Author / Colette

by Colette

A New Star Is Born

Written by Ashcloud

Beyond the horizon’s furthest reach,
Up above the clouds,
A star is shining bright and strong,
Within the dazzling crowd.

Although this glimmering star is one of many,
Although small, it is unique.
This young star, this love of mine,
Through the clouds it always peeks.

You watch over me in any weather,
Through storms and sunny days.
You remind me that my life is precious,
Unlike you I have found a way.

I have found a way to live my life,
So that yours shall not be in vain.
I have found a way to live my life,
So that now I can cope with the pain.

Ashcloud’s poem was written on behalf of a significant friend’s loss but is absolutely beautiful in verse form. Though it’s a sad turn of events, ‘A New Star is Born’ reflects on the life that was lost on earth and then given to the night sky. We think it’s perfect for Christmas Eve through its celebration of life and love. Have a very Merry Christmas on behalf of the Inkblots editorial team. If you’d like to view more of Ashcloud’s work, check out ‘Sleepless Nights‘ and ‘The Root of Insanity‘. 

Featured Image // Susanne Nilsson

by Colette

Snowflake

Written by Silver

It wasn’t the first time Skyla had seen snow, but it was the most she’d seen in a long time. Her father had been outside for the past hour shovelling it from their drive, working up a sweat in his new winter jacket and dusty work boots. As she sat by the window, Skyla watched her father with disinterest, occasionally adjusting her body warmer and the sleeves on her white Christmas jumper. She was fidgeting more than usual, her fingers twitching. Really, the snow would have been just fine, perhaps even amusing, if her dad wasn’t planning on a trip to Disneyland this weekend. With Skyla turning 12, it was meant to be a surprise for her birthday. But instead of sheer delight, she found the tang of bitterness. It was all around her, in the air, in her bones, in the stupid biscuit jar that she could never reach. And particularly after her mother had left only a couple of weeks ago.

Leanne had told Skyla she was leaving back in October. Ever since the accident, her mother had always blamed herself. Skyla supposed it was due to the fact she was driving at the time. But it was never her mother’s fault, it was the idiotic driver in the white van who wasn’t paying attention. Though Skyla had never voiced her opinions on the accident, Leanne always seemed to know the hidden truth. Skyla had pushed those thoughts far down inside of her. There was always hope that she would be able to walk again; a tiny spark that just needed to be ignited and tended to in the right way.

Her father was still shovelling snow. She desperately wanted to be outside, crunching her feet on the freshly laid powder. Maybe she would be able to one day, but paralysis was something that was very difficult to overcome. Skyla thought about the robotic legs the government was currently testing on paralysis patients; she hoped one day that could be her.

Snapped out of her daydream, Skyla’s father called to her – rather he mouthed her name through the window – and she wheeled over to the front door, skirting around the armchair.

“I’ve been calling you for ages, Sky.” Stephen said, shivering slightly.

“Oh, sorry.” Skyla cast her eyes to the ground.

Stephen scuffed his boots together and crouched to his daughter’s level. Taking off his gloves, he took his large, scraped hands and clasped hers, kissing them.

“Sky, I know it’s hard. And this damn weather is just frustrating as hell. But I’m going to make the most of this time with you.”

She looked up at this point, meeting his eyes. His face flushed, his nose a deep pink from the cold, but his eyes glistened. And there on his eyelash was the tiniest snowflake she’d ever seen.

“Dad, don’t move. Don’t flicker your eyelashes. Just give me a minute.”

The snowflake held its form for less than a second. But before it melted into her skin, Skyla saw the intricate pattern.

“I’ve just realised something, Dad,” she said as Stephen raised his eyebrows and fingered her blonde curls. “No snowflake is the same. They’re all different but eventually they come together to make a bigger picture. I think I’m a snowflake, Dad. My body’s now just a different pattern that’s all. Maybe I’ll get my old pattern back one day, or find a new pattern in electronic limbs. But the thing is, I still have a pattern just like that snowflake. And that’s what matters.”

Stephen smiled, “Well of course, honey, you’re named after the very sky snowflakes are born from.”

As part of the HHC for last month under the theme ‘Spark’, Silver’s short story is a special piece full of hope and determination. As a teenager, she feared she would be paralysed from the waist down following two horrible accidents. But luck was with her and recovered the feeling in her legs. However, not everyone is as lucky as that, with Skyla as a prime example. A heart-warming piece ready in time for Christmas. If you enjoyed Silver’s work, make sure you check out her poem ‘Spirit‘ and short story ‘Fraction‘. 

