World Walkers: Quiar: Lucille: Hot to Moderate

Written for LJ user ysabetwordsmith’s prompt: going from the hot season to the moderate season. (Tell me if anything is wrong with what I’ve written, because there wasn’t a lot of information on the seasonal changes.)

Lucille knew why she had chosen Quiar as one of the worlds she wished to visit, although she hadn’t made any definite choices about the worlds she wished to walk to, and she was making the most of the year she’d been given to make those choices. The last time she’d visited, staying safely on Larnach, it had been the middle of the hot season, but she most wanted to visit during the short period of time when the seasons changed. If she was honest she was just totally fascinated with Quiar, because of how different it was to all the other worlds. Even though she knew about the way the worlds had been created she couldn’t help thinking that Quiar seemed more like a world that would have evolved than a world created by the fae.

On Lucille’s first day it had still been the hot season. To her it felt like a nice summer’s day on most of the other worlds. Sometimes it could be too hot, the same way it could be too hot on the other worlds, but she liked the hot season on Quiar. When she woke up the next day she couldn’t hide her surprise. People had explained that Quiar’s seasons changed abruptly and she thought she’d been ready for it. It wasn’t hot any longer, at least not to her, and the blanket her deer guide had left at the end of the bed, mentioning that non-Quiaran’s always had trouble with the sudden changes, became the most useful thing she had been given.

During her studies, Lucille had read about the changes of season, but reading about them and experiencing them were very different things. The change of temperature was always the first thing. It was followed by all the normal seasonal changes that were expected when it changed from summer to autumn, because that was almost what the change was, although moderate was slightly different to autumn. She just found the temperature difference harder to cope with that the Quiarans because she wasn’t used to it, even though she’d been expecting it. In a couple of days she knew she would be able to cope with the moderate season easily.

Although, there were still the other changes to come. Lucille found it easier to think in terms of other seasonal changes she knew, because that was what she was used to, but she knew that they weren’t the same. The plants would change, which meant the foods she would be offered would change too. She was actually looking forward to that part. It would take a few days, with the heat of the hot season fading, and she wanted to watch it happen. Walkers had to write reports on their visits, so the way the plants changed was something she definitely wanted to write about. Once she’d written three reports on each of the different worlds she’d be told if she was compatible with them, and she really wanted to be compatible with Quiar, even if she ended up not choosing it.

Mirrored from K. A. Jones Writing.

Pagan: Anna: The Corn King (John Barleycorn)

Written for LJ user ysabetwordsmith’s prompt: Anna musing on the myth of John Barleycorn. (My favourite typo – John Barelycorn.)

Some days, when Anna felt like she really couldn’t cope, she spent hours surfing the net because it helped her to stop thinking. If she was honest her problem wasn’t thinking too much, but dealing with the people who didn’t see her. Every day someone reminded her of what had happened and it made her wish she could run away from her problems. Instead she forced herself to keep going, because it seemed like it was the only thing she could do, even though giving up would probably be much easier, or maybe pretending for a little while that she was Charlotte. The girl she wished she could be and never wanted to be at the same time.

Coming across the story of John Barleycorn had been an accident. Anna couldn’t remember exactly how it happened, but she kept going back to reread the page. It made her wonder why things had happened the way they had. Was Charlotte a sacrifice? If so, what was so important about the person it made Anna? She kept the page with those two questions scribbled on it where she could see it and couldn’t come up with any answers.

The Corn King died every autumn so his blood could be used to fertilise the land. Did Charlotte die in order to fertilise Anna? Anna shook her head. That didn’t even make sense. How could you fertilise a person? She stared into the mirror, looking at her reflection. It was still Charlotte’s reflection too, no matter how many changed she made, and sometimes she wished she could have plastic surgery so she looked like Anna. There were days when she knew she had too many wishes and no fairy godmother to grant them. Instead she had a Lloyd, who was doing everything he could to help her, and a possible new friend in Vitali, which was more than she had hoped for when she first woke up without her memories.

At least it looked like John Barleycorn knew what was coming. There was no mention of memory loss. Charlotte hadn’t known what was going to happen when she got into the car on the night of the accident and Anna hadn’t known what was coming, if she had even existed before. If Charlotte had of known what was going to happen then she might not have got into the car. Anna may not have existed. She sighed. Maybe it would have been better that way.

Or maybe it wouldn’t have been. Anna didn’t know what Charlotte’s life had really been like. It could have been that Charlotte wanted a way out and somehow that had caused Anna to come into existence. She had a feeling it would take a long time to work out what the real answer was, if there was an answer at all. There was a possibility that it had all been down to pure bad luck, Anna was just a construct created by a body without any memories, and due to that nothing would ever be the same again for Charlotte.

Mirrored from K. A. Webb Writing.

Afterlife: Richard: Watching Leaves Fall

Written for lj user ysabetwordsmith’s prompt: Richard watching dead leaves falling. It kind of wandered off, like stories for prompts sometimes do.

