Hello all! I was wondering something regarding my plot, it is an adventure story following themes of guilt and inevitability.
Note on text: Throughout the story, a mysterious black figure appears repeatedly to Aerl, haunting his journey and symbolizing the burden of guilt and the inevitability of his destiny.
Story begins in a small village, these people live inside of large tortoises (I am worried if this is too similar to the equilibrium of The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings books.) The protagonist, Aerl, must then travel to the ancestral land of his tribe (as decided by council) and clear out any bad-doers; in order to draw his people away from the ever growing Clan of the north. Aerl travels through various landscapes and comes across two companions, a hunter from the south, interested in the animals of that area. Next, a cartographer, who wishes to chart those lands Aerl will explore.
They stop at a small village, requesting a map of the valley (maps at this time are hard to come by); of which they kindly receive and under the conditions they repay them in the future. (Key plot point)
They arrive at the valley, they all explore ruins of this desolate location; each of them spread out across the valley. Aerl discovers a small opening in the side of a plateau, he enters. When inside of the stronghold, it reveals a sprawling underground ecosystem. Within this stronghold lies a great danger, Erlsuk, the sculptor of land, a giant serpent and based upon Jormungandr from Norse Mythology. The two share a conversation and Aerl escapes. Erlsuk retreats through caves up to the mountains, knowing his nest has been discovered, he has now become angered.
Aerl bids farewell to his two companions and sets off home. During the journey home, he finds his path leading to a desolate kingdom. The kingdom is small and empty inside, consisting of thatch houses in a wooden gated location and a large house laying on the hill. Aerl decides to inspect this location further, upon entry he finds an empty room. At the end of the hall there is a grey and dying old man and from which he takes his crown, paying no regard to his condition; and the old figure dies on the throne.
Many years later (six years), his kingdom has grew as a landmark of trade, known for its meat, timber and beer. The kingdom is now living in a state of glory. By this point Aerl pays almost no heed towards his kin who quested him to journey far, regarding them as selfish and using him as a means to an end. This is shortly lived however, as the hunter and cartographer arrive at his kingdom shortly after, convincing him to inform them of the valley. They also inform him that the people who he lent the map of the valley from are in desperate need of money, as their crops have been destroyed, houses burnt and animals gone. These acts of treachery are committed by none other than the serpent Erlsuk, known for his wise and all-knowing nature; depicted as being able to know one’s entire life by just a glance at their eyes and prompting conflict while doing so.
They also tell him that as long as Erlsuk is alive, Aerl will die by his unceasing grasp. Aerl informs the townspeople of this, and he departs. Aerl ventures deep into the mountains and meets the serpent after battling through tribes, rough landscapes and creatures of dark forests. The two share a small conversation of war. Aerl attempts to battle the serpent, losing terribly and barely making his way back to the kingdom, revealing a sight of the town being burned and the trees themself glazed with fire. Scared, he has nowhere to run, he must oppose the people of the village who are in need of debt. In a fierce battle fought amidst blazing flames, Aerl confronts the dark figure. Their clash is intense and brutal, with Aerl fighting for the survival of his kingdom and the people he once disregarded. In a climactic moment, a person from the village, driven by rage and loss, pierces Erlsuk and delivers the fatal blow, ending the serpent's reign of treachery.
With the dark figure defeated and Erlsuk slain, the battle concludes. Aerl, scarred and exhausted, stands amidst the charred ruins, his crown relinquished. The leader of his old kin and Aerl share a solemn moment, as forgiveness and understanding pass between them. The people of the village return inside, the cartographer decides to head north, where he will settle in the old living space of the old kinsfolk. Now, the people of the kingdom are now able to explore the underground strongholds now accessible to them. Aerl silently retreats into the forest, shedding his past burdens, and embarks on a new path.

