Fiction: The Girl & The Merboy

June's Words for Wednesday is hosted by Charlotte at Mother Owl Musings. June 29th's prompts are: humdrum, hapless, righteous, puny, importance, weak, troubled, quirky and the photo below. I used all the words except hapless and importance. For more Words for Wednesday, visit Charlotte at Mother Owl's Musings over here. 

(Note: This story is related to the St. Felicity Tales but you don't have to read that. But if you want to, start here or see all the post here.)

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Fiction: The Girl & the Merboy
Under the dull light of the moon, a girl wheeled her chair close to the shoreline. Gingerly, she pushed against the chair's arms and dropped onto the ground. The sand was cool under her fingers. For a moment she sat still, not caring the hem of her nightgown was soaking wet.
    Behind her, a few distances away, was the beach house where she was staying with her parents for the summer. On her right, the lighthouse was dark and silent. The water in front of her was calm while a cool breeze was gliding by.
    The girl took out a book and a pen from a backpack hanging on her chair. Turning to the second page, she scribbled down a few words but then scratched them out. She scribbled again and crossed them out. Frustrated, she pulled the page out, crumbled it and threw it into the water. Then she tossed the book and pen in as well. Leaning forward, she crawled toward into the water, closer and closer until she was half way in.
    The month before, when she woke up unable to move her legs, she had thought she would be a hero with a righteous heart ready to slay the demon in her way and even laugh at the puny attempts to strike her down. But she did not laugh. To pass the hard days of therapy and medication, she told tales to herself, ones with happy endings.
    Her parents kept her doctors away so she wouldn't talk to them. But the nurses gossiped as they changed beds and tubes. 'Such a pity for one so young.' 'Only a miracle can save her.'
    Their words troubled the girl. They echoed in her head every time she saw her parents. It wasn't just her legs they had to worry about. For a year now, she had been fighting a disease with an iron will that was slowly weakling. Each time she thought she was fully cured, she was brought back to the hospital.
    The cold water enveloped her. She looked up at the moon. Once when she was five, she told her father an invisible spirit was up there and taking care of the moon. Only those with true hearts could see it. Her father merely smiled and nodded.
    Above, the moon was clear and not a living soul in sight. Why had she thought of such childish things?
    In the water, she floated for a while and then she began to sank. Lower and lower until she saw only darkness. Then she was panicking. All she wanted was to breathe again. She tried to rise up but her arms were heavy and her chest was tightening.
    Then something wrapped around her waist. She tried to pry the hand away but a voice popped into her head. Hold still or I will hit you.
    Who was this voice telling her what to do? And how dare he thought to hit her?
    But the boy didn't want to hit her. He merely said what he knew would get her to obey him.
    At once, he pulled her up to the surface. She let out a deep breath and the boy towed her onto the sands. She sat up, coughed and drew in and let out deep breaths.
    The boy was half in the water and watching the girl. The light from the lighthouse came on and it fell on the girl and moved away. He estimated her age to be eleven or older, much like him.
    She met his unblinking brown-gold eyes. His skin shimmered a light blue. She did not had any desire to thank him. She would rather like to hit him but she was too worn out.
    The boy blinked. Live, whatever else you think you should do.
    She heard his words but his mouth never moved. What did he know? He was only a boy. Certainly, he was not much older than her.
    Without a word, the boy reached out and placed a hand on each of her legs. A small current ran from his fingers toward her. Thinking it might not be enough, he strengthened the current and as he did so, a shock from his hands shot out and he was thrown backward into the water. He surfaced again and swam a little closer to the shoreline.
    The girl was staring at her legs. It was glowing slightly but then it faded.
    You can walk, I can guarantee this. His lips tilted into a half grin.
    She didn't return the grin but stared at him wide-eyed.
    Then he swam out and dove his head into the water. A silver tail appeared and then was gone.
    "Birdy!" Someone was calling her but she kept her eyes on the water but it was calm as if nothing had happened.
    

Fiction: St. Felicity's Newest Arrival 4

June's Words for Wednesday is hosted by Charlotte at Mother Owl Musings. June 15th's prompts are: guidance, tea, argument, role, thanks, warning, leadership, song, nation, highway, piano, owner. June 22's prompts are: dozen, tiger, redundancy, mile, confuse, equinox, mountain, treaty, suspicion, strategic, investigation, light.  For more Words for Wednesday, visit Charlotte at Mother Owl Musings over here.

Read part 1, part 2 & 3.

