This week’s #blogbattle word prompt is rage. This is run by Rachael 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!
As I said I would do in a comment to a reader, I have added an option to the menu above to a page that lists all the Winter #blogbattle story.
I had fun with this one. It was the perfect prompt to give me the perfect idea to end this story. 🙂
Here’s my entry for this week:
Movement at the window caught Winter’s eye.
She smiled and flew over to the gap. “You’re okay,” she said, relieved.
“I’m glad to see you are too,” he replied. His gaze went momentarily over her shoulder, then came back to her. “They’re back in the jam.” His disappointment was obvious.
“They are. But,” she turned back to the frog, realising she didn’t know his name. “Sorry, I didn’t ask your name. I’m Winter.” She gave a little bow.
“Clepe,” he said, his wary gaze on Nutkin.
“This is my friend Nutkin,” Winter indicated the squirrel. “I’m sure he’ll help to get you out of here.”
Nutkin gave her a questioning look, prompting her to explain her agreement with Clepe.
“There may just be a way,” Nutkin said, looking thoughtful. “While I was hiding from the bees I had a thought, but I wanted to come back and make sure you were okay first.”
“I am,” she assured him. “Are you?”
“Yes. I almost got a sting on my tail, but they missed.” He gave a bit of a cheeky grin.
Winter felt relieved, and guilty. “I’m glad. And I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”
Clepe cleared his throat. He had hopped over to sit beside her. “Can we please get on with this? It’s getting rather warm in here.”
“Oh, of course,” she said. Reminded of the fact that Layla would be home soon, she felt the weight of time press down on her shoulders.
“Okay,” Nutkin said. “I’ll go and organise from my end. Winter, you get Clepe into position behind the bees. We’re going to chase them out.” He looked determined.
“Good luck,” she said with a smile.
“You too.” Nutkin dropped off the windowsill and raced away across the garden.
Winter turned to Clepe. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he croaked.
She looked at the table, and then at the gap between the table and the sill. How was Clepe going to get behind the bees without them noticing?
The floor seemed like a good option. “Do you think you could get down to the ground, and then back up onto the table?” she asked.
Clepe’s eyes swivelled round, looking at the kitchen, then he said, “I can.” He started to hop back to the corner of the windowsill.
Winter watched, wondering what he was going to do, but too shy to ask. He hopped down onto the top of the radiator, then onto a chair that stood by the wall, then down onto the floor, treating them all like steps.
He made his way, in slow, plodding hops, across the floor and to the back of the table. Then he jumped up onto a plant pot, up onto a chair, and finally onto the table. Winter’s heart was in her mouth, waiting for the bees to notice and attack him. But they didn’t. She breathed out in semi-relief, then took off on her own journey to the back of the table.
She flew around the outside of the room, staying as far away from the bees as possible, and kept low, flying at the height of the table.
She landed beside Clepe. He swallowed, something in his throat bobbing up and down as he did, then said, “What now?”
“We keep quiet,” she whispered, her gaze locked on the bees, “and wait for Nutkin to come back.” She hoped he wouldn’t be long.
No sooner had she had that thought than he appeared at the window. He looked different, almost as if he were in a rage. He grabbed hold of the window catch and lifted it up. Then pulled it back so that the window swung wide open. As he did, he called, “Now!”
Clepe didn’t need telling twice. He leapt forward, his long tongue flicking out at the bees. They scattered, their buzzing growing louder as they panicked. Cilla flew in through the now-open window, screaming, “Winter! The towel! Now!”
Winter took off and flew as fast as she could over to where they’d dropped the towel on the windowsill. Together, she and Cilla lifted it up as before and flew around to the back of the bees.
Clepe caught several on his tongue. The rest, Winter and Cilla herded out of the window. Clepe hopped along, keeping the bees moving, catching more and more with the sticky end of his tongue.
Soon, they were all gone. Eaten or out of the window. Winter sank down on the sill again, and her stomach started to turn. Those poor bees. Eaten by a frog.
She laid a hand on her tummy and moaned.
“Hey, are you okay?” a familiar voice asked.
Surprise made Winter look up. Birch crouched down in front of her, concerned. She said, “I’ll be fine. It’s just the shock, I think.”
He touched her face, and half-smiled. “You’re one brave fairy, you know.”
She didn’t feel very brave. She felt a bit like passing out at that moment. “What are you doing here?” she asked. Somehow, the thought had made its way to the top of her muddled mind.
“Nutkin asked for my help,” he said. “He told me what was happening, and I couldn’t refuse.”
She looked from him to Nutkin. “You opened the window. The strength, where…” Then it occurred where. She looked again at Birch. “You gave him a Seed!”
“But the Queen-”
“Doesn’t need to know.”
Guilt welled up inside. “But if she found out-”
He kissed her, taking her by surprise, then said, “I don’t care.” His words were firm.
She didn’t quite know what to say. Luckily. Clepe filled the silence. “Well, if you’re done with me now. I’m off back to my pond.” He didn’t wait for anyone to reply, simply hopped off the sill and out into the garden.
“Hm,” Cilla fluffed up her chest feathers, “what a rude creature.”
Winter smiled. She didn’t care. The bees were gone.
And Birch had kissed her.
Life felt good.