Part One: There's Something Awful Happening in Morefolk : nosleep (reddit.com)
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You know who this is. Sorry for the long wait, and thank you for your patience. Yes, this is a new email address, though the reason for that should be obvious.
I have to hand it to the pigs. They're not as clueless as I believed. What I once thought were monkeys dressed in uniform flinging shit at the wall, are actually monkeys using rudimentary tools to fling shit at the wall. I'll admit, it's cute. Still, if Morefolk's finest thought that updating their firewalls, naming their files gibberish, and using monoalphabetic substitution ciphers for their file text was enough to throw me off, they're sorely mistaken. For one, firewalls aren't as effective when I've left a backdoor in the system for free access. Seriously, it's not that difficult to get into something once you've already been inside before. Not to mention... you seriously thought documenting stuff in some basic code would do the trick? That I wouldn't be able to convert it to plain text? At least do something a little sophisticated next time; might I recommend studying some old telegrams from wartime and seeing how they did things? Seriously, your tech department should be paying me for tutelage, your cryptography is weak. The only thing I can give you credit for, is that I haven’t found any information on the unnamed agency referenced in your files. I assume their documents are cataloged in their own, entirely separate database, which isn’t surprising. Still, the only reason another agency would be involved with you at all, would be to order you around behind the scenes like the bunch of lackeys you are.
Regardless, that has no bearing on whether YOU can keep me out of YOUR shit. I suspect you'll either throw out the system and start anew, or, the more likely approach you'll take, is to start cataloging your documents in analog style. Don't know, don't care. I've already got enough as is.
To say that I've got a lot to drop on you all would be an understatement, and a severe one at that. Not everything is going to be shown right here and now, but in time, all will be clear. I've been waiting patiently, meticulously crafting my strategy, waiting for the perfect moment to re-appear. Such is the price of truth in a world run by breaking news and hastily woven narratives. There are always dozens, hundreds, even thousands of hands intricately drawing each needle through each thread, until a net of lies and misrepresentations have been constructed and cast. Cast upon what? You all, the "helpless fish" adrift at sea, going where the tide takes you. Yet, you are not helpless. There is a hand outstretched towards you, and it is my hand. I offer you access to the one thing more valuable than the money or security they try to bribe you with.
I offer you access to reality.
Reality is, regardless of who witnesses it. Therefore, the optimal way to deny one access to reality is to remove their ability to witness, to see, to observe, and to ogle the beautiful essence of truth. Think, for a moment, about what it is that best achieves this goal of restricting your perception of reality. What is it, that is such an obfuscation, such an obstruction, and such a danger?
I'll tell you, it's the narratives. The news, the media, and the outlets, all serve as distractions. Do not be so naive as to think that the news is on your side. They actively serve the interests of the authorities and their agendas... and once you become privy to that fact, it's obvious. Still, you might find my claims to be dubious, so let's take a look together, shall we? Allow me to show you precisely what I am talking about.
---
"Ellie Singleton, 33, Found Deceased in Home"
"The body of Ellie Singleton, 33, was found unresponsive in her home on Monday, January 23rd, 2023. Authorities arrived on the scene shortly after her husband, Barry Singleton, reported an incident that occurred that Monday night, around 4:47 AM. Although emergency services were quick to the scene, she was regrettably announced dead upon arrival at Morefolk Town Hospital at 5:09 AM. Detective Clark Casper, who arrived at the scene shortly following the incident, declined to comment. So too did Barry Singleton.
Although the nature of this incident remains highly unknown, its impact on our community is not lost on anyone. Plenty of tears were shed among friends, family, and loved ones, who all shared their sympathies with Mister Singleton. Ellie Singleton was expected to deliver her first child in the summer of this year. She very much had a love for children, and it wasn't uncommon for her to work as a substitute teacher at Morefolk Elementary. Many of the young students she taught and influenced took part in laying down flowers and paying their respects at the school, which hosted a memorial assembly in her honor. Ellie stood as a pillar of this community, doing what she could to ensure that future generations had a reliable shoulder to lean on. Now, a community stands as one, hearts torn apart for the Singleton family. This will surely be a day of much mourning and prayer."
---
Innocent enough, right? Just a heartfelt news clipping in response to a horrific happening. A good old unifier of the people to get them through a trying time. Aside from that, there's not much to go off of, granted this was the first of what we now know to be murders. Let's continue.
---
"Tragedy Strikes as 25-Year-Old Sasha Baker Was Found Dead In Her Bedroom"
"Onlookers littered the streets as Sasha Baker, 25, was peacefully wheeled out of her home the other night on Saturday, January 29th, 2023. Mothers, fathers, and children held hands in solemn silence as they watched, burdened with the great loss of their friend."
"It just doesn't make sense, she was young and healthy and happy, I can't even wrap my head around it," said Chuck Rivera, a long-time friend of Sasha Baker.
"This kind of thing doesn't happen in this town... it just doesn't," commented Ashley Sanchez, who was so disturbed by the death, that she had to be comforted by those around her.
"Morefolk police released a brief statement following the occurrence, with Sheriff Tom Mackey being quoted as saying, "We want you to know that our hearts are heavy, and this loss is weighing down on us, all of us. Sasha was a great woman. From the food pantries she hosted inside the church, to all the service work she did for our town, she always served as a positive influence on our youth. To us, she was family. A bright and optimistic woman we grew up alongside. Our thoughts and prayers go out to David Baker, and to any and all who are undoubtedly hurting at this time. We will be conducting an investigation into this incident, absolutely. I cannot confirm anything to you with certainty, but we have reason to believe that, well, this incident may have been the product of foul play. The chances of that being the case are low. Still, our officers are working diligently to ensure that this was not the cause of her death, because that, well, it would be heart-wrenching for all of us. Even more than it already is. We'll do what we can to keep all of you updated. Thank you for your time, and God bless you."
"At this time it is unspecified whether this event has any relation to the death of the late Ellie Singleton, who was found deceased in her home just a week prior."
---
Would you look at that? Do you know what I see? Useless fucking platitudes. Thoughts and prayers don't mean shit to us. Not to mention how vague Sheriff Mackey was about the supposed investigation they were hosting. They "peacefully" wheeled her body out of the home? Perhaps it appeared that way with several white cloths and EMTs blocking the view of her corpse. I'm not entirely sure how the word "peaceful" could be applied to the remains of a woman who had her unborn child violently ripped out. Nor am I sure how there could be any ambiguity as to whether she was murdered or not. Now you go ahead and wonder why it is that they're using such passive and evasive language. Something tells me that you already know the answer.
---
"Homicide Investigation Launched Following the Murder of Claire Summers"
"Town officials have confirmed that Morefolk Police are investigating the untimely death of Claire Summers, 28, which occurred on Wednesday, February 2nd, 2023, as a homicide."
"We are deeply disturbed by the passing of Claire Summers. The shock and sadness we are all going through cannot be understated. This is not an easy time for anybody," stated Sheriff Tom Mackey when asked for a comment about the recent development. "Our investigator's assessment of her death indicates to us that, regrettably, this was the result of a sick individual rather than a horrible accident or medical issue," continued Mackey.
