Quote of the Week #16


The quote for this week is:

“Close your eyes and imagine the best version of you possible. That’s who you really are, let go of any part of you that doesn’t believe it.” ~ C. Assaad

Talk to you soon,


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Writing Prompt: Barcode


The prompt I’m using this week was actually a picture of a hand with a barcode on the palm, under which it said “SLAVE”. I’ve had problems posting pictures here before, but I might add it later on.


The hum of machinery filled the air as we were shoved single file through the doorway. Everything around us was stark white, including the odd suits that the workers wore and the lacking garments we were given. It was the seventh time I had been moved, but it never got easier. The woman two people ahead of me was pulled aside with a muted whisper and a firm hand, and the man in line after her was rushed through to get everything back on time.

My turn came, and the middle aged woman behind the desk looked up at me with bored, blank eyes. Her expression matched the colorless environment, just as bland and just as uniform. She looked me up and down, then glanced down at the paper on her desk. She stamped it with something in gray ink, though I still couldn’t read to learn what it said. Her assistant picked up the scanner, holding the blue laser up to the barcode tattooed on the inside of my wrist. The tiny beep it made was lost under the sound of the machinery, and I was moved towards two identical, rounded doorways.

The guard looked just as vacant as everyone else, his pale eyes briefly meeting mine as he gestured for me to go through the door to my left.

It was always the one to the left for people like me.

People to the right were the paid servants. The ones everyone said had proved their worth. I knew that if you were like me, you could never prove your worth. That wasn’t how it worked. You were born into goodness or cast into filth. That was how it worked.

To the left went the slaves. The poor people of the little towns that the nobles of the area had decided just weren’t good enough anymore. Maybe it was because they weren’t so clean and posh as them.

The first time I had come through, my tattoo was so fresh it was still bumpy and red. I had been fourteen, I think, but it was hard to keep track of years like this. My parents had been slaves, too, working fields for the nobles. Apparently, they hadn’t brought in enough grain, so they took me too, the year of the famine. That told me that daughters were worth only a hundred bushels of grain. They hadn’t taken my brother yet.

As I walked down the bleached hallway, I was brought to another set of doorways, again taking the left, as I always had done. Over the times through this process, I had learned to keep my head down, and only look at others at checkpoints. When I was younger, I would try looking around to find someone I knew, but that always brought be a swift backhand across the face or a rougher tug on the lead around my neck and wrists.

So now I looked at the ground, or at the legs of the slave in front of me. It was safer that way.

The machinery grew quieter behind us, replaced by a different sort of whirring. There was one more doorway, then I’d be shoved on the cramped little wagon to take me to my new master. I was never sure if that was a good or a bad thing. I had encountered both.

But when the rest of the slaves ahead of me took the usual left hand doorway, the guard stopped me, separating me from the rest of them and taking my bindings off. He wordlessly moved me to the right, nodding and shoving me forward with his gloved hand between my shoulders. He traded me off to another guard and returned to his post.

She was smaller, but equally intimidating, with her tightly wrapped bun and black leather gloves. Her suit had a reddish brown tint to it, and I knew she didn’t work in the Sorting. I turned my eyes forward and followed her brisk walk.

I didn’t know what this doorway was for. I had never seen anyone go through it before.


Talk to you soon,


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Quote of the Week #15


This was supposed to be posted last Wednesday (4/12/17), but apparently never left the draft stage. Sorry about that!

The quote for this week is:

“Settle your heart, child, your time will come. One of these days, you will meet eyes with someone who makes you feel so at home in the world you will think to yourself, ‘Ah, there you are.'” ~ Beau Taplin

Talk to you soon,


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Writing Prompt: Wings


I don’t know why I’ve been restating the prompts in the posts all this time. It’s right there in the title 😉


Their wings were bright and vibrant. Some where iridescent, shimmering as they moved. Others ranged from reds and oranges to purples and blues, depending on their clan. Others still had wings of white. Pure. Clean. Beautiful. They were the “good” ones, in the eyes of the world. Healers.

My sister’s were gray. She was the first in a long while to have gray wings. Everyone was worried, praying over our parents, pleading to the gods for mercy. They thought she was an ill omen, since the last one of us with gray wings brought a plague on the world.

