Okay... no poetry for me this Friday. My adventure muse was in for this Challenge. But see below for the Poetry Friday link and other creative offerings based on this image.
* * *
I crept through the trees, stepping carefully to keep the noise down. Surprise was the only thing working in my favor.
I peered around a tree. He was there: still as a stone, propped against a tree, legs splayed out in front of him. His camouflage hid his features, though it didn’t hide him in the forest.
The Hunter faced the path into the woods. This was his third day of watching the entrance to the Aviaries.
The Aviaries housed the kingdom’s greatest treasures—rare birds found nowhere else. The newest hybrid was the glittering ruby of its mother with its father’s gossamer feathers and a great train of a tail that flashed purple and gold in the sunlight. The crown jewel of any collection.
The King planned to present it at his daughter’s wedding; an auspicious gift with which to begin her new life and a symbol of trust in the peace treaty.
But the Hunter clearly had other plans. He had been watching the path for the last three days. I suspected that he was waiting for an opportunity to steal the bird.
I couldn’t let that happen. My life was at stake—it was my job to keep the birds safe. The King tolerated no mistakes.
I knew today was the day he would make his move. The wedding was tomorrow. Today was the Hunter’s only chance.
I settled down behind the Hunter, ready to track him when he moved.
I didn’t have to wait long. As the sun got low in the sky, I saw the scientists and caretakers leaving for the day. The Hunter twitched.
As the voices faded away and the sky grew pink, the Hunter got to his feet. He stretched and looked around him. I watched. My camouflage was perfect—unless I moved, he couldn’t possibly see me. He glanced in my direction but continued to scan and turned away to retrieve a cage hidden in the brush. I stood and followed.
The Hunter moved quietly through the trees, but I could still hear his footsteps and his labored breath as he carried the cage toward the Aviaries.
At the gate, he set the cage on the ground and looked around again. He pulled a small set of tools from a pocket and began to pick the lock.
I cursed myself for letting the King insist on such a paltry lock, but he had demanded free access to the collection, and he would have nothing to do with high-tech security measures.
Within moments, the gate swung open. The Hunter picked up the cage and stepped inside.
Looming before the Hunter was a large, free-standing structure. Inside, I caught flashes of the gem-colored birds that lived there. They were flitting about in the fiery sunset, light reflecting off of their feathers. The Hunter stopped to stare, and I slipped into the Aviaries behind him.
I was weaponless—one of the King’s rules about working in the Aviaries. He didn’t want someone accidentally killing one of the birds. The Hunter, on the other hand, carried a shotgun, so I had to choose my position with care.
I darted behind an observation post—one from which the researchers watched the birds. The hybrid was kept in its own glass-walled enclosure about fifty feet away. I stood near a path of small stones. Thinking they might be of use, I scooped up a handful and shoved them in my pocket.
The Hunter pulled his eyes away from the birds. With a glance to either side, he headed for the glass cage. He set the cage on the ground and inspected the hybrid’s enclosure before he started to pick the lock.
As he knelt before the cage door, I climbed the ladder into the observation tower. From here a catwalk ran to a second flight cage, on the far side of the glass one. The catwalk ran directly over the top of the smaller enclosure.
I crawled along the catwalk, trying to keep a low profile. The setting sun threw an immense shadow on the wall of the Aviaries. I could see my shadow moving and hoped the Hunter didn’t turn around.
When I reached the glass cage, I swung my feet over the side of the catwalk. I lowered myself until my feet hung mere inches from the metal roof. I couldn’t get any closer without dropping.
I heard the click of the lock and a satisfied grunt from the Hunter. The cage door was open.
I dropped to the roof with a clang.
“What the—?” the Hunter said below me.
I threw some stones onto the path behind him, and he whirled around, pulling his shotgun to his shoulder.
He spotted my shadow on the orange-lit wall. He dropped to one knee and fired. But my shadow disappeared as the shot created clouds of dust in the wall.
I threw myself onto his back and wrestled for the shotgun. I was actually more worried that he would shoot a bird than me. Peace in the kingdoms depended on a successful wedding and gift-giving ceremony tomorrow. Dead birds tonight would derail the King’s peace negotiations.
The Hunter rolled to his side, trapping my left arm. I grunted at the impact and a sharp pain shot through my arm, but I held on. I slammed my right foot against his hand. The gun was now pointing at the distant flight cage. Nervous birds were flying in circles, and I knew one would be hit if the gun fired again.
I kicked a second time and heard the gratifying crunch of bone. The Hunter howled, and the birds erupted in alarm calls. The noise was deafening.
I yanked the gun from his injured hand and swung it out of his reach. Then I shoved the end of the barrel against his side. He arched away from it and stopped moving.
“You’re done,” I growled in his ear. I yanked my bruised arm from under his body and kept the gun trained on him as I backed away. Cradling his broken hand, he shifted to a sitting position and gazed past me.
“No,” he said. A slight smile played on his lips despite his grimace of pain. “You are.”
I turned to see that the door to the glass cage stood open, and I caught a glimpse of red as the hybrid flew away.
