yet, I should’ve known better.

I was halfway through the tart when the baker brought soldiers to the fountain. He pointed right at my friend and called him a thief! Called both of us thieves! In my confusion, I defended myself, but my friend couldn’t hide his guilt. It was hard to believe he stole those treats, but he was always the one getting us into trouble. The soldiers warned us that thieving had a penalty of us losing our hands, but they were willing to let us off with a warning. They grabbed us by the arms and dragged us to our homes.

We reached my friend’s house first. When his father found out, he was more annoyed than anything. My friend ended up having to help him strike the butcher’s block for the next week. Apparently, since his hands were free enough to steal, then they were free enough to work.

I dreaded every step back to my house. My mother, naturally, was worried and she had started looking for me when she realized I was gone. She was relieved seeing me with the soldiers. My father, on the other hand, was furious. He took one look at soldiers and realized that I was in trouble. He didn’t even ask what I did! He just grabbed me by my shirt, pull me into the house, and I was beaten as punishment and warning to never commit a crime again. I stayed out of his way the rest of the night and when our company came over, I kept my head down and kept out of the way. Whoever they were, they were important to my father. I think they were other alchemists, but I’m not sure.

The next day, I figured I would stay inside and stay on my father’s good side. However, my mother had other plans. She got some money from my father so she could go to the market and pick up food for the week. I got to with her. The first place we stopped at was at the Baker’s stall. She spent what we were supposed to be using for food on a vanilla tart just for me! She said it was our secret. We wouldn’t tell my father. When we came up short for the week, my mother just explained to my father that the market prices went up. He never questioned her and to this day, he still doesn’t know. I’ll never forget what my mother did for me.

Writing Prompt: Your Favorite Room

In the place you live, there is one room. One room you like to go.
For me, its my own. Where I’m never alone and I know where to find my bow.
The walls are all filled and give mystical chills that make my heart thunder.
Just take one look. You’ll know it belongs to a dreamer full of wonder.

There are maps of a kingdom, pastels of cities, and characters all my own.
All from a story–a majestic story–that I’ve come to call home.
Home is the magic. Believe in the magic, the magic of imagination.
It’s better than knowledge–more important than knowledge–I don’t care for your hesitation.

Then there’s a storm on the sea, a sword (or three), and fantasy filling the shelves.
What shelves? Not enough. The games are all stuck and the books are squished themselves.
Skulls line the top and from higher up the dragons roar with might.
Each one of them waiting, anticipating, a story that reaches new heights.

Now, let’s not forget the desk that sits by the window open wide.
Such a cluster. Such a mess, but it’s all to attest to the clutter that fills the mind.
Notes for stories, and notes for research, and notes to remember the day.
But energy is lax and motivation is sapped. I wish I could have my way.

A way to a novel, bound proudly in leather with a scar to mark it’s path.
Such adventure! Such magic! One day I will have it and these broken tears won’t last.
For now, I lean back, and enjoy a good stare at my favorite room of the house.
Beautiful chaos a cluster, but it’s all that I can muster to chase out all my doubts.

Deep breath and head high. I’ll reach for the sky. My dreams gotta go to work.
Another story on the wall. Another fantasy standing tall and all I can do is smirk.

Writing Prompt: On a Quest

Include the following in your story: medieval, derive, corn, daughter, molten, oar, rhythm, ears, antique, yammer.

Light was a hazy breath upon the eastern skyline. Colors of royal orange and lily pink tickled the whisping clouds. I lifted my groggy head from the side of the boat. Back and forth, the waves rocked my ship like a child’s teeter totter. Morning light shimmering like ribbons on the top of the water. Their trickling rhythm like a lullaby to my ears, but the morning light yammered at my consciousness. How could I enjoy such a beautiful sunrise when my world was coming to an end?

This wasteland of waves never ended. With the rags that I had, I had protection from the blistering Sun, but my mouth was deprived of all water. I could give in to the temptation of the ocean, but the salt would only end me faster. A groan broke from my lips when my stomach rumbled with the ache of hunger. How long had I been drifting? I don’t even know, but my ribs seeped through my skin. What I wouldn’t give for even a single kernel of corn.

My journey began months ago. I used to be a wealthy man, white collar, and respected. Yet, one day when I came home from work, I found nothing but a note and a molten feather waiting for me. The note…it was a ransom. My daughter had been kidnapped.