Fiction: St. Felicity's Newest Arrival 4
In the afternoon, Mrs. Hodge returns to sit in the corner of the kitchen where she has set up a small table and a pair of chairs. Quietly, she sips tea while Ben makes lunch.
    After Ben takes the food out to the newly restored dinning room with some absent items, Mrs. Hodge says, "Bring me a bowl of porridge. And that bottle of hot spice we got in the last shipment."
    Ben fills a bowl with porridge and set it and a spoon on the table along with the bottle.
    Mrs. Hodge brings out her handkerchief, unfolds it and empties the content into the bowl. Then she stirs the gruel and then slather a great amount of the hot spice into the bowl and stirs again. "Bring a tray and take this to Mr. Driver. Tell him that's all he's getting for today." She pats her hair. "Thank you, Ben."
    Ben nods.
    Mr. Driver has been told very sternly by Mrs. Hodge to stay in his room if he wants to keep on living. Since he have no money, she has taken all his possessions to pay for the broken dishware and various damages.
    Up the flight of stairs and down the hall to the last room on the left, Ben stops at Mr. Driver's door. He wonders if it is dirt Mrs. Hodge has dropped into the bowl of gruel. He would not blame Mrs. Hodge considering what Mr. Driver has done. Earlier, Ben has broke the harpoon to pieces and burned it though it isn't poisoned but he did not want Mr. Driver to use it ever again.
    In his room, sitting on a chair by the window, Mr. Driver watches as Ben sets down the tray with the bowl and put it on the table. Ben leaves the room quietly without a word to Mr. Driver.

Fiction: St. Felicity's Newest Arrival 2 & 3

May's Words for Wednesday was hosted by Wisewebwoman. That last week's prompts were battery, remain, age, bite, produce, workshop, forest, critic.
    June's Words for Wednesday is hosted by Charlotte at Mother Owl Musings. Last week's prompts are: death, truth, chemistry, restaurant, mom, opportunity, fact, agency, instruction, clothes, philosophy, people.    
    I used most of the prompts but they got edited out but they are helpful even if I end up not using them. The words that I ended up using are remain, bite, truth, lake, people.

Read Part 1 here.

Fiction: St. Felicity's Newest Arrival 2
"Are you saying you are going to grant me a wish?" Ben says.
    "Yes. Are my words unintelligible? I grant you wish and make it true." Beany widens her eyes and then turns to look through the bookshelf. Her tail stretches upward and pulls down a book from the top shelf. She flips through it, gives it to her tail to put it back and it fetches her another book.
    Outside, the sky is dull and cloudy. Faint sunlight filters in from the single window. Ben glances at the small wooden clock on the bookshelf. It's time for him to be at the lodge for the morning meal. He glances back at Beany. "What if I don't have a wish for you to grant?"
    "A wish I must grant, it is the narwhal way." Beany sits down, crosses her legs with her tail supporting her as it stands like a pole with its end curled in a half a circle on the floor. Turning a page of the small book in her hand, she adds, "You are a strange one, Ben Human." She looks up. Her blue eyes narrowing. "Is it not the human way to get what they desire?"
    "Having desires does not mean I want them to come true," he says. The truth is, a tiny part of Ben wants to go back home which Beany can easily grant even if neither of them know the way, that ship of hers must know. The other, larger part of him, wants to remain on the island until the end of his days. "What will happen if you do not grant me a wish?"
    She recrosses her legs. The bottom of her boots are covered in silver spoons all twisted together to make shoe shapes. "Bad luck will be befall my kin and yours if I do not fulfill your wish. And your wish must be a true desire or else I cannot grant it." Beany pulls at one of her black ponytails with their ends a slightly purple hue and nibbles on it.
    "So it's like a two-way curse?" If Ben had stayed in bed when that narwhal washed onshore, would Beany has shown up?
    "No, it is a two-way gift. Once your wish is fulfilled, I accomplished my duty
and no bad luck will befall on either of our kin."
    Ben sighs. A gift, a curse, he wants nothing to do with either. "I'm sorry but we have to talk about this later. I have to be at the lodge. Beany, stay at the lighthouse until I come back. Do you understand?"
    Beany peers up and meets his eyes. "I understand. You bring food back?" She smiles.
    "I can do that. But if you're hungry, look in the pantry." Ben points to his left at the small door next to the bathroom.
    Beany nods as she flips another page of the book.
    Properly dressed, Ben makes his way down the steel stairs but he pauses. The sound of Beany laughing flows down from above. The book she has been reading is Moby Dick. Ben smiles.

Fiction: St. Felicity's Newest Arrival

This month's Words for Wednesday's prompts are provided by Wisewebwoman over here. This week's prompts are: withdrawal, pollution, embrace, prosecution, year, represent, cottage, overwhelm, and a this photo of a pit mine. The words didn't inspire anything so I didn't use any of them but the photo sure makes me think.

The other part is here. It gives a little background to this story but you don't really have to read it.

