I was looking through some old files this week, and came across one of the short stories I’m actually proud of. I struggle with short stories, because I always want to tell more and make the story bigger and longer, which is why I predominantly write novels. There are a few short pieces I’m proud of, and this is one of them. I originally wrote this for a fiction course in college. I also did a bit of work on it in 2007 and actually sent it out to a few magazines in an attempt to get it published as part of a course I was taking in graduate school. I haven’t worked on it since, but I thought I would share it with you here since I’m still rather fond of the story.
The Souls in Their Eyes
By Heather C. Wright
Dawn comes in a fiery blaze of red. Rhoash sits on the bed looking out the window to her left. She hasn’t slept at all. She can’t remember ever sleeping the night before her birthing day celebration. Each birthing day brought more responsibilities with it but this one is different. Almost a year ago her body began to follow the cycles of the moon, meaning that this year she celebrates her entrance into womanhood. No more wearing my brothers’ outgrown shirts and breeches. The sun rises above the buildings in the distance, momentarily blinding her, Rhoash closes her eyes. Continue reading
I selected the image of the ruins for my sprint this time. I had so much fun with it that I kept working on it too, so I expect there may be more snippets from this piece as I continue with what is developing into a novel idea.
The Silo, a Storm, and Wings:
Ian climbed up the crumbling stone steps carefully. He knew he should have gotten someone to come with him, but he’d promised to send pictures of the old silo to Nina by today. He’d gotten plenty of shots from down below when he came last week, but she’d talked about getting a shot from up within the ruined castle through one of the windows or a crumbling whole in the wall and he wanted to get her one like that.
Ian glanced up at the sky. The clouds were gray and heavy, promising rain later and possibly a storm. He needed to hurry. Continue reading
I picked the image of Queen Margret’s Chapel for my 20 minute sprint this week.
The Spy in the Chapel:
Ki stopped in the courtyard and took a moment to study the building. It was a simple stone structure with a slanted roof and only one entrance. There were three steps leading from the cobbled courtyard into the building.
It had been a chapel originally, a place of worship where the local lord instructed his own priests to minister to the poor and needy among his people.
It hadn’t been used as a chapel for years. The most recent lord of the province had little faith and even less interest in helping the poor, so the building had sat empty for more than a decade.
It seemed like a strange place for a meeting, but then he was meeting a spy after all. Continue reading