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.
This was a fun prompt. The moment I read that the word was spaghetti, I saw the opening in my head. 🙂
Here’s my entry for this week:
“You never did tell me what happened with Emily,” Winter said, eyeing the strange plate of food Layla had before her. It looked like worms in some sort of red gloopy stuff.
“I did. I told you nothing really happened,” Layla said. She wrapped some of the wormy-stuff around her fork.
“That’s not telling me what did happen though.” Winter hovered as close to the food as she dared, and sniffed at it.
“No, but – what are you doing?”
“Trying to work out what you’re eating and trying to find out what happened between you and Emily.”
“I’m eating spaghetti in tomato sauce and, me and Emily, things are still awkward.”
“Spaghetti? It looks like worms. Why are things awkward? What did she say to you?” Suspicion grew in Winter. Layla was softening towards this Emily. She could tell.
Layla’s nose wrinkled as she looked at her lunch. “I’d never thought about it like that. Can you not compare any more of my food to insects, or grubs, or anything else that lives outside again?” She ate anther forkful, but didn’t look like she enjoyed it.
An urge to know what this spaghetti stuff tasted like surfaced in Winter. “Humans don’t like to eat insects, do they? Can I try some?”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Layla said. “Remember the icing incident?”
She did remember. And shuddered at the memory. “But this isn’t sweet, is it?”
“No, but… you still don’t know what effect it could have.”
“You’re not going to let it go are you?”
Winter shook her head.
“Okay then. A tiny piece.” She cut off an end of spaghetti with her fork and pushed it to the edge of the plate, leaving a trail of tomato sauce behind it.
Winter leaned down and picked it up. It tasted strange, and kind of had the texture she imagined worms would have. She wrinkled her nose.
“Not nice?” Layla asked.
She swallowed. “No. I don’t know why you would want to eat it.”
“The same reason you want to drink tree bark tea.”
“Because it’s nice!”
Layla’s eyebrows rose. “To you, perhaps. But I thought it was disgusting.”
“And I still think that’s strange. Humans have strange tastes.”
“I think fairies do. We’re all different.”
Winter folded her arms and landed softly on the table. “We are all different. Some of us too different. I still haven’t been able to control the ice.”
“There’s no such thing as too different,” Layla said, then her eyes widened. “Winter, look at your feet.”
“What?” Winter looked down. Her eyes widened too. There was no ice. She was standing on the table and there was no ice. The moment she realised it started to crackle out from the end of her toes.
“You were doing it. Until you thought about it, you were doing it.” Layla grinned.
Winter looked up, shocked. “I don’t know how. I…”
“What were you thinking about when you landed?”
She felt colour come to her cheeks. “Birch.”
“Your male fairy friend?” There was a hint of mischief in the way she said it.
“Yes,” Winter mumbled, wishing that the table would open up and swallow her.
“Ah. What were you thinking about him?”
“I was thinking that I’m different and I make him different and feeling guilty, and then thinking about how much I care about him…” Her words trailed off into mumble.
“Love, Winter. Love is the key.” Layla smiled. “You were thinking so hard about not wanting to hurt someone, that you reigned in your power.”
Winter looked at her feet again, then back at Layla. “So all I have to do is want it enough?” It seemed too easy.
“And feel the right emotions. It seems that if you feel warmth in your heart, and use the willpower you have, you can control it. It’ll probably take some practice though.” She ate some spaghetti.
Winter lifted off the table. The ice had formed little tendrils, sneaking out towards Layla’s plate. Hope powered her heartbeat. There was a possibility she could control it, and if she could control it, maybe she could go home, back to the Hollow…
She looked at the spaghetti and wondered… then dismissed the notion.
No. Surely spaghetti couldn’t do such a thing?