Friday, October 31, 2008

Halls of Words (Friday Fiction)

This week's FF is hosted by Lynda @ On the write track click here to read and share more great fiction!

Author's note: I thought I'd given up on jumbled thoughts, but this was my second possible idea for NaNo and I figured twisting it into a FF might keep me from changing my mind on which idea to write....there is a lot missing from it, but enjoy!

Light spilled out from the tiny capsule in the center of the domed temple. The steady, quiet pattering of fingers on a keyboard filtered through the air and down the hallway.

Delani tip-toed quietly all the way to the doorway, where she stood, uncertain, listening to the perfect rhythm. The images of the storms in her dreams returned and she shivered.

The typing halted for a fraction of a second.

“Be that you, student?” Brina’s lilting voice carried a hint of iron, tinged with annoyance.

Delani swallowed the memory, offering a curtsy out of habit. “Yes, mistress. I mean, Milady.”

“Well?” The typing slowed, as if to urge her forward.

She inched through the doorway and ran lightly to the capsule.
The white, egg-shaped bubble swiveled around and purple eyes zeroed in on the dressing-robed figure.

“I-I had a dream.” She faltered, staring down at the cool, marble tiles.

“A dream?” The steady clicking resumed. “Sit.”

Delani quickly dropped to her knees and curled up on the floor beside the capsule. “Yes…may I…or am I…”

“You’re not exactly interrupting.” Brina yawned. “Perhaps if you keep talking, I’ll stay awake for the remainder of this shift.”

“Oh.” There was silence for a moment and Delani felt her eyelids growing heavy. There were so many places to start, she wasn’t sure where to begin. “Well…”

“Don’t fall asleep.” Brina’s foot dangled out of the capsule and nudged her gently. “Unless you want me writing your future.”

The thought startled her more awake from before and Delani quickly shook her head. “N-no. I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You should be sleeping.”

“I know…it’s just I-”

“Had a dream. I know.” The typing slowed and almost stopped, but when Delani looked up she saw that Brina had removed the blue stone from the holder and was now getting to her feet.

“Your shift’s not over yet!” Panic overtook her tiny face. “I didn’t mean to-”

Brina took the blue stone and pressed it to her forehead. It flared, then glowed brightly, steadily, as she stood up, extending a hand to her student. “Come along.”

“Aren’t you supposed to-”

“With the stone, I do not have to sit and type out my thoughts, they are now transferred directly through a mindlink. You should know that. You’re a second year dreamer.” Brina chuckled. “And I know well enough, when you interrupt me it can only be something of grave importance. For once, I wouldn’t mind something trivial, as you seem to think of yourself as such, when you are so much more.” She sighed. “Can we go now?”

“Y-yes.” Delani scrambled to her feet, accepting the hand. She was little surprised when the hand turned into a warm around her cold shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be out this time of night. You’ll catch your death of cold, or succumb to the night air.”

“Which is worse?”

“You don’t want me to answer that.” Brina dropped her arm to lift the edge of her cloak and drape it over Delani’s shoulder. “Am I going to hear of this dream tonight, or are you planning to keep it to yourself while waiting for the most opportune moment.”

Her head shook quickly. “Oh no. I do not want to keep this dream. I wish I could give it-”

Brina’s hand clapped over her mouth. “Hush!” The eyebrows arched in disapproval. “You know fairly well wishing is not a practice to be taken lightly. Take it back.”

Delani grimaced. “I didn’t even finish it.”

“Then you’ll have no trouble retracting it.”

“Fine. I, being of sound mind, retract this half–wish nearly spoken.”

A blast of frozen air blew through the hallway and this time, Brina shivered. “Ach.” She murmured. “Do not wish for anything again, lest you have permissions about you, student.”

Delani hung her head, her eyes begging to close again. “Yes, teacher.” She mumbled.

“Don’t fall asleep.” Brina warned, pinching her shoulder. “The dream…I need to know the dream!”

“It was storm clouds.” Delani yawned. It was getting harder to stay awake. “Lots of them.”