"This revelation also came with an announcement from town officials that a curfew has been set in place. All citizens are to stay indoors after 9:30 PM, and all exceptions must be pre-emptively requested. Failure to abide by this regulation will be met with detainment, and offending persons may face criminal charges.
The investigation into Claire Summer's murder will incorporate the recently deceased citizens of Morefolk (Ellie Singleton, Sasha Baker) as police suspect those incidents may be related to this one. As of this moment, Kyle Summers has declined to comment.
Claire Summers, perhaps most well-known for her bakery located on Oak Way, will be remembered as sweetly as the goods she lovingly shared with us all. Not a single person would disagree that when in Claire's shop, smiles were formed and memories were made."
---
Three people had to die for them to announce that they were being murdered. Three. Whole. People. Suppose for a moment, that you don't believe me or my leaks. That you don't believe that this was all the doing of a wretched ghoul with sadistic tendencies. Is it not still strange that it took this long for a homicide investigation to be publicly launched? Each death took place inside of the victim's home, while their husbands were sleeping in the same bed as them. Are we meant to believe that a killer did their dirty work, and the husbands just... didn't notice? Seriously? These fucking rats in blue think you're all idiots. They think that you won't connect the dots. Don't let them treat you like clueless animals. Do not allow them to be evasive about what's truly happening.
---
"Morefolk Police Patrolling the Streets in Response to Most Recent Death"
"The killing of Jackie Middleton, 37, has unsettled Morefolk to its very core. Her death is another in a series of murders, now that the deaths of Claire Summers, Sasha Baker, and Ellie Singleton have been found to be connected. Morefolk police have decided to patrol the streets at night in response to this recent development, and the town curfew has been lowered to 9 PM."
"The safety of our town is our priority. We not only need to protect those of you living here, but find and prosecute whichever twisted individual is responsible for these crimes as soon as possible. We ask that you all cooperate with our curfew, and please, if you have any information that may be helpful to this case, contact us. Thank you," Sheriff Mackey explained when asked about his plan moving forward.
"When asked to comment on this tragedy, Jackie's husband Craig Middleton was quoted as saying, "There's not much for me to say at this time. The amount of hurt and devastation I'm going through can't be articulated. All I can say is that I hope our police force brings whoever did this to my family to justice."
"Furthermore, Kyle Summers, David Baker, and Barry Singleton requested to make a joint comment. The three men had also recently lost their loving wives, likely at the hands of the suspected killer involved in Jackie Middleton's murder."
"We've gotten together to support each other as of late. Things have been unimaginably hard to get through each day, but the condolences and support of all of you wonderful people have made it more manageable for us. We know we cannot change what happened, but we can, and must, address this problem before more lives are taken. Throughout these long, sleepless weeks, we've had the unequivocal support of the Morefolk Police Department. They have shown us great attention, care, and consideration. Most importantly, we know and trust that they will bring this murderer to justice. Please, support and believe in them, because they're doing all they can to fix this mess. Once again, we thank you for all the love and kindness you've given us. You all truly exemplify what it means to be wonderful neighbors, friends, and family."
"Jackie Middleton has always been an outgoing neighbor, working with Craig out of their small ice cream parlor on the nearby boardwalk. She'd often supply ice cream to nearby businesses for office parties and other celebratory events. Though store-bought ice cream would do the trick in a pinch, there was always something special about her delicious desserts that she made with the utmost love. To Morefolk, Jackie Middleton truly was the cherry on top."
---
They aren't even trying to hide it, are they? Surely you all caught it as well. Suddenly, the husbands who have gone without comment for so long, all come together to give a statement. A statement with the takeaway message of trusting the police department.
Want to know an interesting little tidbit of information? The author of all those newspaper clippings is the same person. Guess who it was. Does the name "Phil Pratt" ring a bell? Morefolk's beloved journalist, who happens to be married to Jamie Pratt. As is common knowledge, Jamie Pratt's maiden name is Jamie Mackey... these articles were written by the Sheriff's son-in-law.
I couldn't make this shit up.
Still, I know what you're thinking. It doesn't matter who wrote those articles and what biases they have! That doesn't mean the contents of the texts themselves aren't perfectly rational. Of course the husbands took a while to comment, they've been through so much trauma! Obviously, they all came forward together because they've got something in common to commiserate over, they're serving as each other's support systems, right?
Sure, it all sounds plausible at first, but the more you think about it, the more what I'm saying adds up. Remember, the husbands weren't allowed to stay at their homes, because their houses had become a crime scene. Plenty of neighbors and family members offered them places to stay, but you know where they ended up? That's right, they ended up staying in the police station. Yeah, I know the reason given was that the police wanted to ensure the husbands were receiving attention to their mental health, but then why not have them stay at the hospital? Then there's the explanation that the police wanted them close by so they could aid the investigation. Still, is that something that would require them to eat, sleep, and drink at the station for almost all hours of the day? That doesn't add up, does it?
I'll tell you the real reason that accounts for these abnormalities. The police were keeping the husbands there to monitor them. To ensure they weren't freely spreading their stories. To prevent them from commenting on the situation until they could be fed a comment generated by the pigs themselves.
You should also consider the fact that, despite these husbands having been in close proximity to their wives at the time of the killings, they were never once considered suspects in the case. What could possibly account for that, other than the fact that the cops knew that someone else, or something else, was responsible from the very beginning?
Some of you won't ever believe me, and I acknowledge that. That doesn't take away from the fact that this whole debacle has been handled so unconventionally. We've been told that the police would keep us updated on their investigations, but what have they really given us? We've received no identifiable suspect, no autopsy reports of the deceased victims, and the newspaper is more focused on selling this bullshit "Unify and support the police!" narrative than focusing on the particulars of the deaths themselves.
Go ahead and tell me we're being kept in the dark for the sake of investigative confidentiality. Tell me I'm seeking to divide us and push some communist anti-police agenda in the midst of a community tragedy. Claim that I'm making mountains out of molehills. Here's all I have to say. Either you're with me, the people, and the truth, or you're going to be a mindless sheep, licking the boots of those keeping the real facts at bay. The time is coming to make a damn choice.
Don't worry, I've got so much more to share. I'm not done exposing the hidden truths I found in the police files I cracked. I am simply waiting for the most opportune time to release more of what I have. Be patient my friends, it will be worth it. Trust me, after you see what's coming next, you will be as angry as I am. This monster terrorizing our town isn't going to stop at pregnant women and their unborn children.
After all, it already has claimed more than just those set of victims. You all might be aware that little Dennis Bowers went missing within the last week. Guess what?
They're lying to you about what happened to him.
All of it is connected, and I know just when and where to show you. The next time you hear from me, it'll be in a... different medium. Something big is about to happen. I'm certain of it.
Signing off,
-J