Being Death made autumn an interesting season and one Richard avoided whenever he could. Sometimes he had no choice, because people died in autumn the same way they died every other season of the year. He never quite knew why, but his attention was always drawn to the dead leaves falling from the trees, and part of him felt like he should be guiding the leaves to the afterlife in the same way he guided people. Sighing, he watched a brown leaf travel from its branch to the ground, swirling in the wind, as he reminded himself that every leaf that fell would find its way safely to where it needed to be now that its short life was over.

Autumn felt like an uncomfortable item of clothing. Richard rubbed his hands down his arms as he tried, unsuccessfully, to get rid of at least some of the feeling. It was a season that was neither alive or dead, but both at the same time. Spring was the same in a way, and different, because then things were coming alive instead of slowly dying. As Death he felt the things that were dying and, even though he knew there were things coming to life, he couldn’t feel life. Spring, unless he was gathering someone, didn’t really feel of anything to him, because he was a part of the afterlife that was almost more dead than the dead.

Richard picked up one of the dead leaves. There was no spirit within it any longer, because it had moved on. Above him he could feel the spirits in all the other leaves, who all knew that soon, very soon, they would be travelling to the afterlife. It was different to the feeling he got from humans, different to the feeling he got from domestic animals, different to the feeling he got from wild animals, and different to the feeling he got from animals that were breed for food. Death was something unique for everyone and everything. Humans were his responsibility, as Death, the afterlife’s psychopomp, but that didn’t stop him from feeling everything else.

When Richard thought about it, he knew his favourite of all the feelings was the one he got from loved domestic animals. It didn’t matter who loved them, but if someone who had loved the animal was in the afterlife they automatically went to them. Unloved domestic animals needed help to get to the afterlife, where they would find someone who would help the recuperate from what had happened to them during their life. His job wasn’t to guide them, although he sometimes did if an animal spirit happened to be close to where he was gathering a human spirit, because he couldn’t leave them alone.

The leaf swirled back down to the ground when Richard dropped it. It was nothing more than the shell that had once housed the spirit of the leaf. Gathering up his courage he looked at the gravestone in front of him and told himself that the body that was decomposing in the ground beneath him was just the shell that had once housed his spirit. Instead of being within that body he was outside it, his spirit continuing the life he’d been living since before he was even in that body. He knew there were other bodies in other graves and he promised himself he would visit them all.

Mirrored from K. A. Webb Writing.

Donor House: Dawn: Talking to Lewis

When Dawn rang Lewis she wasn’t actually expecting an answer, because they often avoided talking to each other. The whole thing was a little weird, really, but understandable at the same time. She could imagine, if she’d come across a family member dying and had the ability to save them, doing exactly the same thing. It was just getting used to having a grandfather who was permanently just three years older than her, who just happened to be her vampiric father. Normally it was her doing the avoiding. He was normally just busy all the time and now that he was working on the donor house she knew he would be even more busy.

So Lewis’ reply of, “It’s been a long time,” took her by surprise and her only answer, to begin with, was silence.

“Sorry,” Dawn said, finally. “I just…”

“You don’t need to explain.”

Dawn ran a hand through her hair. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

The answer to that question was even harder to work out. Dawn knew she needed help, and the only person she trusted to help her was Lewis, but she didn’t know how to ask. It felt like she only ever rang him when she needed his help, and she probably did, but that wasn’t the relationship she wanted to have with him. She just didn’t know how to change things.

“Things have been better.”

“How can I help?”

“I don’t know.” Dawn tapped her fingers on the table in front of her, trying to think. “I’m not even sure I want you to help.”

“Dawn, tell me what’s happened.”

It took her a moment to realise that Lewis couldn’t see her shaking her head. “It’s not something I want to talk about right now.” Dawn sighed. “I just want to be safe for a while.”

“Come to the donor house.”

“I…” She sighed again. “Living with a group of vampires, no matter how nice they are, isn’t something I think I can deal with right now.”

“You don’t have to live here. It would just be easier to work things out face to face, and I spend pretty much all my time at the house now, so it’s the best place for you to come. When you get here ring me and I’ll come down to get you. Okay?”

“I guess.” Dawn blinked away the tears she could feel threating to fall. “I want us to have a proper relationship, Lewis. It’s time I stopped acting like a child and dealt with my problems.”

“You needed time and I was happy to give it to you. If you really want us to work things out, then I’m open to the idea, but I don’t want you to feel like my help is something you have to pay for. You’re family.”

“Lewis…” Dawn stared into the mug of coffee. “Do you ever wish you’d made a different decision when you came across me?”

“No, never. Do you ever wish I’d made a different decision?”

“Yes, sometimes, when I’m feeling at my worst. Being a vampire was never my choice.”

Mirrored from K. A. Jones Writing.