“Coming from where?” An urgency slipped into Brina’s voice. “From where, child?” She froze in mid-step, turning to kneel in front of her. “Delani? Speak to me!”

“From the west…I think.” Her eyes began to close without her permission. “And there’s an army coming…that’s why it’s so cold. I’m cold, teacher. Very cold. My fingers, my toes.”

“Shhh! It’s okay.” Brina soothed. “You won’t be cold anymore. I promise…anything else?”

“Bad wrong.” Delani whispered. “Very bad wrong.” Her body went limp and began to glow.

Brina closed her eyes, murmuring the words for a peaceful sleep. She stood, swooping the girl up in her arms, and continuing down the hall. But instead of turning towards the student halls, she headed for the inner chambers of her fellow muses.

“Brina!” Achley’s horrified look said more than her gasp. “The child!”

“She had another dream and came looking for me.”

“Another one?” Jetta slid out from her chair on the dressing table and crossed the room, to pull the blankets pack from the bed. “Here…put her here. It’s cold out, all of a sudden.”

“Thank you. She’s heavier than she looks.” Brina set her down, carefully. “She dreamt storms and an army.”

“Haveron’s army?” Achley progressed from a pale pink to a shade of pure white. “No!”

“She didn’t verify what army…the dream…whoever sent it to her, or dreamed it for her, they burrowed in deep enough of a connection to put her to sleep straight away.”

“How do you know?” Jetta tucked the covers around Delani’s chin, feathering a hand across her forehead.

“She was still talking when she fell asleep.”

Achley now turned from white to gray. Her darkness was seeping through. “This is serious.” She murmured.

“I know.” Brina eased onto the bed, feeling the weight of the stone weighing her down. I’ve been writing all night, but it is as if the ancient’s knowledge is weakening beneath us. We need to do more.”

“And what more can we do?” Jetta murmured. “What can we do without revealing who we are, true muses of creativity and words and the enemies of this wretched Haveron?”

“He knows even less about us than we know of him.” Brina forced herself to hold her head straight. “I will keep uploading through the stones and the mindlink, but we must gather the students together and ready them in case-”

“In case of what?” Achley’s gray tint began to glow about her, causing the light to fade considerably. “If it is to prepare them for their deaths, that alone is more cruel than I am. Haveron will not touch this temple. Not if I have my way with him. But it worries me that I may be the only one left afterwards.”

Chimes began to ring out in the halls and the three sisters rose as one. “The bells.” Jetta whispered.

“The alarm.” Brina corrected.

“The hour.” Achley moaned, her hand went to her head. “He is coming. He’s coming. We must go.”

Copyright 2008 S. Harricharan

Saturday, October 25, 2008

The Flower Child (Friday Fiction)

This week's Friday Fiction is hosted by @ her blog: Click to read and share more great fiction!

Author's Note: This idea was rolling around in my head for awhile, but I couldn't seem to end it quite the way I wanted it I kind of left it as is. is very random!

In a land where tears carry more than sorrows, there is one tiny catch in the future of the one who is said to save them all. If it were up to that person, perhaps they would've altered the requirements, just a bit, to suit their heart to one simple request....


Irissa stood by the window, her tears once again, streaming down cold cheeks and falling to the frozen ground below. Her fingers fumbled around the window ledge, searching for the flask of colored glass, she usually kept there.

Something warm touched her shoulder and she turned, surprised with the cool glass touched her face. “Misplaced something?” Jhetta's voice was cooler than the wind as she alternately held the flask to each cheek, capturing every tear. “You really shouldn't have the window open this time of day. You know what it does to you.”

Irissa sniffled, willing the tears to stop. “I'm sorry.”

“You should be.” Jhetta took her arm and gently guided her to the bed. “Sit. Before you catch your death of cold. Some legendary folk we would be if you fell sick while under our 'expert' care.” The windows were quickly closed.

“What more do you need of me?” Irissa set the flask on the nightstand, swiping at her face.

Jhetta sighed. “You know well enough....” Her eyes flickered to the flask and back. “And you know that's not enough.” She turned the latch, locking the windows.