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Having an open world format and a non linear sandbox approach for the overall core game doesnt mean that it has to affect the levels design aswell. I know Nintendo wanted to shake up staples of the franchise, but if there is one thing that never should have been touched, is the dungeons.
I never was a fan of the the Divine Beasts in BOTW, but i ended up giving them a pass there since it felt like an experiment and atleast the terminals format worked better for what they were, adding up the gimmick of changing the layout of each beast. But keeping that same format for TOTK and trying to do a weird frankestein of classic dungeon enviroment mixed with the divine beasts is just.... NO, it was simply a mistake.
There is simply no good reason why dungeons have to be mutilated to this level. This stupid mindset where everything has to be non linear and up to player choice should have its own limits aswell, because it kills proper level design.
Im fine with doing dungeons in any order, and im fine if i dont get a dungeon item (ALBW way) but i loathe that you have to turn the dungeons themselves into a shell of their former self. It simply feels like a total waste that a world this big with potential for really big clasical and intrincate dungeons, you decided to just turn them into mostly open air shrines crammed together that barely last a thing.
Is as if Nintendo is now allergic of proper lenghty isolated and intrincate enviroments. Elden Ring was the perfect example of having an open world but still translating the level design of the souls games into different isolated areas of gameplay known as the Legacy Dungeons. Even ALBW which had a non linear approach in doing the dungeons, and with all the items already accesible did it great, they were actual proper dungeons, why cant modern 3D Zelda do this?.
I want to go with the Ritos, so they take me to a place like City In The Sky
I want to go with the Zoras, so they take me to a place like Great Bay Temple
I want to go with the Gorons so they take me to a place like OOT Fire Temple
I want to go with the Gerudos so they take me to a place like Arbiters Ground.
I really hope Aonumas declarations of keeping the open world format for the future of Zelda doesnt mean that the dungeons will keep this same treatment.

