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to x. written May 17, 2024 3:52:50 GMT
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[attr="class","threes"]to x.

[attr="class","merriwrites"]
  • [break]
    29. Coming Home[break]
    13. Palace[break]
    06. How Have You Been?[break]
    30. At World's End[break]
    19. Symmetry[break][break]

    27. Free Fall[break]
    03. Beloved[break]
    08. Call & Response[break]
    24. Heartbeat[break]
    10. Risk[break][break]

    16. Smoke & Mirrors[break]
    04. Storm Warning[break]
    FREE SPACE[break]
    05. So They Say[break]
    22. Gold[break][break]

    11. Magnetic[break]
    14. 1924[break]
    01. Conqueror[break]
    12. Forbidden[break]
    28. Hero[break][break]

    26. Judgement Day[break]
    20. Going Nowhere[break]
    15. From Afar[break]
    07. Dollhouse[break]
    25. Creation[break]
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last edit on Jun 27, 2024 21:57:51 GMT by merri
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to x. written May 17, 2024 3:54:32 GMT
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[attr="class","threes"]number 20.

[attr="class",tox"]going nowhere

[attr="class","merriwrites"]Flora spun around in her chair at the newspaper office. Her coworker laughed as she went around and around. Work was slow that day. She stopped spinning and rested her elbows on the desk, looking at the story she was supposed to proofread. An article about some research about something. She wasn't in the mood to sit and make herself learn some of the terminology and jargon.

The clock ticked on as Flora completed other menial tasks. With relief, she shut her computer off and said farewell to her coworkers. Tomorrow, she could work from home. Once she got home, she'd munch on snacks and play games until her eyes couldn't stay open. The only task she'd need to complete was finishing the proofreading.

Walking down the road back, she kicked at rocks and invisible things on the sidewalk. Her job wasn't terrible. She learned a lot from assisting in suggesting topics to write about and reading over her superiors' articles. It had been a year since she'd started working for the local paper. Yet, her degree in journalism didn't appear to be the key to promotion.

She sat down on a bench in the park near the apartment buildings. The sun was beginning to set, turning the sky into a painting. With a sigh, she stood up. Sometimes, she wished for something better, to go somewhere, to make a name for herself, but for now she would stay exactly where she was. There was no rush.
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last edit on Jun 13, 2024 2:49:49 GMT by merri
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to x. written May 18, 2024 18:39:10 GMT
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[attr="class","threes"]number 13.

[attr="class",tox"]palace

[attr="class","merriwrites"]Every fairytale rewritten by others, ones that derailed from the original material, had happy endings. A princess like Cinderella would arrive at the palace in a dress made by a fairy godmother. Another princess like Belle would live in the palace with a beast until love prevailed one day, and the prince was no longer a hairy monster.

After watching a movie claiming to be a twist on the classic fairytales everyone knew, Lucas considered all this. He shut his eyes. From all his memories and knowledge of stories, he wondered if there would ever be a version of the story told from the prince's point of view. His mind, which spent all its time looking at money, numbers, and names, couldn't quite picture himself as a prince.

But... if he were a prince, his palace would be small and cozy. It'd smell of fresh linen and lemon. Anyone and everyone would be welcomed into it. He wouldn't wear a crown. He'd want to know who he served in his position of royalty. The walls, furniture, and clothes would all be his favorite colors.

He'd want the palace to be a safe place where fear, worries, and troublesome things like taxes didn't exist. His mom and brother would be cared for, and he'd be happy. Truly happy.
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last edit on Jun 13, 2024 3:04:19 GMT by merri
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to x. written May 27, 2024 19:33:23 GMT
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[attr="class","threes"]number 29.

[attr="class",tox"]coming home

[attr="class","merriwrites"]"Your father isn't here, Cricket."

The nickname from Camille's childhood sounded odd in her father's long-time assistant's voice. She studied his expression as he stared back at her with calm blue eyes. It was only used by people who couldn't seem to move on and understand that she wanted to leave it in the past. Once upon a time, she would have smiled about it. Now, it felt like a burden with a thousand reasons why it needed to be dead and buried.