There was a grunt from the bed and Irissa turned away. “I should've known.”

“Well excuse me, but I thought you understood the prophecy.” Jhetta crossed the room to stand in front of her. “You know without your tears his royal highness the wizardness can't weave his way and lift the darkness.” She frowned. “You know this even more so than I do. Please...”

“I can't.” Irissa twisted her hands together. “I-I just can't.”

Jhetta squeezed her eyes shut. “and you believe that your sorrow is so great that it no longer can touch the depths of emotion itself, now can it? You bear the greatest sorrow of never birthing a child. What a pity.”

A hand moved to cover her mouth. Irissa stared at her, eyes brimming with another flood of healing tears. “Don't do this, please, don't!”

“Don't do what? Remind you of the prophecy and what could happen to all of us if you break this vow? How many innocent people will die? How many have-” Jhetta grabbed the flask and held it to Irissa's cheeks as the tears began to stream freely.

Her head bowed and after awhile, a loud sniffle broke the silence. Irissa looked away as Jhetta collected the last of her tears.

“I'm sorry.” Jhetta murmured, capping the flask.

“I know.” Irissa drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them close. “I know. You only do as you're told and...and I know what will happen if I don't it's just that....I...”

Jhetta tucked the flask beneath her cloak and wrapped a steady arm around her charge's shoulders. “Shhh! Your sorrows have reached the grand council...which is why I'm here today and not boring, tiresome Elisa.” A shared giggle passed between them as Jhetta pulled something from her pocket.

A round green ball, about the size of a walnut.

“What is it?” Irissa stared as it was placed in her palm.

“Your heart's desire.” Jhetta smiled. “Take good care of'll know what to do.”

Irissa stared after her as she swept from the room in a billow of cloak and soft footsteps. Her fingers curled around the green ball as she sat back on the bed against the pillows. A gasp escaped when she felt the ball moving beneath her grasp.

Her hand opened, trembling as the greenery fell away, to reveal a tiny, glowing form. “oh my!” Her breath caught in her throat as the miniature figure uncurled from the nest of leaves and stretched. A yawn escaped and a tiny face stared upwards expectantly.

“You're a flower child.” Irissa blinked, shaking her head. “You're real.”

A smile appeared on the angelic face as the tiny head bobbed. “Mmm-hmm...are you my mommy?”

Warmth touched her cheeks as Irissa automatically put one hand to her unruly copper curls. “I...well...yes, I guess I am.”

Something akin to a cat's purr filled the room as the tiny girl yawned again and settled down, cross-legged in the remaining leaves. “I'm hungry.”

“Hungry. Yes. Of course.” Irissa began to move from the bed when she stopped. “Have you a name?”

“A name?” The child stared at her.

“Yes...a...never mind. I shall name you later.”

“Yes, yes. Very good.” The girl clapped her hands together.

Irissa stifled a laugh. Then without thinking, she closed her eyes, pursed her lips and kissed the tiny head.

A searing pain ripped through her hand and up her arm, followed by a loud thud on the ground. “Owwww!”

She yanked her hand back, massaging her arm. Her jaw dropped as she stared at the child bawling on the floor in front of her. “You grew!” She stammered, then immediately dropped to her knees and gathered her into her arms. “Shhh! Hush....'tis only a little fall. Let me kiss it and it'll feel better.”

The child offered a skinned elbow and Irissa dutifully kissed the scrape. She found herself staring into soulful dark green eyes.

“Hungry.” The little girl whispered, her voice cautious.

Irissa broke from the trance to move to the table in the corner. She inspected the fruit, her fingers hovering over the shiny options.

“I will name you Liana.” She murmured, handing over a section of peeled fruit.

Liana sniffed the fruit slice, turning it over rapidly in her hands before she nibbled on it. The expression on her face was one of pure delight. When her stomach was satisfied, she settled into her new mother's lap for a good nap.

Irissa found herself staring at her again. Skin the color of the palest green, a dress of soft fabric, hair so white and lips ruby red. A thrill ran through her as she hugged her tight. She was so perfect. So real. And hers. “A daughter.” The words pushed past her lips as she kissed the soft cheek.