Featured Image // Julie Falk

by Colette

Love After Death

Written by Ricardo

“Where the hell is Nina?” Sam screamed at Paula, throwing her off and making her exert herself a little more to pick up the pace. “Where is she? Did she fall? Oh god, tell me she didn’t fall.”

Sam’s heart was already beating at an inhuman rate, but with the fear of losing Nina he thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest. His legs gained an abrupt burst of energy and, in that moment, he felt like he could have leapt onto the far-off green planet they seemed to be running towards.

“No!” Paula shouted back. “Her heart rate is still on the system, there’s not many of us left,” she paused to get her breath back, “most of us fell, but she’s still alive. She’s probably going for the escape pods too. I just hope she can make it with that body.”

“She’ll make it!” Sam shouted, almost offended. The escape pods. That’s where they were heading. He didn’t need the map displayed on the screen on his forearm, he’d walked the length of this ship more times than he could remember. And right then what he hated most about the world was not the emptiness behind them, or even the thought that Nina could be down there, it was that the doors he had installed last year were the newest models by Archon’s Security. He’d tried them out himself before fitting them with his own Tarantula rifle. Nothing was getting through those. Thankfully the walls were still as shitty as ever though.

“Give me your pistol!” Sam shouted at Paula, who had drawn her sidearm and unloaded the cartridge with alarming speed. He took the cartridge and threw it overarm toward the wall they were approaching. He took the rifle from his back at the moment the cartridge left his hand and fired off a single shot. Sam was thankful he was still a little drowsy since, if he’d been on top form and as fast as usual, the blast would have blown him right back into the depths of space. Sam went first into the escape pod chamber, thrusting his shoulder into the honeycombed wall and breaking through, followed by Paula only a fraction later.

They were far enough ahead to take a second to gather themselves. There were two pods left, and besides Sam and Paula there were was only one person there – Khaj, the technician. Sam had an insatiable urge to shoot the useless bastard directly in the left eye. Why was he here rather than Nina? What reason did he have to live over her?

“Sam,” Paula knocked him from his wandering thoughts and grabbed his arm, pulling him into one of the pods. “We’ve got to go! I’m sorry, but we have to go.” Sam knew it. He couldn’t stay even if he wanted to, survival was all his body cared about right now. He’d have gotten into that pod whether he liked it or not. It was only when he saw the glow of Nina’s eyes through a slender gap in the wall that he jumped back out of the pod. Paula grabbed his ankles, forcing him to lurch uneasily and slam hard onto the floor.

“NINA!” he shouted as a small robotic feline leaped into the chamber and toward the pod, the silver metal paw landing in his palm as his fingers closed around it, with Paula pulling him back into the pod. The end of her tail caught in the door and scraped it slightly as it slammed and sealed shut. All forty thrusters fixed to the outside ignited at once, propelling the pod from the shell of Andromeda, Sam’s father’s space station turned space cruiser, and then his, and now it belonged to the infinite grasp of the universe.

In that moment Sam couldn’t have cared less. As he held Nina in his arms, tears slipping off the top of her shiny head, she consoled him with gentle words. All he truly cared about was safe and still real, still in his grasp. And as their shuttle hurled toward the distant green planet that he felt he could jump to, he knew he still had a shot at redemption. He could still make it to humanity’s colonies. He could still get Paula back to her home planet. But most importantly, he could still get Nina back to her old body. He could still make up for what he did. He could kiss her again, even just once more. He could get her back.

It was when he was drifting off to sleep with Nina in his arms that his fingers traced up and down the robotic feline’s right leg. That’s where Nina liked to be tickled – on the inside of her forearm. And it still had the same effect of making him smile like an idiot.

Then Nina whispered in her old voice, “I love you”.

There’s something chilling about Ricardo’s tale of love, death and hope. Maybe it’s because space is cold, or maybe it’s just because it’s an incredibly tense piece of work that gets us worked up in such a cold sweat. We’ve chosen a neat little excerpt from Ricardo’s ‘Love After Death’ as it’s gripping and pauses in just the right moments for great effect. If you enjoyed Ricardo’s work, make sure you check out, ‘The Start of Something Beautiful‘ and ‘Careful Driving‘. 