"And why would he not be here when he wanted to go to lunch? I do have a schedule to keep to, Mr. Aubert." She crossed her arms, frustrated with her father.

Cricket. She shuddered at the name. Only the child in her wished to have the nickname hold affection once again. She did her best to avoid meeting the assistant's gaze, hands curling into fists. Mr. Aubert looked deeply saddened. A frown had replaced his familiar smile. They had known each other since Camille had been a small child.

"I do not know. Would you like to leave him a note?"

Camille waved her hand in dismissal of the idea. "I will email him, as he prefers that to a text message. See you." She turned on her heel and clicked out of the office and into the elevator.

Pulling her car into her parking spot, Camille clutched her work bag and journeyed to her apartment. Once she had unlocked the door, she kicked off her heels, tossed her bag on the counter, and collapsed onto the couch, face buried in a pillow.

At least this felt like home.
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last edit on Jun 13, 2024 3:04:54 GMT by merri
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to x. written Jun 9, 2024 19:39:26 GMT
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[attr="class","threes"]number 15.

[attr="class",tox"]from afar

[attr="class","merriwrites"]Squinting at the paperwork on the desk of the shelter, Flora set it down and moved in the direction of the cat area. There were so many new additions to the group. She clasped her hands together in excitement. She'd get lots of material to write their adopt-me blurbs after she spent some time playing with and observing them.

Adjusting her volunteer tag, Flora came to a halt. A lady and a child were looking at one of the senior cats. She watched closely. It was rare for people, especially children, to take any interest in an older cat. Pumpernickel was a bit broody but a sweet guy at the core. Flora had needed several days to get to know him before she felt she could do him justice in his adoption tag.

She didn't know if she should approach the two. Pumpernickel appeared interested in them. Flora wondered if there was hope in his kitty heart that these people would be the ones to take him home. She decided that she didn't want to interrupt the bonding that was happening. The last thing Flora saw that day was Pumpernickel rubbing against the little girl's fingers.

A few days later, filing documents, she found his adoption form and the family's paperwork. Smiling, Flora tucked them into the correct folder. She was glad that she'd kept her distance. Sometimes, all it took was giving visitors and possible adopters time and space to connect with one of the cats or kittens.

Pumpernickel would be loved. That much Flora knew.
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last edit on Jun 13, 2024 3:17:34 GMT by merri
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to x. written Jun 13, 2024 3:28:32 GMT
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[attr="class","threes"]number 28.

[attr="class",tox"]hero

[attr="class","merriwrites"]When did you become a villain?

Was it when you spoke out of a place of anger?

Villains never win. You know this. You say terrible things and then claw desperately at forgiveness. Your halo no longer glows. In its place are horns, crooked and broken. Wings burnt and frayed. Your intentions are evil, but to be evil, you must be living. Did you know that evil spells live backward?

When are you going to live a kind life?

Villains don't have friends. They push and pull and expect something in return for their misdeeds. Words speak loudly. They deafen and hurt. Actions add insult to injury.

So, tell me...

When will you become a hero?

You won't need a cape. You won't need to fly from rooftop to rooftop, saving lives. Heroes do everyday things. They are a little jaded, but use their experiences and cracked rose-colored glasses to do good. They own up to their mistakes. They give what they can to improve and love and care for others.

I ask you again...

When will you choose to be a hero?

- X
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last edit on Jun 13, 2024 3:32:12 GMT by merri
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to x. written Jun 24, 2024 18:59:34 GMT
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[attr="class","threes"]number 07.

[attr="class",tox"]dollhouse

[attr="class","merriwrites"]They were so perfect, lined up like a row of soldiers. Each one was a suspect of something incredibly terrible. How much longer could each one hide? The inspector did not fiddle. He stood unmoving. One let out a puff from their pipe. Another nervously clutched her handbag. The third let out a long sigh.