Something cold whispered through the room, rattling the locked window. The light flared then faded. Irissa felt her heart as if it trembled within as the feeling of space seemed to close in around her.

Another gasp escaped as a streak of white light shot down from the ceiling and opened to show a young face. “Irissa of the Kyleran.” The voice thundered. “You, in a position such as you are, have taken a flower child?”

Irissa bowed her head. “Yes, milady.”

“You dare to alter history? The future?” The image grew larger and more terrifying.

“N-nay, milady.” Irissa swallowed. “I only wished for-”

“A child!” The image scowled, darkening. “Then hear me this. For bringing this seedling child to life, you must pay according to the balances to keep the worlds even. In this time of war and strife, selfish thinking...brings only sorrow.”

The imaged faded away and the light flashed again before it disappeared.

Irissa found herself swaying back and forth. “She let me keep you.” She told the sleeping Liana. New tears threatened to spill over and a tiredness overtook her. “I love you.” She whispered, her fingers roamed around the table and closed around the silver cord.

She pulled it, ringing the service bell as the tears spilled over. “I will pay your price.” She forced the words through her teeth. “I have given enough to this cause. And what I ask is something I will never return.”

Copyright 2008 S. Harricharan

Friday, October 17, 2008

Morena's Lesson (Friday Fiction)

This week's Friday Fiction is hosted at: My Heart's Dee-Light by Dee Yoder. Stop by to read and share more great fiction!

Author's Note: I've just recently penned this piece for a topic of 'history' and feel so in love with these characters, I couldn't resist expanding the story. Cheers!

“...and so help me, whatever am I going to do with you?” Niswell threw up his hands in dispair. “Morena, you're a bright girl. You truly are, but this time, you've gone too far.”

Morena winced, inwardly crumbling under his disapprove. “I did?”

“Yes.” Pale blue eyes zeroed in on the mischievous apprentice. “You did. A child could have followed those instructions!” Niswell rose from table and paced the length of the kitchen. It was only four steps in each direction, but movement seemed to free his thoughts. He paused in mid-step. “For what you've done, the punishment should be equal in emotion and physical trial.”

“It wasn't that bad!” Morena twisted her fingers together. “Honest! I didn't know it would turn out like that. I had no idea. N-no one could've predicted that it would have...Master, couldn't we forget it this once? Put behind us, label it history and I promise to never, ever-”

His mouth twitched. “A line with a promise that I have heard one thousand times too many. Still not working, come along, apprentice.” He left, heading for the bookshelf in the corner cove of the sitting room.

Morena scrambled to her feet and hurried after him. “Not working? As in no?” She tip-toed to see over his shoulder at the bookshelf.

“Yes. No.” He frowned. “Sit.” Slender fingers flew up and down the spines of ancient books, until his hand stopped at a burgundy and gold-tinted specimen. "Ah, here we go."

The eyes rolled again as Moreena slumped onto the sofa. “What's with the book?”

“It is a physical history record.” Niswell gently set the book on the center table. “And it is very fragile. I do not believe in collecting holographic records, so this is the actual chronicle of Dahze.”

“For real?” Morena breathed. Her tiny face scrunched in concentration as her mind tried to process the reality of what he'd just said.

He nodded solemnly. “Yes. There is something, I wish to show you. A story about a girl. A girl just like you, who had a promising future ahead of her, except she had a knack for getting into trouble. Just like you.”

“Really?” Morena crowded near to see the dusty pages. “Where? For real? Are there pictures? Can I see them? May I? Please?”

Niswell chuckled. “Oh yes. You'll do much more than that, see here?” He pointed to a golden coat of arms on the top left hand corner. “Feel that.”

A tingle shot through her arms as Morena reverently feathered her fingers across the embellishment. Her eyes closed for a moment and a yawn escaped. “Oh wow...I feel...” She yawned again.

