Though the word “branch” is not in this paragraph, other parts of a tree are. And no, not telling you the name of the book it’s in.
The squirrel gripped carefully in his teeth, Isha ran up the tree, onto the limb and into the apartment window, onto the floor. He carried the treat to Christy, dropping it on the ground and meowing his arrival.
Typical is hardly ever that.
Also, here is a paragraph from The Grey House Trilogy Book Two, Inside the Grey House:
Ben was her last conquest with the staff. He had been using the weapon since he was human over one hundred years ago. He practiced with his favorite weapon often. He could easily beat anyone he came against. Most of Vincent’s vampires were reluctant to fight with staves even though they were typically too well fed to be taken down by a simple wooden stake. Natalia thought the fear was psychological. Whatever kept them from using the staff made it easier for her to get better at it. She had already beaten everyone else while using the staff. Ben was her final test, and he was very skilled.
I wrote this a while back. I’ve been keeping it for the right day. Today is that day. Here is Stitch:
________
Stitch.
Stitch.
Stitch.
The old woman sits in her musty smelling sewing room, putting together her son’s costume for the ball. He’ll look quite dapper, she thinks as she smiles. The needle sticks a bit and she tugs gently to pull the thread through the delicate material.
Stitch.
Stitch.
Stitch.
The second floor room is filled with sunlight. No one can look in, therefore the drapes are open wide and the sun streams in uninterrupted. There are dust motes dancing about, as her son will undoubtedly dance tonight at the ball. She smiles as she thinks of him in the tuxedo, dancing with his favorite girl, as the music urges them to continue.
Stitch.
Stitch.
Stitch.
She’s almost done now. She’s been working on this for a while, almost a week. It’s nearly perfect. The final touches will have to wait until he tries it on.
“Mom? I’m home!” Thomas calls from downstairs.
Agnes doesn’t respond. Her voice no longer carries, but he knows this and will come up. The front door slams and a moment later, she hears hurried footsteps on the stairs. He comes into the sewing room, her favorite room in the house and plants a gentle kiss on her cheek.
“I can smell dinner from a mile away, mother. Thank you.”
She lifts her head and smiles to him. “Anything for you, dear.”
She indicates the costume on the large round wooden table. The table has been in the family for generations. Many costumes have been made on it. He looks down and his eyes open wide.
“Mother! It’s…”
“Not finished yet. You’ll need to try it on.”
“How did you get the height? Randy’s shorter than I am.”
The old woman carefully gets up from the table, and gently stretches the costume out to show him everything. She uses cautious movements to make sure not to rip the fragile material. She stops at the legs and traces delicate stitching on the skin. It’s obvious it’s from two different hides.
“I had to add some extra.” She looked up at him. “We need to make sure it fits. I haven’t finished stitching it all closed.”
He reached out and touched where the two skins met. It was a close match, but one was hairier than the other. “Who did you use?”
“Vagrant, but don’t worry, I washed everything before the kill. You won’t catch anything from wearing it.”
“Who helped you?” Thomas knew she was too weak to skin someone herself.
“Your brother came up from the city. He’s having trouble finding a job and needs the meat. He has five mouths to feed.”
Thomas nodded as he looked down at the face of the costume. Randy was shorter than Thomas, but height didn’t matter. Thomas was smarter, more determined, and his mother made great costumes. Thomas knew he would win Jasmine’s affection tonight, he was sure of it. The height wasn’t that much of an issue. He could say he was wearing tall shoes. Once he won Jasmine’s affections, they could laugh about the costume. It would be their first date, their first laugh. He smiled at his mom.
“I can’t thank you enough, mom.”
“Oh, nonsense. Try it on and see how it fits.”
Grinning like a schoolboy, he stripped and sat in the chair. Agnes took a small bottle of spirit gum from her sewing basket and moved it closer to his chair. She helped him put on the skin, making sure each toe went into the right place. The heel was left open, to help the skin fit. Agnes ran her finger down the stitching on the bottom of the foot.
“I had to put the stitch here.”
He smiled in pleasure. “I like when you do. I can feel it when I walk. I like the reminder.”
“Stand up and I can help you with the rest of it.”
He did as told, and she placed her hands on either side of his left leg, carefully pulling the skin up his calf. Agnes placed little dabs of spirit gum on the costume to help it stay in place. She made sure the skin fit correctly, then moved to the right leg. He carefully took the edges of the costume between his legs and adjusted his genitals. A little spirit gum made sure the costume didn’t flap open. He wished wistfully that the costume included all of Randy’s parts. Some skin was too delicate to include.
Piece by piece, Agnes moved up his body, moving her hands lovingly over the costume, making sure it didn’t snag and didn’t bunch, adding spirit gum as needed. It fit him well. She measured him every six months, even if she wasn’t making him a costume.
Once the costume was high enough on his torso, she helped him slip into one arm, then the other. As she was adjusting the left hand, he looked at the right. Randy had a birthmark on his right hand. It was large and obvious. The red wine stain was still there, and it looked like Agnes did a fine job in hiding the extra skin on the hands.
She saw him looking and smiled. “His back has the mark too. I took some of his skin from the back and added it to the hand to help it look right.”
“This is beautiful, mom.”
She smiled and continued to adjust the skin. Once everything except the head was on, she had him turn around. She used a quick stitch to finish sewing up the back of the costume. Done, she turned him around and smiled. The head went on last.