Fiction: St. Felicity's Newest Arrival
The island is named St. Felicity after somebody but nobody remembers who, not even Mrs. Hodge, who has lived on the island all her life. From time to time, the island has unusual arrivals, usually crash-landed on the shore or just floated in by the wind and water but steady inhabitants of the island have happily accepted these arrivals as normal. But at the same time, most of them have no memories of what they have seen especially if someone or something is particularly peculiar.
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In the early hour of a quiet morning, Ben wakes to the sound of a booming noise. For a moment, he lies in bed listening. Then a tremor begins to shake the ground. Ben holds onto the edge of the iron bed with a tight grip. A loud boom follows and the tremor stops. After a moment of waiting and nothing happens, he rushes out of bed and makes his way toward the window and peers out.
    Early dawn's light illuminates a mushroom-shaped, semi-transparent dust cloud floating above the water. It soon dissipates to reveal a hole about sixty feet in length in the ocean. Ben rubs his eyes and look again. The hole in the water is still there, close to the shoreline but is surrounded by water as if someone has scooped out the water and everything in it. The hole is an elliptical shape with ladder-like layers for walls. Ben has only seen something like this years ago that had been a mine pit. This hole seems out of place in the middle of the ocean.
    Quickly, Ben runs down the stairs, puts on his boots and grabs a coat and runs out of the lighthouse while trying to put his coat on. His boots make a soft thud on the sandy ground. He stops just at the edge of the shoreline along with some ten or twelve islanders. Up close, he can see most of the top parts of the concave hole. Bit by bit, a ship begins to materialize to almost the same size as the hole itself. There is no one aboard. At the edge of the hole, water is slowly trickling in and falling onto the ship. The three white square-rigged masts flutter in the breeze and the rows and rows of silver and gold spoons that hang from them makes clinking sounds. Water clings to the nameless red-brown hull and drips down into the bottom of the ship. This seems impossible and yet, Ben must believe his eyes.
    The people around him are gawking at the sight as if in a trance. Mrs. Hodge and her dogs are doing the same. "Ben," she says with her wide eyes fix on the ship, "What do you make of this?"

Fiction: Home at the Edge of the Ocean

This month's Words for Wednesday's prompts are provided by Wisewebwoman and Elephant's Child over here. This week's prompts are: white, painter, courtesy, recommendation, neighbour, disagree, traffic, ambition, conference, healthy and this lighthouse photo. I've managed to use all the words (some in different forms) except conference.

Fiction: Home at the Edge of the Ocean
At the edge of the ocean, toward the end of the island, the lighthouse stands gleaming in the morning sun. From within the lighthouse, Ben glances out toward the blue sky and then down below at the rocks and sand and the receding water.
    Some years ago, on a freezing winter night, Ben appeared from within the cold water and crawled out onto the sandy ground. He wore no clothes but he held a worn book in his hand. Mrs. Hodge, the owner of the lighthouse, found him and took him into the lighthouse saying he could only stay for one night. But Mrs. Hodge didn't throw him out the next day or the next. One sunny afternoon, she came in with a basket of bread and said Ben could live in the lighthouse but he must help her with her three foxhounds and occasionally, work at her lodging. Mrs. Hodge told anyone who cares to listen that Ben is one of her nephews though anyone with eyes can see no similarities between the two but it helps that Ben looks fifteen years younger than Mrs. Hodge's fifty years.
    The lodging stands a few feet away from the lighthouse where Mrs. Hodge houses seasonal sailors and a wandering tourist or two. Traffic at the lodging have been low as most people either dismissed the island or could not find it on most maps. From time to time, there would be disagreements between the boarders that broke out in fist fights and ended with broken dishware and furniture. Mrs. Hodge just lets them go at each other without a fuss. She have always said it is healthy to fight. No one can stay calm their whole life. As a courtesy, she does not take sides nor ask them to leave but she would add additional charges to their bills.
    Ben takes in a deep breath of the cool air with hints of fresh paint. Just yesterday, Mrs. Hodge, had Ben refreshed the exterior walls of the lighthouse and the lodging. Some time ago, the lighthouse had been painted white to match the lodging or perhaps the lodging had been painted white to match the lighthouse. Mrs. Hodge can no longer remember which is true. But her recommendation is always to trust your eyes and not your neighbor's words.
    In half an hour, Ben comes out of the lighthouse and feeds the foxhounds in their pen beside the lodging. They jump up on the fence when they sees him. A moment after, Ben enters the lodging for his usual breakfast which he makes. Aside from helping with Mrs. Hodge's dogs and other various chores, Ben had gotten into the habit of cooking for the boarders. Mrs. Hodge is a fairly good cook but she often hates the task.
    On the island, Ben has learned that one does not need to work up a sweat to fill up their days. Aside from helping Mrs. Hodge, Ben sometimes works as a healer though rarely anyone gets sick and even when the boarders fight, there is not much need for him. Ben often spends his days taking long walks or having inane conversations with anyone nearby. It is what he prefers.