Niswell chuckled softly as the transformation took place. There was a few soft flashes of light before the image of his apprentice appeared on the page. “A lesson in history, apprentice.” He murmured. “Perhaps it can teach you what I cannot. To exit the book, you'll need to learn something useful. You're a smart girl, you'll figure it out.” The book was left open on table, the pages ruffling in the wake of Niswell's dark cloak.

A sneeze came from the pages followed by a muffled squeak. “Master, you can't do this!” She wailed plaintively.

“On the contrary.” Niswell's voice floated back through the room. “I already have. You did this to yourself. Don't take longer than necessary.”

“Longer?” Her voice quavered.

Niswell sighed. His head reappeared in the doorway. “Yes, Morena. Much longer. You're in history, remember? It repeats. If you don't learn your lesson the first time, there'll be plenty of other chances, however, time over here will still be moving.” His voice softened, serious face allowing a small smile. “Do not worry, if you need me. I will come. Now off with you!”

Copyright 2008. S. Harricharan.

Friday, October 10, 2008

Chamber of Remembrance (Friday Fiction)

Today's Friday Fiction is hosted over at Vonnie's Blog, click here to add and read more great fiction!

Author's Note: In loving memory of my Aunt. You left a wonderful heartprint on my life.

Music snaked out from the twines of speakers precariously mounted upon my bedroom ceiling. The faint strains of Jim Reeves only served to add another tear to the evening. A brand-new box of crayons sat upon the desk, beckoning, hopeful, for my company. And so begins this cycle.

I lay on the bed, as if lifeless, literally, watching them and remembering you instead. The music was like a fog, because in my head, all I saw was flashbacks. I remember you. I truly do. Your laugh is echoing through my heart, because I can hear your voice in my head, singing along to each song.

Singing hymns with you was fun. You would sing the same song over and over, just 'cause I wanted to. You knew some of the words, so we shared the songbook. Minutes to hours at a time. You never minded. I loved that about you.

My music is fading into the background. I should not move yet.

The sun rises up and sets in the west. Night claims a newborn eve.

The walls of my soul are lined with pages. Miles and miles of your special pictures. We colored inside and outside the lines, the two of us. We'd share one book and one box of crayons. I loved that about you.

My new box taunts me from the desk. I cannot move yet. No, not yet.

The sun rises up and sets in the west. Night claims a newborn eve.

A peony pink hair bauble, a striped green scrunchie. My pretty things were beautiful to you. Oh how I should have shared. I remember the moments where I'd lend you a few, but my selfish heart didn't know to grow. To move beyond the little things, to share with you a greater thing. Yet, you cared for me, just the same. I loved that about you.

My plastic box of hair ornaments grows another inch every year. But I shall not move. No, not yet.

The sun rises up and sets in the west. Night claims a newborn eve.

Fresh tea is beside me. I know not how it arrived. The scent is tantalizing, wishful, wantful. Memories of you return and fade. I remember sharing with you. It meant something more, when divided equally. You shared. I shared. I loved that about you.

My tea grows cold and dead within. But I will not move. No, not yet.

The sun rises up and sets in the west. Night claims a newborn eve.

The morn was cold and harsh when I heard. Nothing to soften words I wished I couldn't hear. I do not remember if I cried or not. I felt frozen, in time, seeing all and nothing. You were my friend, of my family, a kindred soul spirit. I loved that about you.

The box of crayons are calling me. I lift the first finger.

The door of the weeping chambers glide open, footsteps fill my ears. Hands slide under my shoulders and I am lifted from this world of strangeness. Someone hands me a perfect, golden crayon. A clean sheet of paper is set before me. My hands tremble as it pushes the yellowness across the barren surface. A lovely golden stripe adorns this tapestry of memory.

Voices crowd into my space and I am forced to return to this present. My physical needs will be attended to, but for now, my heart overflows. Your memory is strengthened and my own thoughts return to order. I will live and so will you, in my heart, as time flows on. I loved that about you.

The sun rises up and I with it. Night will claim naught but silence this day.