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Ok, I've now officially gone farther than ever before in my budding new foray into DCSS. I've cleared all 15 levels, the Lair, and the Orcish Mines. I know the next step is to head into the Lair Rune Branches, but I'm terrified! I've been doing so well!!
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I'm not sure how much of a dump anyone wants, but here's a lot. If anyone wants to offer advice before I plumb these new depths, that would be great!

HippieInHawaii the Warrior (Minotaur Berserker) Turns: 28739, Time: 06:25:46 Health: 128/157 AC: 29 Str: 30 XL: 16 Next: 47% Magic: 14/15 EV: 18 Int: 4 God: Trog [*****.] Gold: 928 SH: 0 Dex: 14 Spells: 15/15 levels left rFire . . . a - +4 battleaxe (heavy) rCold . . . (shield currently unavailable) rNeg + . . s - +4 plate armour "Xuikofo" {rPois Stlth+} rPois + (helmet restricted) rElec . j - +1 cloak "Zucoomul" {Rampage rN+ Str+4 Stlth-} rCorr . H - +2 pair of gloves {infuse} SInv . O - +2 pair of boots Will +.... n - amulet of magic regeneration Stlth P - +4 ring of slaying HPRegen 0.46/turn C - +5 ring of evasion MPRegen 0.54/turn %: rampage, infuse magic (1 MP) @: very slightly contaminated, studying Fighting A: horns 2, retaliatory headbutt a: Renounce Religion, Berserk, Trog's Hand, Brothers in Arms You are on level 15 of the Dungeon. You worship Trog. Trog is extremely pleased with you. You have visited 3 branches of the dungeon, and seen 22 of its levels. You have also visited: Gauntlet and Volcano. You have collected 3260 gold pieces. You have spent 2332 gold pieces at shops. Inventory: Hand Weapons a - a +4 heavy battleaxe (weapon) b - a +3 arbalest of draining Q - the +7 battleaxe of Tenacity {protect, rC+ Will- SInv} (You found it on level 3 of the Lair of Beasts) rC: It protects you from cold. SInv: It lets you see invisible. Will: It decreases your willpower. S - a +1 heavy executioner's axe Z - a +4 battleaxe of flaming Missiles d - 27 poisoned darts (quivered) e - 7 boomerangs L - 8 javelins Armour g - a +2 plate armour of fire resistance j - the +1 cloak "Zucoomul" (worn) {Rampage rN+ Str+4 Stlth-} (You found it in a Gauntlet) Str: It affects your strength (+4). rN: It protects you from negative energy. Rampage: It bestows one free step when moving towards enemies. Stlth: It makes you less stealthy. If you remove this armour, your AC would decrease by 3 (29 -> 26). s - the +4 plate armour "Xuikofo" (worn) {rPois Stlth+} (You bought it in a shop on level 1 of the Dungeon) rPois: It protects you from poison. Stlth: It makes you more stealthy. If you remove this armour, your AC would decrease by 20 (29 -> 9). A - the +0 plate armour of Feasting {rC+ Will+ Int+3} (You found it on level 14 of the Dungeon) Int: It affects your intelligence (+3). rC: It protects you from cold. Will: It increases your willpower. >!If you switch to wearing this armour, your AC would decrease by 4 (29 ->!< 25). F - a +1 cloak of poison resistance H - a +2 pair of gloves of infusion (worn) O - a +2 pair of boots (worn) Jewellery c - a ring of flight n - an amulet of magic regeneration (around neck) v - a ring of fire C - a +5 ring of evasion (right hand) I - a ring of protection from cold K - a +4 ring of protection N - a +6 ring of strength P - a +4 ring of slaying (left hand) X - the ring of Caghir {rN+ rCorr Str+2} (You found it on level 5 of the Lair of Beasts) [ring of resist corrosion] Str: It affects your strength (+2). rN: It protects you from negative energy. rCorr: It protects you from acid and corrosion. Wands k - a wand of digging (4) l - a wand of light (8) y - a wand of iceblast (19) E - a wand of polymorph (13) R - a wand of flame (28) V - a wand of paralysis (3) Scrolls i - 11 scrolls of teleportation m - a scroll of fog t - 7 scrolls of fear u - 3 scrolls of magic mapping w - 4 scrolls of blinking J - 2 scrolls of silence U - 11 scrolls of identify Potions f - 5 potions of haste h - a potion of invisibility o - 2 potions of flight p - 3 potions of berserk rage q - a potion of magic r - 11 potions of curing x - 2 potions of heal wounds z - 2 potions of cancellation B - 3 potions of might G - 5 potions of ambrosia Miscellaneous D - a lightning rod (4/4) M - a phantom mirror Skills: * Level 17.9 Fighting * Level 17.3 Axes + Level 11.0 Ranged Weapons + Level 10.3 Throwing + Level 12.6 Armour + Level 11.6 Dodging + Level 9.6 Stealth You have 15 spell levels left. You don't know any spells. Your spell library is empty. Dungeon Overview and Level Annotations Branches: Dungeon (15/15) Temple (0/1) D:5 Lair (5/5) D:11 Shoals (0/4) Lair:2 Snake (0/4) Lair:3 Slime (0/5) Lair:5 Orc (2/2) D:12 Elf (0/3) Orc:2 Vaults (0/5) D:13 Depths (0/4) D:15 Volcano (visited) Gauntlet (visited) Altars: Cheibriados Dithmenos Elyvilon Fedhas Qazlal Ru Trog Wu Jian Shops: D:1 [? Orc:1 ! Orc:2 (([? Innate Abilities, Weirdness & Mutations You have a pair of horns on your head. You reflexively headbutt those who attack you in melee. 

