Inktober 2019
October 1-31, 2019
In October 2019, Inktober released its Writers Edition. The challenge? Write 50-word fiction based on a prompt word throughout the month. I paired up with Tessa Fielding to combine her art with my writing.
Check out these pieces written for our 2019 contributions. Also, check out Tessa's other artwork on Instagram @TJSunray.
All artwork by Tessa Fielding
India Ink on parchment
watercolor added on some pieces
Ring
Averlene rested atop a dew sprinkled mushroom raising above sprigs of grass in her glen. Circlets of sunlight gleamed off morning mists and scattered across the world.
Scattered as the fairy folk had, running from the human enemy.
She fluttered her lacey wings, wishing to flee from this lonely utopia.
Mindless
She stares blankly, dour frown directed at nothing. A cup automatically rises to her lips.
You sigh, shaking your head, and walk away. How can she be so idle?
Inside her mind, worlds are forming and characters scream to be released upon a page.
The creator’s ink ghosts abound.
Bait
“I’ve got you now.”
I creep around a couch, sharp eyes locked on a twitching tail. Setting my feet, I pounce and extend deadly claws!
Before they sink in, a large paw grabs my middle, pulling me from my prey.
“That,” my sister jeers, “is how you catch a rascal.”
Frozen
If you raise your eyes you’ll see me there
Standing above you in the air.
A snow-capped mountain frozen and bitter
Through the seasons, summer and winter.
From my side, springs will grow
To fill rivers far below.
Take a moment, you will see
I give life. Please respect me.
Build
It’s easy to tell yourself there’s no time for other people’s problems.
It’s easy to say “It could be worse” or “Why can’t you just”.
But that isn’t what you did.
You built me up with encouragement.
You gave a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on.
Thank you.
Enchanted
Trees sway in the breeze, leaves rustling like little bells. Crickets sing their lonely tune, and I breathe the fresh air.
A chill breaks the enchanting spell, shattering my daydream. I pull my coat close. It’s winter in the mountains, yet the memory of fireflies conjures visions of spring.
Frail
Threads of silk glisten in the afternoon sun, tethered to tree branches in invisible lines. The strands interconnect in precise geometric circles.
A breath of wind pushes and pulls the web, so fragile it breaks at the slightest touch, but strong enough to snare the delicate wings of a passerby.
Swing
Each minute I swing back and forth. My vigil of time neither yielding nor faltering, pacing each second.
Bells ring the hour to a hurried world, but even my time draws to a close. Without caring hands to clean gears and wind weights I’ll fall still, becoming a useless decoration.
Pattern
My forehead pressed against the cold rim of an airplane window, I sigh at bleak grey clouds.
“Ding!” the seatbelt light illuminates and the plane descends below the clouds with a shudder.
A beautiful patchwork of farmlands comes into view, replacing my boredom with wonder. It’s good to be home.
Snow
“Incoming!” My sister cried out and we both ducked behind the rampart before icey projectiles flew above our heads.
“I’m running out of ammo,” I say, checking the stockpile beside me.
“Me too. I’ll make more.” She slips away, packing handfuls of snow in a rush. “We’ll get those boys!”
Dragon
We hiked Deadend Pass today following the flock of cherub dragons. The climb was arduous, and we ended up at the bass of a vertical rock-face.
Cherub’s perched on the sides with ease, like they can defy gravity! It’s hard to remember we can’t climb up and rest beside them.
Overgrown
Shears in her gloved hands, Patti studied the mass of green engulfing the yard. Trees rose through the overgrown bushes and vines, their branches straining toward the sun.
I can tame this, she thought, fighting back her own overwhelmed feelings. I’ll make flowers bloom again. Lips pursed, she began clipping.
Legend
Dear Stars,
Our traditions teach us to wish upon you, even as you fall from the sky. You are in our songs. We combine you in patterns and name you after our own legends.
But I need to know, who are you? What’s your real story?
Sincerely,
A curious child
Wild
Tiptoe through the crunchy snow with padded paws to stifle footfalls. Stop and tilt perked ears toward the ground. Is something there? The sound of tiny claws scratching and a whispered squeak answers.
Wild anticipation surges. Leap into the air and crash through the white fluff to catch dinner.
Ornament
“You’re always cooking something fancy.”
“I’m not cooking. I am making art that pleases the eyes and the tongue.”
“That’s sweet and all, but who cares how it looks if it tastes good. Can I even eat those little leaves?”
“Yes, and I recommend a small piece with every bite.”
Misfit
“His ears are weird.”
“And his breath stinks!”
Percy shrank back, whining. The people said this was his new home. Why would these cats be so mean?
“He’s strange alright,” the eldest tuxedo cat purred. Tail raised, she rubbed his face. “But does a misfit have to not fit in?”
Tread, Treasure, Ghost, Ancient, Dizzy, Taste, and Dark
Picking through glum tunnels full of corpses and their ghosts, I clutched my pack where the treasure of Aldean hid. One more trial barred my way, then I’d taste freedom. A booby-trapped door carved in ancient runes.
I spilled dice to a tabletop. They danced and spun, deciding my fate.