Day 2-Story A Day in September

Prompt of the Day: The problem with going through life one day at a time, each in order…

The problem with going through life one day at a time, each in order is that a person can never skip from Monday to Friday. The stillness of Wednesday drags by minute by minute as dreadful as waiting for the desert heat to pass in the middle of July. Beads of sweat form on those restless individuals who have to endure the sun’s beating merciless power. As the clock continues to tick closer to the five o’clock hour, business folks stare at those final seconds at 4:59pm with the eagerness to leave their suits behind and change into their gym gear, or, take it all off and tune into Netflix. Although taking life each day at a time can be blissful and fulfilling, it can also be a real drag.

E.R. BUENDIA

StAD September

Hey guys,

I will be using the Story A Day Challenge this month to help me connect with my characters and also to bring you some cool flash fiction. Currently developing a horror anthology zine which I hope to release Halloween week.

Here is my first prompt piece inspired by one of my book ideas (the modern day Arthurian one): 

1. “When I was born…”

When I was born, a reincarnate of a goddess from centuries past bore into me. Her soul lit up the room and my mother was astonished, believe it to be an angel. The light blinded a couple of the nurses in the room because it was powerful luminescence which created a sun-like blast. At first, people were unsure of what I was. They believed that I was a spawn of the devil or some type of evil, but other holy rollers believed me to be an angel. But the dreams I had told me otherwise.

The images of my birth haunted me as I grew up feeling unsure of how to identify myself. I had been adopted into a family that did not know whether to fear me or adore me. As I grew, I began to grow curious of the incident that happened that day I was born and began to read about past lives, angels, evil, and, any other occult topics. I would spend hours trying to decipher what I was. Growing up, I was perplexed by my ability to touch wounded animals and heal them. The animal would shake off their injury and wander off into nature, without any sign of discomfort. My adopted mother caught me healing a wounded bird one day and asked a priest to come and observe me, believing me to be a child of God.

The thing is, that I was not a child of God and I was not related to the devil. I was just me and part of being me, was that I was reincarnated. I did not know this until the dreams began. Dreams of a lush green pasture, a great kingdom, and hooded tall men which looked as though they were wizards from Lord of the Rings. In reality, these men were druids, a race of magical beings who had been lost in the waves of time.  In the dreams, people called me Morgan, Morgaine, or Morgana. I did not know what it meant until I stumbled upon mythology which addressed a Morgaine la Faye as a Triple Goddess. I, then, figured out that the power I held inside of me was related to her. Was it possible that I am a reincarnation of a powerful goddess? Me? I am barely passing my high school Algebra class…how could I be the powerful triple goddess?

Greetings from Canada

Day #1-Write a story after a postcard arrives from someone who passed away and whose funeral you attended that says the words, “I’m not dead, meet me tonight at ___________”

Greetings from Canada by E.R. Buendia

I read the postcard looking back at me with an image of a grey sky and an outline of old Victorian aged houses. The right bottom corner in boldfaced red writing “Greetings from CANADA” and a tiny maple leave emblem. A cryptic message scribbled on the left side: “I’m not dead. Meet me at the grave site where I was buried tonight at 8pm. Sincerely, Jake.” I let out a sigh, not knowing what to think of this news. It was 4pm and I knew the next four hours were going to be dreadful.

Eight o’clock came with a slow yearning building inside of me. I reflected gently on the memories I had of Jake as children holding hands on the swing set.

Was he in trouble?

Now that I was approaching the darkly lit cemetery with the cobblestoned plaques all around, my heart began to race. Fight or flight mode. I wondered if this would be my demise. The dark figure turned his face and looked at me with a grin on his face, which was now sunken with deep violet undertones in his sunken face.

I approached him, bearing my cross necklace on my bosom and his eyes began to burn. He let out a shriek, as high pitched as a siren. He began to step away from me to the other side of his grave. And, as I looked at him closely, I saw fangs poking out of the top of his mouth, gently onto his bottom lip. Catching his breath, he said in a whisper, “now you know my secret.”

I gasped, unable to accept the creature standing in front of me was a vampire. Knowing that vampires were fictitious creatures of the night, and, it was not possible for my oldest friend to be a vampire. Feeling helpless, as though I was under attack, I fell to my knees and felt a twinge inside of me, liquid beginning to collect in my eyes.

I aggressively brushed the tears from my eyes, looked up at him and asked, “so how long have you been a vampire?”

He looked back at me, with the eyes of a lost baby deer and said “I’m newly turned, I’m immortal, baby.”

I knew that this was the start of a twisted and long journey for Jake and I. Jake grabbed my arm and we began to float in the air, the gravestones blurred together into a gray swirl beneath us. Jake ran his fingers over my eyes and lethargy sent me into a slumber, as panic set in, unsure where this dreadful creature of the night was taking me. The lights faded away and darkness swept over my eyelids.