My daughter. My only shining light in my world of business and corruption. I had to find her! I’d give it all up to get her back… And I have. All I have left is this raft, these rags, and hope.

I started my search by trying to derive the origin of the feather. It might as well have been an antique, a medieval species now extinct, but I didn’t give up. I scoured every library, spoke to every expert, and I finally had a destination. An island and the heart of the devil’s triangle. No boat would go near it. No plane ever touched it. The Bird of the molten feather had to be there! Had to! I had to find the people who stole my daughter! I paid outrageous prices to get this far and that money now resides at the bottom of the ocean. The boat. The captain. The crew. They all laid at the bottom of the ocean. A furious storm whipped up an hour into the triangle and I’m the only one left.

I don’t even know where I am. Clouds block the stars. Only the sun told me the compass directions. I could be outside the Devil’s triangle and I wouldn’t even know it. I’m at my wit’s end. Who knows how far land is? Who knows if I’ll find my daughter?I knew how far land was in any direction.

It was when the sun broke the line of the horizon when I saw a shade silhouetted against the skylight. My eyes must be deceiving me! It looked like the shade of land, but the outline of a fiery Phoenix lifted up from it! My breath caught my throat, and I sat up faster than a seagull’s flight. Land. Land! Land with a fiery bird! Oh, my god, I’ve found it! I scrambled for the oars, a new strength of hope in my limbs. I made it! I’m here! I’m going to find my daughter!

Little Dragon

Little Dragon reading a book

Little Dragon enjoying the look

Of a story with knightly tales,

Where adventure, wonder, and magics hail

Engrossed in the story, Little Dragon does fly

Over fields, plains, and castles high

All the while tucked in bed,

Sword battles ring inside his head.

Someday, he knows, he’ll have an adventure

All on his own and exploring nature.

He’ll battle monsters and save princesses

And do absolutely anything he wishes!

But others openly do not approve.

Like his father, so grumpy and rude.

“Dragons can’t be knights! We eat them instead!”

“We kidnap the princesses and bake them in bread!”

“No more foolish motions! Drop them outright!

“A dragon could never be an honorable knight!”

Hiding under the covers of his bed,

Tears rain down from Little Dragon’s head.

He could save a princess. He could be brave.

He’d be called a hero for saving the day!

But dragons are vicious and dragons are mean,

And dragons only cause people to scream.

Why must he be different? Why must he know,

About knightly heroes and tales long ago?

He looks at his book and picks it right up.

To raise it and throw it with a mighty chuck.

But it sticks to his hand. He can’t let it go.

He can’t lose the dream that he loves so.

He sits on his bed and hugs his book tight.

And his whimpers carry through the night.

“Little Dragon, dear, tell me what is wrong?”

His mother comes in with voice like a song.

Little Dragon sniffles and just shakes his head.

So his mother sits down right next to his bed.

“Little Dragon, don’t cry. There’s no need to worry.”

She points to his book. “Tell me what’s in your story?”

“Horrible dragons doing horrible things,”

Little Dragon says, whimpering.

“Dragons are villains and dragons are cruel.”

“Why must I be the one to break this rule?”

“Nobody likes me. Not even father.”

“I’m just too different. Why should I bother?”

His mother sits up to set him in her lap,

and she gently starts rubbing his back.

“Little Dragon, dear, I wish you could see,”

“It’s okay to be different. It’s what the world needs.”

“Who are we to bake princesses in bread?”

“Or lay bones of knights along our beds?”

“The world needs a heart as brave as yours,”

“To bring about the right kind of change, of course.”

His mother taps him right there on the nose.

“I know you can do it. Don’t you suppose?”

Little Dragon looks back down at his book.

And furrows his brow with a quizzical look.

Maybe she was right? Maybe he should listen?

And bring about change so the world could glisten,

With hope and heart and fear no more.

Where dragons are heroes down in their core.

“I’ll be all alone,” Little Dragon sighs. “How will I make them see?”

“With actions, my dear,” his mother says sweetly.

“Be righteous and noble, with heart so true.”

“That no one would dare call you rude.”

“Don’t act the part, just be a knight.”

“Do it now while the time is right.”

“Others will follow, eventually, you’ll see.”

“You’ll be the dragon who changed history!”

Little Dragon smiles and is inspired once more.

“I’ll be the one to write my own lore!”

He jumps on his bed and holds his book like a sword.

“I’ll be a knight all can adore!”