This week’s #blogbattle word prompt is blonde. This is run by Racheal Ritchey 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!
I actually found this week’s challenge hard. It seems like there’s an endless amount of possibilities (and I’m sure there are – I just can’t think of them!). So there you go. Some prompts send my brain spinning with endless ideas. Some, it’s like batting my head against a brick wall trying to think of one.
Here’s my entry for this week:
“Her and her stupid blonde hair,” Winter mumbled, kicking at an invisible something on the ground.
Crystal’s words wouldn’t leave her. They stung her heart, cut at her. Freak, she’d said.
Dangerous. Could wipe out the entire Hollow with one touch.
Tears pricked in Winter’s eyes. Again.
Crystal had been her friend since they were children. Why was that worth nothing now?
She looked out at the rain, once more pounding on the top of the birdhouse. Spring rains to bring forth spring flowers.
Tears before the happiness.
Please let the happiness come soon, Winter prayed.
Could the Great Mother hear her? Did she care? Would she answer Winter’s prayers?
So much uncertainty where things used to be simple, easy.
Nutkin poked his nose into the birdhouse. “I’ve just spoken to Crystal,” he said. “She said you two had another argument.”
“It wasn’t an argument,” Winter said. “It was her calling me names. Along with Poppy and Rose.”
Nutkin edged further into the birdhouse. You’re upset,” he said. “Was it really that bad?”
She nodded, too miserable for words.
He sat down beside her, ducking his head to fit beneath the roof. “Have you spoken to Layla about it?”
She shook her head.
“What did you say to them in return?”
Her heart ached again, and two more tears rolled silently down her cheeks. “I told them they were bullies,” she mumbled, “and that they were stupid and I didn’t want to be their friends anyway.”
“It sounds to me like an argument,” Nutkin said. “Why don’t you talk to them-”
“No!” Winter was horrified. Talk to them? After what they’d said? After them supporting the Queen’s decision to kick her out of the Hollow? After everything that had happened?”
“Winter…” Nutkin sighed, shaking his head. “This can’t go on forever. You have to forgive them at some point, and understand why they did what they did. Put yourself in their shoes.”
“No.” Winter stood. “I won’t. They don’t deserve it. It’s not exactly as if they’re apologising for what they said, for what they did. I can’t believe you’re sticking up for them Nutkin.”
She fluttered her wings, and flew from the birdhouse.
A window was open that led into Layla’s sitting room. Winter landed on the windowsill and looked for her friend. The room was empty. She flew to the sofa and sat on the back of it. Her heart was so full of misery she believed she might drown in it. How could she fly with such heaviness inside her?
She laid down on her side and stared at the wall. It was covered in a floral pattern. Layla said she didn’t like it, but never had the time to do anything about it. She spent much of her time up in her study, tapping away on the thing she called a computer, writing her books. She had read bits of one to Winter, who didn’t fully understand some of what she heard, but she thought the tales were as good as any told in the Hollow. They were old tales. Told by generation after generation.
She wondered if she would ever hear them again, see the tales performed by young fairies learning them. She missed her home. But she couldn’t go back. They wouldn’t let her. She was too dangerous. Until she found a way to control her power, she was banned from entering the Hollow.
More tears fell, creating a small wet patch on the pink cloth beneath her cheek.
But she couldn’t control her powers. She couldn’t stop things from turning to ice beneath her touch. So what was the point in even trying? What was the point in anything anymore?
Stupid Crystal and her stupid perfect self.