Featured Image // Sweetie187

by Colette

Wake Me When It’s Winter

Written by Blue-Eyed Devil

They call aloud with happy tone
“Come, leap from shade and frost!
Shake the cold from soul and bone!”
So I know the fools are lost.

The blooming flowers spread their ploy
Heralding the coming thaw
The wickedness of springtime joy
Chills me to my core

Let the north wind take me to flight
O’er laughing faces and merriment
Away from scorching, summer light
And speed the days of long lament.

Let me sleep away the warmth,
And wake me when it’s winter.
Goodbye, farewell, so long at last,
And wake me when it’s winter.

Blue-Eyed Devil’s poem was written on behalf of a previous Half Hour Challenge – it was great but never quite fitted in with our Inkblots’ themes. Now we have the perfect chance to publish it under our running theme, hope. As you may be able to tell, our poet isn’t a big fan of the summer months and loves a cold snap in the air. Well, it’s winter now, Blue. If you enjoyed his poetry, make sure you check out some of Blue’s other work including last month’s ‘Little Candle‘ and the short story ‘Thankfully Forgetful‘. 

Featured Image // Moyan Brenn

by Colette

Ignite

Written by Rae-Chan

It only takes a spark to ignite a flame.
It only takes a flame to torch a city.
It only takes a spark to set the wheels of change in motion.
So light up the night like a firework,
Send sparks flying through the sky,
Become a mighty phoenix and blaze those that stand in your way,
Ignite the flames, become a burning inferno,
Shower the sparks everywhere.
It only takes one spark to ignite something beautiful.
It only takes one spark.
Be that spark.

A powerful message written simply here from Rae-Chan, but it fills us with such hope and delivers such impact in its short form. Rae-Chan’s best work is often found in succinct little gems of poetry, so we hope you love it just as much as we did. You can check out more of her poetry such as ‘Wings‘ and ‘An Ode to Low Self-Esteem’. 

Featured Image // Kendra Miller

by Colette

Monthly Editorial – The 12 Days of Yule and December’s Content

Hey Inkblotters!

As we welcome in the final month of 2014, we also say hello to the festive season once again. Though Christmas films seem to be on all year round these days, the season doesn’t quite start until December for me – and I expect it’s the same for most of you. But before this turns into another one of my regular tangents on why Christmas cards are stocked in retail stores from August, or why there’s always one kind of person who puts up their decorations in the middle of October – sad, but true – here’s exactly what we have planned for December’s content.

Given it’s the last month, we wanted to end on a positive note. It’s been a great year for our literary magazine and we wanted to share that with content surrounding the theme ‘hope’. Jumping straight in, then, we have Rae-Chan’s short HHC entry ‘Ignite’ for publication on the 5th, with poetry from Blue-Eyed Devil on the 10th and a gorgeous poem from Ashcloud entitled ‘A Star is Born’ for Christmas Eve. There’s also short fiction incoming from Ricardo and, hopefully, some interesting HHC entries on the 30th too.

This brings me swiftly onto the fabulous Half Hour Challenge theme we’ve got for December. As per tradition, The Inkwell admins run something a little special for members during the festive season. In previous years we’ve had some great entries, so for this year we’re hosting the ’12 days of Yule’. With 12 themes available – all which correlate to Yule or Yuletide – forum members may pick a theme and write their entry, submitting them before the end of the month. For non-members of our forum, feel free to view the themes, here, and choose one of your liking to submit in an email to us – you can find all rules for submissions here.

So that about wraps my little editorial up for this month. Have a wonderful Christmas, and I’ll be back for the new year with lots of sparkly new content to share. Again, to all our readers, followers – whether you’re a new follower or old – and to all our superb contributors thanks for the awesome 2014. 🙂

– Colette (aka Silver), Inkblots Editor

Featured Image // Caitlin Childs

by Colette

Little Candle

Written by Blue-Eyed Devil

candle_table

Little Candle, keep burning bright. Image // Melissa Maples

Little candle, little candle
Burning oh so bright.
Little candle, little candle
Shining in the night.

Little candle, little candle
Kiss me with its mark.
Little candle, little candle
Shields me from the dark.

Little candle, little candle
How fast you fade away.
Little candle, little candle
Please burn just one more day.