[F4F] Novella style RP for WLW
[F4F] Novella style RP for WLW
Hey, come with a plot idea or inkling. I'll help collaborate with the plot idea, but having to brainstorm a plot with y'all is like pulling teeth. also please stop sending me dms asking if i'm still looking- just assume! I'm looking for a novella-style RP please!
SEND ME A SAMPLE FIRST.
I'm looking for an adv. literate roleplay involving my favorite trope: enemies to lovers! I just love characters who both loathe and reluctantly admire each other. I want them to be abrasive and even terrible to each other in the beginning and fall in love and ultimately get a bit of some softness as the roleplay progresses. I don't want your sweet, cinnamon roll romance. Give me a female character who is trying to decide if she wants to kiss or kill my character. No cutesy, weak women characters. Scheming femme fatales are one of my favorite types of women.
I also really love age and class differences associated with our characters. I'm a sucker for an older woman characters who drink expensive bourbon cocktail parties and having to deal with a rather inexperienced and impulsive street kid for example.
I am an advanced literate woman who wants some good characters and good writing (I generally write 3-5 paragraphs). I have years of experience and I want someone who is willing to plan and be active (make up side characters without asking input, make up lore, help plan and push the plot along). I'm very much a planning person and would prefer lot of OOC back and forth.
Additionally, I only roleplay over Discord and in 3rd Person. I will ask for a sample! Do not be offended.
I'm only searching for FxF.
Pitch me your plot but note that I despise Slice of Life and anything Realistic. Usually fantasy (I prefer low), historical, post-apocalyptic, sci-fi, etc.
Pitch me a plot!
Craving a Witcher RP or a Witcher Inspired RP

1. WitcheWitcher (Two monster hunters from different schools fall in love?)
2. WitcheSorceress (A witcher and a powerful sorceress work together to kill a king?)

Craving an Assassin Creed RP

1. Like the Odyssey/Valhalla/Ezio Trilogy Setting (OC's only)

Craving a On a Leash RP

1. Super niche, but if you read the manga, hit me up >_>

Craving a Wild West RP

1. A certain lady of the night and a gunslinger having to protect the town from a rival gang

Craving a Grey's Anatomy-esque RP

1. Two rival doctors who kinda hate each other but are also kinda attracted to each other

Craving a cyberpunk RP

1. A corpo and a street kid have to figure out how to pull an impossible heist

Craving a lycan x vampire Plot! (I want to be a lycan!)

1. An awkward blind date leads to something more.

Craving a weird Dark Souls/Elden Ring/Bloodborne/From Software RP

1. Basically a demi-god character that has to face a lone mortal many, many times because the mortal can resurrect.

Fallout New Vegas

1. Two NCR rangers - bitter rivals- find themselves fighting a common enemy.

Dragon Age

1. Orlesian Knight x Fereldan Knight during the Orlesian occupation
2. Dalish Warden x Human Noble Warden
3. Mage x Templar
4. Fem! Cullen x Warden or Inquisitor
5. Fem! Solas x Inquisitor
6. Pitch me a plot

Craving an ASOIAF plot

1. A princess x hedge knight?

I'm also into F! Canon x OC especially for any movies/games/or anything- an AU! of a plot

1. F! Rick O' Conner x Evie
2. Fem! Anakin Skywalker x Padme

Flying Sparks

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Chapter 2

“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”
The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
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“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
#FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding

Flying Sparks Pre Order Now Chapter 2 “Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!” The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding

Howdy! I'm a guy who enjoys a variety of hobbies from gaming, weightlifting, hiking, planting and gardening, reading, and Lego sets (I never grew out of them 😊). I play lots of games, anything from PC to Xbox to Switch. My favorites are Valorant, Rocket League, Animal Crossing, Mario Kart, Zelda, and Elden Ring.
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Note: I am based in North America, Central timezone.