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Post a link to your challenge results in the comments below. And comments on my challenge offering are also welcome.
If you're looking for poetry, check out the Poetry Friday Roundup at Live, Love, Explore!
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Creative efforts
Today I must play the samurai with my story for Friday's Creativity Challenge (it's a bit long and requires some cutting). But I have been following the creative efforts of others and thought this would be a great opportunity to share them with you.
The FaBo Story is scheduled to continue with chapter 2 (what was outside Remy's tent?)...
Simon and Mercedes are trying to figure out how to kill each other...
Christie has begun a story challenge....
Toby has some original poetry (as do other Poetry Friday participants)...
Roland continues his online story Ghost of a Chance...
and Tahereh continues the Querypolitan fun.
Go see what others are writing, and be sure to write up your post for the Creativity Challenge. Posts should be up by Friday, and you will be able to leave links in the comments of my post to share with others.
And if there are other great stories or original creative work that should be added to the list, please let me know.
The FaBo Story is scheduled to continue with chapter 2 (what was outside Remy's tent?)...
Simon and Mercedes are trying to figure out how to kill each other...
Christie has begun a story challenge....
Toby has some original poetry (as do other Poetry Friday participants)...
Roland continues his online story Ghost of a Chance...
and Tahereh continues the Querypolitan fun.
Go see what others are writing, and be sure to write up your post for the Creativity Challenge. Posts should be up by Friday, and you will be able to leave links in the comments of my post to share with others.
And if there are other great stories or original creative work that should be added to the list, please let me know.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Eight years
Today is not about writing or creativity. It's about gratitude. It's about celebrating eight years with Beloved Husband: the man who helps me through tragedies, keeps me sane, and makes me laugh. I could not have asked for a more supportive, loving, or better mate. Yes, he's a tremendous smart-ass, but that one of the things I love about him.
When the birds I studied for my master's thesis were stolen in the middle of the night, BH was there. When a new flock came down with avian malaria and my Ph.D. research went belly-up, he was there. When my Ph.D. advisor died of a heart attack (not three hours after we figured out what to do about the whole belly-up research issue), BH actually flew home from his research several states away. He was there the next day.
And with him, I have been given extraordinary opportunities. We have lived in new and exciting places, we have explored 12 countries, and we have had two amazing children. We have seen the eye of a hurricane (Ike on Sept. 13th, 2008) and dug out from three feet of snow. Life with BH is an adventure, and I have loved every minute of it.
But the thing for which I am most grateful is BH's support. It was easy for him to help me through the challenges of academia; he is part of that world. But when I decided to start writing fiction, something he loves to read but would never dream of writing, he was my biggest critic... and my biggest champion. He wants me to write the best stories out there. He wants me to succeed. He wants me to be happy, and I want the same for him. And that's really all that matters. So happy anniversary, my dear. I love you.
Who helps you through the rough times and cheers on your successes?
When the birds I studied for my master's thesis were stolen in the middle of the night, BH was there. When a new flock came down with avian malaria and my Ph.D. research went belly-up, he was there. When my Ph.D. advisor died of a heart attack (not three hours after we figured out what to do about the whole belly-up research issue), BH actually flew home from his research several states away. He was there the next day.
And with him, I have been given extraordinary opportunities. We have lived in new and exciting places, we have explored 12 countries, and we have had two amazing children. We have seen the eye of a hurricane (Ike on Sept. 13th, 2008) and dug out from three feet of snow. Life with BH is an adventure, and I have loved every minute of it.
But the thing for which I am most grateful is BH's support. It was easy for him to help me through the challenges of academia; he is part of that world. But when I decided to start writing fiction, something he loves to read but would never dream of writing, he was my biggest critic... and my biggest champion. He wants me to write the best stories out there. He wants me to succeed. He wants me to be happy, and I want the same for him. And that's really all that matters. So happy anniversary, my dear. I love you.
Who helps you through the rough times and cheers on your successes?
Friday, July 23, 2010
Poetry Friday: What a rush
My poetry muse decided to stop by again. It's been a while, so it was nice to enjoy a cup of coffee and a little poetry-writing. The muse has apparently been visiting amusement parks while I've been working with my mystery muse, because this is what she gave me...
This week's Poetry Friday roundup can be found at Language, Literacy, Love.
And don't forget the current Creativity Challenge—get your creative work posted one week from today (Friday, 30 July).
What a Rush
We take our seats and hold the bar
though we're not going very far.
Off we go, with greater speed.
My hat flies off, my hair's been freed
to whip around my neck and ears...
wind's in my eyes, I blink back tears.
Up and down, around we go...
faster... faster... then we slow.
Click. Click. Click. We climb the hill.
Higher up we go, until...
car by car we clear the top.
Down we rush, my stomach drops.
We scream and yell and fly through space
then round a bend at break-neck pace.
And then we stop, the ride is done.
The roller coaster's so much fun!
This week's Poetry Friday roundup can be found at Language, Literacy, Love.
And don't forget the current Creativity Challenge—get your creative work posted one week from today (Friday, 30 July).
Labels:
in all seriousness,
original poetry,
poetry friday
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