Blue-Eyed Devil’s heart-warming short poem ‘Little Candle’ is the perfect piece to close out November’s content. Of course, it suits this month’s theme ‘Light’ to a T, but it also gives way to the season of giving. Whether you read the poem with a sombre tone or one that provides us with hope instead, it’s a lovely piece of poetry from our Haiku hero. If you enjoyed Blue-Eyed Devil’s poem, make sure you check out his superb poetry such as, ‘You’re Home‘ and the ‘Inkblots Poetry Spotlight‘ featuring a number of his smaller poems and Haiku. 

by Colette

Fraction

Written by Silver

congo_light

Sometimes it only takes one moment for life to spring into action. Image // Andre Thiel

The summer haze was thick within the forest; drops of dew hung languidly from leaves the size of a small bird, while the hot mist clung to boughs of giant foliage, leaving it gasping for cool air. Even for the animals in the Congo it was a warm day, and many tried to find shade under a canopy of leaves, overhanging rocks, or their dens in the cool dirt. The promise of rain was still several days away, but you could feel it in the air. If you were lucky enough to see through a gap in the fence of foliage, the clouds were dense and ready to burst, and the Congo’s inhabitants were ready.

To travel through the Congo is a bid to lose all sense of time; a perpetual twilight. Daylight would come but once every so often and, when it did, it seared through the trees, settling into a patch of chalked dirt, where maybe a snake or beetle would bask and snooze. Soon enough, the light disperses and fades into the half-light the forest knows so intimately, and the animals shrink back into their comfortable abodes. When darkness arrives, a wonderful silence emanates from the Congo, only to be replaced by the night-lovers chirping moments later. Under a cloak of indigo and black, a hubbub of activity takes place. Insomniacs add to the noise with their shuffling and pacing, elephant calves disturb bushes with their fights and tantrums, while chimpanzees look for trouble and play games of ‘spot the forest insect’. Other restless sleepers toss and turn, while those that need shut-eye will snore and breathe deeply, ignoring the blend of nature’s sounds.

A new day dawns and, with it, the same pattern: a circle of time. But it is a day closer to the storms; they can feel it in the air. It ripples through the forest, hitting some more than others, depending on their fashion of habits. Newly born animals risk dehydration, the elders too are at risk but they are wiser to the Congo’s ways, finding dew drops hidden in the highest canopies or broadest bushes. The most intelligent – or, perhaps, luckiest – find a remote stream, where the soil is softer and the sustenance richer. But as the heat cripples the hearts of many animals, it also weakens the heart of the Congo.

For a fraction, time stands still. And in that moment, numerous events occur. The dense mist shrivels into the undergrowth, awaiting its execution. The languid dew drops quiver and shrink, pushing themselves off their veined homes, to explode into the cracked mud below. And the animals scatter. Elder birds urge their youngest to spread their wings and fly, while small apes cling to their mother’s fur as she runs through the thicket at remarkable speed. Elephant calves send out sharp chirps to their kin, making sure they don’t get left behind in the frenzy. Snakes slide out of their small dens with their babies, coolly taking their time, while insects crawl over their bodies in a hurry. With most animals gone, only the weakest are left behind, bearing the same fate as the colossal boughs and trunks.

The cries of the smallest are ousted by the roaring crackle of the heat. A fury, a blaze, a rainbow of different shades of orange and red join together and take the Congo minute by minute. It spreads quickly and consumes foliage, fruit, and those that are young or frail – condemning them to a brutal end. But not all are taken by the orange blaze. The grey clouds begin to crowd together, their anger evident through the grumbling in throats and their flashes of migraines, coming and going as the pain pleases. Grumpy and exhausted by the smoke, the clouds crack their knuckles and jab at the fire with yellow bolts, unleashing their biggest weapon: rain.

It flows freely and harshly into the centre of the blaze, extinguishing the licking flames at the clouds’ feet. The orange fury begins to abate but then a last stab of war comes forth from its raging heart, whipping at the foliage with all its might. But it is no match for the grey clouds and drowns in a sea of murky water.

With the fire extinguished, the floods arrive, and the animals flit back to their homes. Only a fraction of time exists in the Congo, but only when it is the most critical does life notice.