“Will I be able to breathe in this mother?”
“There’s a mouth guard, like usual. Just fit it over your teeth.” She sighed. “You always act like it’s your first time.” She muttered under her breath. She looked in his eyes. “I thinned out his lips. They should fit over yours.”
She helped him place the head over his. With the guard in place, the lips seemed to slip over his. He had to sit down to have her help make sure the head was secure over his. Once it was, she nodded.
“All right now. Just let me close the back of the head up. Let me know if it’s too snug.”
“Yes, mom.” He adjusted the hands as if they were gloves. Randy’s birthmark stood out, but it had to look right. Thomas pictured it in his mind and made sure the skin was right before the spirit gum dried. Thomas wanted to make sure Jasmine saw the birthmark. It would prove how far he was willing to go to impress her. She liked Randy, but she would see that Thomas was the better choice after tonight.
“All set.”
He stood and went to the mirror. Randy was three inches shorter than he, but Thomas still looked like he was staring at Randy through a window rather than staring at himself in a mirror. The costume was stupendous. He turned to his mother. “Mom, this…this is…I don’t know what to say. You’ve outdone yourself.”
She gave a smile that he knew meant something more was coming.
He grinned, happiness making his eyes blaze. “What? What is it? You have something else?”
“Usually, there are parts that don’t make it. This time, because I know how much you like the girl, I tried very hard to keep something intact. I had to cut it off and prepare it separately, but I think I can make this work.”
As he watched she went to the table and opened up her sewing basket. She took a handkerchief and opened it up. Agnes turned to her son and showed him the prize.
He looked down at her hands and his mouth and eyes flew open. “Mother! That is without a doubt the best present so far!” He embraced her, careful not to harm the last piece of the costume. “Thank you!”
“Don’t thank me until it’s on. Still not sure it’ll work.”
Thomas nodded, backed away and waited for Agnes to sew him up.
“I’ll need to sit for this, Thomas. You know I can’t stand for very long.”
“Yes, mother.”
He moved closer to her chair. She placed the gift on the table, threaded a good needle and sat down. Thomas stood still as she fitted the last bit of Randy between his legs. Randy had a birthmark on that part of him as well. Thomas didn’t know if Jasmine had slept with Randy before, but this would help if she had. Agnes fussed with the skin, stitching it into place, being careful not to harm Thomas. He was a good son, though. He knew not to move while his mother was putting the final pieces of a costume together.
As the sun set, and the time of the ball grew closer, Agnes stitched the last of Randy over Thomas.
Stitch.
Stitch.
Stitch.
This is from the third book of The Grey House Trilogy, Protector of the Grey House.
She was a mess. Her cloths were torn although she had no wounds. It was clear from her hungry attitude she had sustained massive damage, and used a great deal of blood to heal herself. She was ghul.
The hawk flew high above the outer wall of the city. Far below, the little girl looked up and watched its progress until it was out of sight on the other side of the wall. Someday, she would be free of the walls as well.
I wish my creativity had a “restart” button.
“Have you tried turning it off and on again.” – Every IT person ever.
This word made me thing of “din” which is a lovely word, and I used it in this paragraph. This paragraph is from The Grey House Trilogy, Book one. Oh, yeah. The book is for adults, if I haven’t mentioned that before.
His words were thrashing through her whirlwind thoughts, destroying all resolve. His touch, icy to her burning flesh, singed her bare skin. She was grinding her teeth, pushing herself against him while trying to push him away. Finally, unable to think clearly, she threw back her head and howled her frustration. The din tore down the beach like a great beast in heat.
I love my imagination. It is my favorite thing about me. My imagination has helped me write 19 novels, countless short stories and has given me brief moments in the clouds almost every day. My mind wanders a lot.
I also have a tendency to think of the worse possible scenario, at times. It’s not anxiety or paranoia, because I know it’s just my imagination flying off the handle, but it leads to some rather horrid thoughts, that are sometimes useful. For instance, the last time I went to France, a friend of mine agreed to stay in my place and look after my cats. I was days from leaving when I had a terrible thought of my apartment catching fire. Chances are, that wouldn’t happen but I still thought it might. I ran through all the things I needed to make sure my friend had before I left.
It was then that I came upon the largest actual problem: Though I had given her phone numbers for my family in France, I failed to take into account that my friend did not speak French, and some of my family does not speak English…
I ended up taking care of the issue by giving my friend my sister’s number, just in case.
The issue was solved, and of course, nothing horrid happened, but if I hadn’t had the thought of my apartment catching fire, I would never have figured out I needed to make sure my friend could actually relay any information to my family.
I love my imagination, regardless of what it brings.
A paragraph from The Grey House Trilogy, Book One.
An hour later, all were congregated downstairs in the living room. Vincent was pacing, gathering his thoughts. Angela was resting on the couch, eating a steak. One of the other humans had made it for her, knowing she needed the energy. Vincent finally spoke, breaking the slight tension the humans felt. Although they trusted him, he always made them nervous.
I’ve been trying to keep up with the Daily Prompt, but that has failed for the past few days. I took some days off work to celebrate me! (Birthday) And now, even though I’ve been back in the swing of things for a couple days, I still don’t have anything to say for the Daily Prompt. I’m pretty sure I don’t even have any use of the word “encrusted” in my trilogy.
We’re all going to have to wait until tomorrow to see if I can come up with something. Thanks for waiting!
Cat Stark 