This week’s #blogbattle word prompt is bludgeon. This is run by Raccheal Ritney over on her blog Writing Rachael Ritchey. I encourage you to check out her blog, and this challenge.
1. 1000 words max
2. fictional tale (or true if you really want)
3. PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly! (this week will be difficult, I know. That’s a somewhat violent word! Remember, use your imagination. 🙂 )
4. Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
5. Go for the entertainment value!
6. Use the hashtag #BlogBattle, put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this post, and/or include a link to this post in your own blog post (it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
7. Have fun!
Here’s my entry for this week:
(I’m hoping tht the relation to the prompt word is clear enough.)
Echoes of their taunting words flashed through Winter’s mind. She curled herself up tighter, burying her small body into Nutkins’ fur. She was squishing her wings, but she didn’t care. If she never flew again, who cared?
They certainly didn’t. They would probably be pleased. If she couldn’t fly, she couldn’t spread the cold everywhere she went.
She pulled Nutkins’ bushy squirrel tail around her. The wind blew from the north. Cold.
Even she felt the cold. They had said she didn’t. That she must be made of ice to function the way she did.
But she wasn’t. She was flesh and blood, just like them.
She sniffed back tears. Life wasn’t fair. Why did she have to be this way? Why couldn’t she just be like all the other fairies her age?
It started to rain. Just fine mizzle at first, then heavier drops. They pounded on the roof of the bird table, making her glad for the shelter it provided from the wet onslaught.
She shivered, wishing she was back inside the Hollow, with her friends. Her old friends, she corrected herself. They weren’t anymore. Not since she started to turn everything she touched into ice. Everything non-living anyway.
Cilla fluttered into the shelter. She shook her feathers and wings, scattering droplets of water all over.
Hey!” both Winter and Nutkin cried, trying to shield themselves with their arms.
“Sorry,” Cilla said. “I didn’t think. The rain came on so quickly all I could think of was getting out of it.” She settled down by Winter. “How are things?”
Winter didn’t know whether she could bring herself to tell her friend that the others had finally made her leave the Hollow. Telling Nutkin had been hard enough, through sobs and an aching heart.
Nutkin saved her. “They made her leave,” he said. “They said that she was dangerous and that she didn’t belong there.”
Tears fell again. They had said much more than that, but she didn’t want to remember, let alone hear the words repeated again.
“Oh you poor thing,” Cilla said. “They’re such bullies! Why can’t they just accept you for who you are?”
“Because who I am isn’t who they are,” Winter said. Her heart hurt so much that she didn’t understand how it was possible that she was still alive, able to bear such pain and humiliation.
“Well, you’ve still got us,” Cilla said, and looked at Nutkin. “Hasn’t she?”
“Of course,” the squirrel said. “We’ll always stick by you.”
Somehow, a smile came to her lips “Thank you, but that doesn’t give me a home. Or friends of my own kind.”
“I know,” Cilla said, “but these things change. Perhaps they’ll feel sorry for what they’ve done and let you go home. Not that I would go back if I were you, of course!” She puffed up her yellow chest feathers in indignation.
“I don’t think they’ll give me a choice. Not unless I lose this, this” she looked at her hands, at the skin that had betrayed her, “curse.” It was the most appropriate word that she could think of for it.
“Don’t say that,” Nutkin said. “It’s a gift from the Great Mother. Try and see it that way.”
She leaned back into his warm fur again, burying her hands away from her vision. “I can’t,” she said. “How could a gift ever cause this much pain?”
Cilla and Nutkins’ eyes met over her head, and a look passed between them. Pity, she thought. They pity me. But pity was all she had right then.
The rain continued to pound on the top of the bird table, late into the dark night.