Written on behalf of a Fiction Frenzy challenge last year, Silver’s aptly named ‘Fraction’ takes us into the heart of the Congo, where the animals mostly live in peace. Inspired by a BBC documentary series which followed a number of animals, Silver’s piece works to re-enact what happens when the forest fires are imminent. It’s a perfect piece to reflect the very nature of our ‘Light’ theme this month. To check out more of her work, click the links for poetry such as ‘Fudge‘ and ‘ Spirit‘. 

by Colette

We Listen To The Song

Written by X3naurus

pink_lillies

Remember the pink petals, too? Image // Gazeronly

I’d never play music too loud,
just loud enough for us to sing along.
I’d never speak of praise or hatred,
only when my thoughts are held alone.
A girl who sat by me once said she’d
heard the music.

She’d never wish in the night
until a star was born, her eyes closed.
She’d always give a glowing smile
to any dawned and dusked to fear.
A man who passed her by once had
saw the smile.

He’d sometimes stop to think,
just before he’d drown in wonders.
He’d come home to collect his thoughts,
and leave for thoughts to collect.
You looked at him and asked to
share just one.

You remembered a dying light,
but forgot the pink petals underneath.
You always screamed inside your head
when anything you loved was lost.
But I could only play the music for us to
sing along.

 
Though written a few years back, X3naurus’s lyrics are still a beauty to behold today. Stripped back and subtle, ‘We Listen to the Song’ flourishes on paper, and we can only wonder what it would be like to hear with music. Twinned perfectly with our theme this month, Light, we hope you enjoyed reading it as much as we did. If you liked X3naurus’s work, you can check out other pieces such as, ‘Minor Wounds‘ and ‘Tame‘.
 
by Colette

Diaries of the Gods

Written by Terrestris Veritas

angel_weeping

Is it so hard to just be at peace with each other? Image // Alisa Perne

You humans; all you ever do is fight. None of you can comprehend the destruction that you impose on that which is never at fault. You were a mistake…you were never meant to be.

A curse is a terrible thing. To be constricted to a single condition and never let free. The pain of that never lessens. But you’d know all about that. For you are but pieces of a shattered dream.

You were insignificant to us, we let you breed and run wild. Then we believed you had power over us. That was our mistake. You dragged us into your meaningless wars, made us watch as your hollow ambitions swallowed you all. And we thought we couldn’t escape you.

Time and time again you would annihilate yourselves only to rise once more from the debris. None of you could recognize your own faulty ways. All you ever did was build in order to destroy. Create to kill.

Money, land, politics and possessions. The four curses of your race. Each can easily be forsaken, only you didn’t know how to live without them. And that scared you, enough to turn on your friends and allies. But when you gazed over a burning land of death, you finally realized your foolishness. You did away with yourself, unable to live all alone with your four, foul curses.

Thus, the land burned. We thought you humans had learnt your lesson. But the years turned to centuries, which rolled into millennia, which eventually became eons. You were thought as a legend, as a fable as new people came to be. Then, they turned into the one we still call ‘you’.

A dozen times history repeated itself, the land suffering while only we could hear its screams. How deaf you all were, how obsessed you were with the frail “self”. Perhaps, this was your curse.

Regardless, you hurt us and the world. You even hurt yourselves but again you ignored it. You ignored the screams, the cries for mercy, the children that begged you to stop. And you killed part of us. Always using others, too afraid to look your enemy in the eye as you take their life. Instead, you are content to observe from afar, safe and warm, healthy in your golden frocks. While you slowly killed us.

You would never learn, but who could blame you? The eons were nought but dust, and soot and ash lend no lessons on life. You are the smallest pieces in this puzzle, this wretched puzzle, and you cost us our freedom.

Your part in the puzzle is done. So why do you still hurt us? Why do you still kill yourselves senselessly? You humans, not even content with just being alive. And the funny thing is; you’ve all but forgotten that you were never part of the bigger picture. Just a toy. Just a sad mistake.

Terrestris Veritas had labelled this piece as somewhat experimental, and he wasn’t sure where it would fit. We’re likely to call it a fantasy monologue featuring a livid God and his private thoughts. A reflection upon our society, ‘Diaries of the Gods’ lends itself to this month’s theme light – if only in a small sense. A light above the world, or below it, Gods and Goddesses will peer into the lives of men and women. Terra’s piece gazes upon such atrocities and documents them. If you enjoyed this short piece of fiction, you might like some of Terra’s other work, including but not limited to, ‘Race‘ and ‘The Servant‘.