"How long you plannin' on keepin' us here?" The banker gruffly asked, his mustache perfectly trimmed and hair slicked back with so much grease it twinkled in the sunlight.

Philip looked up from his notebook. Everything was in shorthand so that no one except maybe the secretary dabbing at her red lips could make heads or tails of them. It contained all the notes he'd taken after casual conversations with the self-proclaimed victims. "You'll be dismissed soon enough." No shaking, no hesitancy, a level voice. He had no intent of causing distress, not when all the dolls were right there, worried about only themselves.

It wasn't your regular group of folks. Each one had different motives, even as they lied through their teeth about their whereabouts and connection to the victim. He searched each of their expressions again before turning to the police chief.

"All of ya are dismissed, but you should not leave the city. This is an ongoing investigation." The chief tugged at his bushy mustache. Philip nodded.

"If you need me, chief, you know where to find me." Philip tucked his notebook under his arm before taking fifteen steps toward the door. Then, a sharp left, hands on the doorknob, and out into the bustling streets. What a house. What a group. He would pick and scrape at each individual until he found the one.
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to x. written Jun 25, 2024 22:23:37 GMT
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[attr="class","threes"]number 26.

[attr="class",tox"]judgement day

[attr="class","merriwrites"]"And where were you the day the Missus disappeared?" Philip asked, his eyes never leaving the housemaid whose hands trembled and eyes watered.

"I wasn't nowhere near here. Wednesdays be my day off. See," the nervous housemaid replied, pointing to a calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. Each Wednesday had been circled with a black marker. Philip looked away after precisely thirty seconds before scribbling something in his notebook.

The poor woman in front of him averted her gaze out of respect. "I didn't see no one. I go to town to see Gretchen." Philip tucked the pen into his notebook and closed it.

"Gretchen? Did she know your Missus?" He counted how long it took her to answer. Exactly fifteen seconds. "No, sir." He nodded approvingly. She was thus far the most innocent of the bunch. He would try to visit the banker next. He rose from the kitchen chair and fixed his suit jacket. The housemaid urgently stood up as well.

He made his way to the door. "One last question, if you permit me, Miss Shaw." The maid nodded. "Do you know a banker? A Mister Chevalier?" She shook her head.

Philip placed his hat on his head and tipped it. "You have been most helpful. Thank you."

Forty steps to the front door and twenty more down the walkway to the street. Philip pulled the pen out of his notebook and wrote a single note.

Attempt to hide surprise at name of banker. Pursue.
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to x. written Jun 27, 2024 21:57:31 GMT
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[attr="class","threes"]number 25.

[attr="class",tox"]creation

[attr="class","merriwrites"]"Papa! Papa!" The young girl called to her father. Her long, silver hair had been braided with ribbons woven in and out of the strands.

"In here, dearest," her papa called from the backroom of the shop. Neyri swept past the instruments in the shop and through the open door. Her papa was hunched over on his stool, fingers working carefully at some wood. "How were your friends?" He asked, not looking up.

Neyri plopped down into the chair across from him. It had been there since she had been small. Her papa had said it'd been placed in the room and belonged to the shop longer than she'd been alive. Picking at the end of her braid, she momentarily thought about how her friends were.

Then, excitedly, she leaned forward. "They're doing great! I told them that you were making something new. They asked what, but I never remember what you're working on." Her papa stopped and set his knife on the table. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "So... what is this?"

He looked down at the large piece of wood. Neyri watched a small frown form and a faraway look on his face appear. "Papa?" The word broke him out of his trance. The frown vanished and was replaced with a smile.

"It is what we call a harp. I am making one." It was the first time he'd even thought to do so in decades. Neyri's head tilted. She'd heard the instrument's name before and was sure it'd been played around her before. "It is a lovely sounding instrument. You will like it."

Neyri grinned. "Of course, papa. I'm sure I will."
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last edit on Jun 28, 2024 16:56:57 GMT by merri
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