So I've always always always wanted to write anime/adult action fictional animation or what ever you call anime in America and I finally have an opportunity to get it problem is I have writers block kinda I have an episode that I keep retuneing and I'm worried that it's not good and I keep getting it's great it's good blaa blaa blaa I want some actual critical feed back and I can't get it sooooooooooooooooo people of reddit what do you think it's a rough rough and I can't not stress rough draft so I'm not looking for spelling or grammer just tell me if it catches your eye puts that need to watch more like Naruto (my favorite anime) or erased something that your curious about well tell me your thoughts (extremely nervous)
Ps
Sorry if it's a long read
Episode 1 Scene 1 breaking the forth wall
setting Black screen with a desk and chair facing the camera
Action: Anthony walks up to the desk sits down and looks at the screen.
Anthony: Hello viewers im anthony origins and im going to be your main star.
action: Jelani walks in from off-screen
Jelani: Anthony what the (beep) wait did you just (beep) censor me
Anthony: we want kids to watch this we cant have language like that on my show
Jelani :your show wait, first fix this (beep) second your not the only main characters here what about kradon and me were in the scrpit like twice
Anthony: your right, but no one wants to see y'all they want to see me and all my glory
action kradon walks in from off screen
kradon are you guys seriously arguing about the scrpit again, the viewer doesn't care just get to the show already
jelani fine fine fine im out
anthony what do you mean your out you cant just leave
jelani says who I got two feet I can walk off this screen and disappear no one would even know
anthony you already appeared on screen there no special cameos your not famous enough for that (beep)
jelani im the freaking CEO of fighting wombat productions roll the intro
action play fighting wombats intro then record skip noise anthony interrupts
anthony that doesn't mean anything
jelani means I do what I want now now fix this (beep) so we can start the show and get rid of the got damn sensor this isn't no telly tubby bull (beep)
action kradon and jelani walk off-screen
anthony sighs fine fuck it
scene one:the dream
setting :Anthony origins ,Collier Zorgata, Jelani (last name) each in there own house having simulator nightmares of a baby crying in and out black and white figures stand over the baby the room shakes the figures flash and Anthony Collier and Jelani wake up
baby Jelani,Anthony,Collier:crying noise
faded male voice: we have to do something
faded female voice: we should take them and run
faded voice father: that wont be necessary
Action:flash of green light figures disappear
faded voice father: now take your medicine
Action:needle starts to move to the baby
Scene 2: wake up its school
settings: in the rooms of Anthony Jelani,Collier they hop waking up from there dream three pan of all three characters laying up in there bed each do individual starching Collier disappears
pan to Collier rolling off his roof landing in a bush
Collier: (yells as he rolls of the roof)
action: Collier stands up
Collier : what... the fuck... where am I
action: Collier looks at his door and starts knocking
guy walking by: looks like your missing something there aren't ya
action: Collier looks down at his body and starts knocking again
Collier: Ma! let me in!
action Colliers mom opens the door:
Collier mom: how did you get out here
Collier I don't even know just let me in
action Collier walks in the house and closes the door
pan: over to Anthony walking out of his restroom door
action:Anthony grabs his coat and fixes it on to his body and starts to walk down the stairs little partial start to stick to his hand as he holds the pole of his stair case ill sparks of electricity fly through his hand Anthony jumps in pain
Anthony: ow what the fuck
Anthony mom: watch your mouth
Anthony: sorry mom I just got zapped by something
Anthony mom: doesnt excuse language well get out of here you don't want to start your senior year on a bad note now do you
Anthony: o yeah the joys of school Anthony mom: don't be a prick
Anthony: (laughs) cya mom
action Anthony walks out the front door
pan over to Jelani walking out of front door
Jelani begins walking to school and a dog walks by him he stops and pets the dog takes out some of his lunch gives it the dog
Jelani: you need bath Little man its wrong how people treat dogs like old toys you deserve a bath let your coat shi..(phone rings)
action jelani answers his phone
Collier: hey where are you
Jelani: in never land with peter pan
Collier: well Wendy called and said its time for class
Jelani: yeah yeah I'm almost there give me a bit
Collier: were in front of the school
Jelani: what do you need permission or something go to class
Collier: you have my text book remember
Jelani: o awkward.. okay ill be there in like 2 minutes
Collier alright see you th---...hello
pan to Anthony and Collier
Anthony: hung up on you
Collier: yeah, as is tradition. would it kill him for once to actually end the conversation properly?
Anthony: Well you know Jelani. what will be the chances of him doing that
Collier (sighs)
action: Jelani runs up to them
Jelani: here take your book
Collier: thanks now lets get to class
pan to Jelani Collier and Anthony walking up to the school doors and see three guys in the background
action: Vince lifts his hand and ice partials lift out of his hand and freeze the door handles
action Jelani turns in anger
Jelani: and this day started off so well
Collier: Vince get rid of the ice were running late
action: Vince walks up to Collier:
vince: come again? I don't think I heard a "Please?"
Anthony: if you need a please I'm pleased to show you what my fist does to your face
Vince: o we have ill hero here how about I freeze your face see brave you are then
action Anthony gulps
Jelani jumps in front of Vince and Anthony and pushes Vince off
Jelani: lets all calm,down no reason to get testy here Vince
Vince: so your gonna be a hero too huh Jelani
action: Vince moves forward towards Jelani
Jelani: get back Vince
Vince: aw what happen to all that bravery you just had hmm
Jelani: Vince I said get back action: Jelani shoves Vince and gets pushed back against the door the ice around the door shatters Vince gets knocked in to his friends and falls to the ground
Anthony: what the hell was that
Collier who cares the doors open lets go
action: the three of them run in to the building and down the hall they stop at the end of the hall Anthony stops and catch's his breath
Anthony:what the hell what was that Jelani
Jelani: o yes I'm a fucking Wikipedia on how gene x works
Collier: are you guys forgetting were late for class
Anthony: shit your right. okay we will talk about this at lunch lets go
Collier: yup Jelani: yeah whatever
action: Jelani Isaiah and Collier split up
pan over to Collier turning down the hall
Collier man I got to drop the kids off at the pool first before I go to class.
action camera shows the restroom Collier runs in to the restroom and slams in to the stall show Colliers face he closes his eyes
Collier: ahh there we go
action poop sounds
girl: ahh what the hell are you doing
action: Collier opens his eyes
setting: female locker room
girl: o my gosh it smells like shit ! what are you doing in her get out get out get out
Collier : Ahh! What the flip! I''m so sorry! I have no idea how the hell I got in here
action: Collier pulls his pants up and runs in to the female shower by accident
women: you pervert get out girls only
action hitting sounds and splashing around show Collier going back down the hallway in the opposite direction pan to him out side the door of the women's restroom
Collier Oowww... What da-fuq is going on?
pan over to Jelani
settings art class each student had a canvas in front of them
teacher: okay for our next project I want your best depiction of your spirt animal what animal speaks to your heart
Jelani: sighs I have the imagination of a dog chasing his tail this is gonna be a long class
action Jelani starts to draw on the canvas and rips the paper out continues this process 3 times before slamming his head and hand on the canvas pant splats on it
Jelani: lunch couldn't come any sooner what I wouldn't do for a hot dog right now
action: the paint swirls above Jelani and a hot dog appears above him
Jelani: better yet a pizza
action the paint swirls again and a pizza appears above Jelani
Jelani: god I can almost taste it
action a pizza appears in his mouth Jelani spits it out on to the floor
Jelani: the fucking fuck?
action: Jelani runs out to the restroom knocking over a bowl of art supply's
teacher jela...(Jelani)
action: Jelani rushes out the door and in to a restroom Vince watch's him enter Jelani splash's his face with water
Jelani: okay its all right think what could this be
action Vince walks In
Vince well well well look who's all alone
Jelani: Vince, I don't have time for this
action Jelani starts to turn around
Vince: is that so
action Vince snaps fingers and freezes the sink with Jelani hand still attached and grabs him by the neck
Vince: well lets make sometime
Jelani: okay but I don't think it's gonna be very enjoyable for you
action: Jelani steps on his foot and head buts him and kicks him to the ground
Jelani: now what now what now what
action Jelani looks at the ice
Jelani: break break break
action Jelani closes his eyes a flash of ice breaking appears
action: the ice crumbles in to the sink Jelani faces back to Vince he starts to stand up and gets to his feet
Vince: look who has a ill fight in him
action: Vince slams his arms in to Jelani's shoulders forcing him to the ground
Vince: and the fight is gone
action: Jelani falls to the ground a hazy camera of Jelani looking at a stall
Jelani(inner voice) damn that hurt
action: Jelani starts to crawl to the stall and lifts his hand to pull his self up Vince reaches down and picks up Jelani and lifts him against the stall door and lifts a frost fist behind him Jelani looks at the door and notices a loosen screw instantly imagines the screw stopping his fist and closes his eyes then opens them seeing that it has happened they both exclaim shocked
(Jelani & Vince) wha..(what)
action: Vince continues to force his fist at Jelani Jelani smirks
Jelani: now that were on equal terms
action: Jelani lifts his other hand a pulse flashes out of his hand pushing Jelani and Vince in opposite directions Jelani lands on the stall and hits his back on the toilet metal pump
Jelani: okay ouch :(action says while standing up )
action: Vince stands up anger is shown on his face the sprinklers turn on the water starts to freeze as it falls to the floor the fire alarm goes off
(10 minutes earlier) text appears
pan over to Anthony
teacher: okay class we have used water to demonstrate the 3 states of matter solid liquid and gas now our last experiment will be with fire to create the forth state of mater also known as plasma and just to add a lil twist we will use a copper to creating a blue flame