Copyright 2008. Sara Harricharan

Friday, October 3, 2008

Cry, Piano, Cry (Friday Fiction)

This week's FF is hosted over at Just Another Clay Pot. Click the link to read and share more great fiction!

Author's Note: This is very random, with no real point. Enjoy!

I played your piano today.

It cried.

I cried too.

I miss you so much, honey. You were like the ghost of a shadow of who I wish I had the courage to be. So today, I worked up the nerve to touch your piano.

Today was kind of dark, I guess that's why I actually went this far. The sun makes me feel so...bright. And I'm not. You know that.

They haven't moved the piano, it's still sitting in the quiet room, under the window with the lace curtains. Sometimes I think I see you there, playing on the piano, and I can almost hear the beautiful music you make.

I played for you, did you hear? Nothing fancy, just a little something. Oh, I miss you so...why did you have to go away? I did love you. Maybe not as much as you thought she did, but I did. I think you were worthy of all my love...mostly.

You are my second love, for my first is dearer to my heart than I could ever explain to you. I suppose now my religion may seem like the ulitmate enemy to you. Since it was the only thing that stood between us...maybe someday I shall find it easier to explain, should that chance ever be returned to me.

I hope you are happy in your new life. I think of you...every time I hear music. But Poppa used to say that if God didn't build your house, then it is built in vain. I wonder, love...I do. I miss you. But not as much as I used to.

Life is funny this way. Mrs. Marcella says I am famous. I wouldn't know. I hate to read the papers and watch the television and all of those modern things that this world is so deeply engrossed with. I cannot bear to tear myself away from good books, simple food and daydreams.

Oh, how many daydreams.

Bliss is the moments where it is just the music, myself and God. I used to think you were in this equation, but it seems now, even clearer, that you never were. Why is it, I feel this need to wish things into being?

It is not a good habit, I do not think. But I think it is okay to miss you. It is okay. But I will never stop playing the piano. The music is too deep inside of me. I know you think I will never amount to much, but now your opinion does not count, does it?

I feel free almost, today. You no longer hang over me. This dread is gone. There is something new. Dare I be brave enough to encourage it? Or may I be as bold as to embrace it? What am I? Who am I? This feels like the biggest daydream of all...perhaps my world is nothing more than someone else's imagination.

How strange.


"Has she moved at all?" Hastings scowled into the living room, the ones spot they'd managed to convert into something vaguely Victorian. That was all the uppity pianist would settle for. She seldom spoke and moved about as if she were a half-waif from another world.

"I'd thank you to think kindly of her." Merv muttered. "She's got more on her shoulders than mayhap we may ever know."

"Right. Uh....your turn to call her for lunch. I spoke to the agent this morning, we should have another gig lined up for her by this weekend. Think she's up to it?" Hastings turned away from the room, suppressing a shudder as he headed for the kitchen. "I'll dish it out."

"Nice. Real nice." Merv sighed. "May as well wait and see, if she's not hungry, there's nothing that will make her move from that piano."

Hastings paused. "Yeah. I guess you're right. Hurry it up will ya?"

Merv winced. "I can try...but that probably isn't a very good idea. Anything important happen today?"


"You know...usually someone's dead or something when she sits in front of that thing all day like that."

"Oh...I don't know."

"Then go check the calender, would you?" Merv perked a brow.

Hastings muttered for a moment then shuffled off.

Merv watched him go, then cautiously inched through the doorway. His tall frame snaked easily through the tiny doorway and he stood, listening to her music as she played. Her eyes were anywhere but on her precious piano, clearly, her mind was no longer in the least not his present. It would come to, if he made her, but he couldn't bear to disturb the peace on her face.

Sunlight slanted through the lace-curtained window, showing her lovely fiery curls of hair. Her lips were half pursed and she was humming as slender fingers stroked the keys, producing a most beautiful melody.

"Merv, I think it's a day of-"

"Shh!" Merv whirled a half second too late.

The music stoped and the eyes flickered as the head turned slowly, brooding to face them. "Mervin. Hastings." Her voice was toneless. "I am interrupted for what, this time?"

Copyright 2008 S. Harricharan