This week’s #blogbattle word prompt is time. 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.
Here’s my entry for this week:
There’s Not Enough Time!
“I don’t have enough time!” Layla threw her hands up in the air.
Winter dodged out of the way. “Okay, calm down. And watch where you’re waving your arms.”
Layla sighed and sank down onto her chair. “I’m sorry Winter, but I just don’t see how I can get this edit done in time for the deadline.”
Winter landed on Layla’s hand, which was resting on the desk. “I don’t think getting worked up is going to help.”
Another sigh. “I know. I just want this collection to be really good. I want it to be the best work I’ve ever done. I want them to accept it.” She sounded tired.
“I’m sure it will be,” Winter said. “Why don’t you take a break? Come out into the garden?” It seemed like a long time since Layla had been out there, had tended the flowers and plants. Lately she had been locked away in this small room working.
“I don’t have the time,” she muttered, her gaze drilling into the desk.
“I think you should make it.” Winter folded her arms. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“But nothing.” She flew up to her shoulder. “I’ll turn your earring to ice if you don’t.” She’d done it accidentally a while ago, and it had hurt.
“No. Turn the computer off and come on.” She grabbed hold of the earring. “I mean it.”
With yet another sigh, Layla turned her computer off and got up. “Right. Can I at least bring my book?”
“No. You need to appreciate something beyond those squiggles.”
“Words, Winter. I’ve told you before.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever they are. You need to see flowers and things. They’re much prettier.” Though, she had to admit to herself, they didn’t tell half such interesting stories.
They emerged outside into the summer sun. The sky was blue, and it was lovely and warm. Layla took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, then said, “You’re right. It is nice out here. I still don’t see how this is going to get my poetry collection finished though.”
“Stop thinking about that,” Winter said, and lead her through the garden.
The flowers were all in bloom, bees buzzing from one to another. The trees swayed gently in the light breeze, their leaves rustling, providing a perfect backdrop to the birds’ songs.
Winter landed on top of the bird house. “Feeling better?”
A smile spread across her face. “You know, I think I am. Thank you for this Winter. You’re one smart fairy.”
She blushed. “No. Just sensible. We all need a rest sometimes. Why don’t we go to the fountain?” She took off, without waiting for Layla to agree. Or disagree.
The stone fountain sat behind the house, halfway between the back door and the back gate. It had a statue of a strange-looking woman with water spouting form her mouth on it. Winter thought that must be a rather uncomfortable thing to have happen. Plus she was naked. That must be embarrassing.
Layla sat down on the rim of the basin, where water rippled and danced in the sunlight. She draped one hand in the water, creating yet more ripples. Winter landed on the rim beside her, and smiled at her reflection in the water. It was a happy fairy who looked back, instead of the miserable one that she had been at the start of the year when this fountain had held only ice. She wasn’t back in the Hollow yet, but she was getting there. She felt that she was on the right track.
“I should do this more often,” Layla said, lifting her hand from the water. She flicked a few drops at Winter.
Winter didn’t stop herself from turning them into ice. They clattered onto the stone, little hailstones alone in the world. They melted within moments. She giggled.
Layla laughed as well. “I don’t think I appreciate this garden enough,” she said, and a look of sadness came over her.
“Because it was your father’s?”
“Yes. He loved to be out here, tending the plants. He taught me all I know about gardening.”
Layla didn’t manage the whole garden herself, a gardener came every three weeks to do most of it. But she had her own small plot where she grew what she wanted.
“Maybe you could start now?” Winter suggested. “It’s never too late.”
A small smile. “No. I don’t suppose it is. You’re wise and smart Winter.”
Another blush. “Okay. Enough of that. How are you feeling about getting back to your poetry?”
“Actually, I think I’ll get my sketchbook and sit and draw for a while. Do you want to sit with me?”
“Oh yes.” She lifted off the stone. “I would love to.”