Then I was brought into that place. From the day my wings came, they were black as onyx. Suddenly, the grayness of my sister’s wings meant nothing. They urged our parents to get rid of us. Of me, at least. They said that the warning of my sister was that I had been coming.

I was just a young child. I knew nothing of gods and laws, little indeed of why my dark wings should bring such harsh judgment. All I knew was that the rest of us were beautiful, and somehow the lack of color meant that I did not belong in a place I had no choice to be.

Our mother listened. She separated herself from us and returned to her blue clan after being “purified” by the healers. Our father did not. He stayed with us, protecting us as best he could as we grew. The others never forgave, and they never forgot what he hid in his home when he went hunting. My sister and I would hide in the darkness until he returned, and we never left when the others were awake. We learned to be stealthy, to avoid the eyes of those who we didn’t want to notice us.

Then it ended.

First came the storms, harsh and bitter. Then came another plague. Lesser at first, but it grew stronger. A famine followed, since those who grew food had become so sick and couldn’t work anymore.

They blamed me. They blamed my sister. They blamed my father.

Since he hadn’t listened the first time he was told to send us away, they took it upon themselves to do it without his consent.

So they came with their magic, their clawed hands and bitter hearts, tearing down the surroundings of safety he had so lovingly built for us. They took him out, dragging him by his feet to the middle of the village, where his wings were shredded by their hate and his life was drawn out as slowly as they could take it. Before he died, he screamed at my sister and I to run, and never come back, so we did. They chased us a ways, and took part of my sister’s wing as a last act of spite.

I was nearly full grown when our forced solitude grew greater. Now, we wander the world, not daring to stop in the same place for too long, lest bad things come and we are blamed again. I care for her, and take the brunt of the anger from those who see us. We are still ill omens. We are still not wanted.

So when someone tells you not to trust a faerie…believe them.


Talk to you soon,


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Quote of the Week #14


The quote for this week is:

“I began to realize how important it was to be an enthusiast in life. If you are interested in something, no matter what it is, go at it full speed. Embrace it with both arms, hug it, love it, and above all become passionate about it. Lukewarm is no good.” ~ Roald Dahl

Talk to you soon,


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Weekly Writing Prompt: The Scar


The prompt I decided to use for this week was about scars, so here goes! 🙂


Riddle had known Griffin a long time. He wasn’t much older than the Sprite girl, but he knew more about the dangerous city they lived in. His morals were incredibly lower as well, which may have been more helpful in his survival on his own than he would have liked to admit.

The unlikely duo took care of one another, year after year, forging as safe a haven as could be found in the alleys and dark places of the city. They didn’t have many rules, at least not any spoken ones. It was an accepted fact between them that neither of them were to ask where the other had come from before they found each other. Riddle never dug into her past, and she never prodded at his. Instead, from the time their strange team began, they built their friendship as if they had both sprung up out of the gutters of the city without anything coming before that moment.

Even though Riddle never asked Griffin, he couldn’t help but wonder. In the hot months of the year, when cloaks and coats were far from needed, he noticed scars on her back. They were white and raised, long lines starting at her shoulders and crisscrossing all the way down. She would try to readjust her loose-fitting shirts to cover them, but it was hard, and she would become frustrated with the process and give up, leaving them visible.

He had scars himself; anyone who lived like them did. Most of the biggest ones came from before Griffin, and he kept himself quiet. They weren’t stories for her to know. They weren’t stories he wanted to go on remembering, either.

So, in silence he assumed the same of her scars, caring for her when she was too sick to do so herself, and making sure she knew that as long as they remained together, he would never let anyone or anything hurt her like that again.


Talk to you soon,


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As you probably noticed, I haven’t been posting the daily writing prompts. I got a bit behind, to the point that I don’t really have the time to sit down and type it all up to catch up to speed, and I realized that the process of doing that (or at least trying to) has been taking away from other things that I’ve been trying to do.


Next month, I’ll be posting a writing prompt on Mondays, hopefully making it a bit longer, since I’m only doing it once a week, and Quote of the Weeks on Wednesdays. I’m going to give that schedule a try and see how it fits 🙂

The goal is to eventually find something that I can actually be consistent with.

We’ll get there someday.

Talk to you soon,


P.S. There’s a full list of the prompts I was planning on using for March in the Writing Prompts tab 🙂

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