action: show Anthony drooling on the lab desk
teacher: your gonna have to be paying full attention because this is a highly (action teacher points at Anthony and makes a shoving motion the student next to Anthony nudges him to wake him up Anthony head pops up and looks around in confusion) dangerous exper.... (experiment)
teacher: welcome back to the land of the living Anthony ready to join the rest of us
action: Anthony yawns
Anthony: o please do go on I'm so intrigued the excitement
teacher: (action the teacher stares at isaiah annoyed) as i was saying ....umm.. o. This is a highly dangerous experiment so pay attention
action: show Anthony dosing off
teacher okay first grab your copper out of the element box and put it in to the beaker now take the syringe and spray water on to the copper this loosen the heavy salts changing its mass from a solid to a gas only gases can become a flame
action Anthony eyes starts to close and he starts to see ill dots all around the copper
teacher this also starts to release hydrogen in to the beaker now turn on your electric heater
action a charge drips off Anthony lip shocking the heater
teacher: as the molecules starts to heat up the hydrogen ignites from the oxygen in the air
action Anthony eyes start to slight widen the partials ignite and trail of blue flames go on to his hand the student next to him jumps
student: Fire Fire!! action Anthony jumps out his seat
Anthony what where
student fire its on your pants
action Anthony jumps up swiping at the fire the fire discharges from his hands and hits the floor Anthony runs to a safety shower spout and reaches to turn it on the water turns on and swirls around his body
Anthony: the fires not going out help me
action a student runs to Anthony the fire starts to heat and a discharge of electricity shoots out the fire and swirls around his body Anthony lifts his hand
Anthony: wait don't stay back its dangerous
a bolt of energy shoots out his hand and through the window Anthony runs out the room as a trail of electricity fire and water swirl behind him students follow behind him as the three elements start to dissipate the fire alarm goes off
pan to Jelani
action:a wave of ice freezes the water up to the toilet Jelani back clides with the stall wall
jelani: I need to get out of here
action: the wall turns in to a door and jelani rush out of the door and in to the hallway as vince blast a beam of ice in to the stall freezing the entire thing vince turns to jelani as each drop of water from the sprinklers freeze as it clides and shatters as it reaches the ground jeans stares down at vince since takes a pill out of his pocket and pops it in his mouth ice drips off of vinces body
vince: you and your friends judge me for using these phantom pills and look who's secretly a little druggy jelani
jelani: I'm not a degenerate like you vince Idk how I have these ability but anything I imagine happens so let's do this
action: Vince releases a breath of ice out the screws of the restroom stalls start to fly off of the its Henge blocking vince ice breath then the screws start flying off hitting vince over and over in different spots
vince: enough!
action: vince freezes the air and all the screws fall to the ground
vince: I'm done playing with you jeans
jelani: too far
action: vince starts to send waves of ice at jelani freezing jelanis leg to the wall and vince freezes jelanis arms and other leg jelani closes his eyes
jelani: cardboard cardboard cardboard
action: the wall behind jelani starts to glow and and forms flimsy cardboard as vince charges a large partial of ice in his hands and releases it as jelani falls through the wall and in to the a locker in the hallway bumping his head on the locker door
jelani : sighs great now I'm in a locker
action teens run down the hall way passing Jelani in the locker Collier bumps against a girls butt the girl punches him and he falls to the ground
girl you creep don't touch me. Sneaking in the girls restroom yuk
Collier:Wait no its not like that, I swear I have no idea how I got in there!
girl what ever
action: girl continues running down the hall
Collier: seriously
Jelani: I'm almost to happy Im stuck in here to hear that
Collier: Jelani what are you doing in there
Jelani: well this is my comfort spot I come in here to contemplate out how to solve world hunger, bring world peace, What the fuck do you think im doing in here im stuck , you idijt!!!
Collier: you know it would be real easy for me to continue down my merry way
Jelani and id like to wish on your merry way good sir,but, if you would be so kind to GET ME OUT THE BLOODY LOCKER that would be greeeaattt
Collier sighs hold on hold on
Jelani: o please do take your time
Collier its not like im a master lock picker
Jelani o
Collier what
Jelani nothing keep going
action unlock noise
Collier : there we go
Jelani yay we did it
action Collier opens the door Jelani walks out the locker
Jelani no need to dwell. shall we?
Collier dude there's a latch on the door. You could've gotten yourself outta there yourself.
Collier shows Jelani the latch on the locker and demonstrates how it works
Jelani I don't know what your talking about(says quickly) (action continues walking)
action Collier shakes his head and continues down the hallway both head outside of the door camera shows them walking down a tiny stare way the girls turn and stare at Collier
Jelani what was that about
Collier the reason im going to stay single my whole high school year Jelani o and you and the closet being mighty tight wasn't gonna do that
action Collier looks at Jelani
Collier whatever lets find Anthony you know how he gets around fire
action Collier starts walking looking around
Jelani well I think this is just a drill judging that everyone not screaming and going crazy
Collier yeah I guess. I see him over there in the back
action Collier and Jelani approach Anthony
Collier hey Anthony h..(how)
action Anthony grabs Jelani and Collier and pull them to the side
Anthony shut up listen that goes double for you Jelani
Jelani no promises
Anthony I did this I started the fire I don't know how but I got Gen X in my system im shooting electricity starting fire controlling water and there are dots all In the air im loss...(losing)
Jelani wait you too
Anthony what are you talking about
Jelani I fought Vince with the ability to I don't know make stuff from nmmy imaginationtion
Anthony we need to go to the tent and figure this out
action Anthony and Jelani run off
Collier first day of school and already ditching
action Jelani turns around
Jelani are you contemplating the universe or something come on!
Action Jelani turns back towards Anthony and continues running Collier starts running
setting the tent
action Anthony walks up to the tent and flings the doors open Jelani walks in be hind him Collier continues be hind him Anthony turns around
Anthony show me
Jelani well take me out to dinner first this show ain't free
Anthony the ability man the ability
jelani mmmm hmm im just sayin if i hear some baby making music im out
action jelani closes his eyes and nothing happens
Anthony: performance exiade
action jelani moves his dreads from his face and looks at Anthony
jelani: god I hate these things and I'd how this works I was running off of instanct I wasn't thinking about it it was all reaction
Anthony try again
action: jelani moves his dreads away from his face
jelani : I'm not a trained monkey I don't know how this works
action jelani moves his dreads from his face
jelani god I hate these things when there untwisted
collier you should just cut them off 3 hours to just twist seems like a lot of work
jelani: and look like you too no hair no real style just bound screw that I can't even imagine my hair gone just picturing that
action while jelani says that he shutters and his hair starts to glow and his hair turns short and in a fade
jelani sends chills down my spine now shut up I have to focus
action isaiah starts laughing
jelani: will you shut up
action a sandwich appears in his hand
Anthony instant manifestation fascinating
Jelani I showed you mine show me yours
Anthony I don't know how to do mine it happened on its own he was talking about how chemical reaction work and I rubbed my fingers together and there was a flame emitted on the copper
Jelani well you know how it happened try it
Anthony there's no copper her
Collier do you still see those particles
Anthony yea there's some in the air and there's lil ones all on the ground
Collier snap your fingers
action Anthony snaps nothing happens
Anthony may be it was just my imagination
Jelani yeah flames always just magically appear on metal
action Anthony rubs hand against his head and closes his eyes a discharge trail trickles down his body and jumps around the air and dissipates as it approaches Collier Collier and Jelani jump back
Anthony I don't know man
action Anthony opens his eyes
Collier woo wooo
action Collier disappears and a clone sits in his place and the charge erupts in to the clones body
Anthony o my god Collier
Jelani you just turned Collier in to a baked potato what the hell man
Collier ummm help me
action Anthony and Jelani looks up and see Collier hanging by a type wire
Anthony just drop we will catch you
Collier yeah like you guys are fucking the most reliable source in a game of catch but I have an idea
action Collier lets go
Anthony what the hell are you doing
Jelani you dumb fuck
action Collier disappears and a clone takes his place when it gets close to the ground it vanishes in mid air Collier runs up be hind Anthony and grabs his shoulder
Collier I CAN FUCKING TELEPORT!!!
Anthony and clone your self wait whats that
show more particles in the air
Jelani what is it
Anthony there's a concentration of those lil dots I was talking about comeing from the door
action Jelani walks too the door and gets Spartan kicked in to the room Vince walks in pulling the door open showing him and 3 other boys
Vince whats up motha fuckas rematch and I brought friends as
Episode 1 end

Flying Sparks

Pre Order Now

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https://i.redd.it/bqo2debncb3b1.gif

Chapter 2

“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”
The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
​
https://i.redd.it/zafjty1qcb3b1.gif
“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
#FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding

[Flying Sparks

Pre Order Now](https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon)Chapter 2
“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!” The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding

Flying Sparks

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Chapter 2

“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”
The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
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“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
#FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding