Well, it seems that you've found your way to my blog.  Congratulations!  My small corner of the world isn't so small anymore.  :)
If you want to read about me, just look somewhere along the sidebar and you should find something to the extent of an overview of me, as a person.
But this introduction is to my blog, not me.

This blog is where I post my writings.  They're mostly fantasy writings, because that's what I like to write; however, my one shots span several genres such as action, scifi, romance, and drama.
Here's a list of what I've got so far:

   - The Well of Souhaiters: this is my first completed book (note: this was originally called Marcy's Story cause I'm llame and didn't know what to call it). Summary: Marcy is forced to stay with her aunt over the summer while her parents go to the Bahamas. Soon after she arrives, she realizes that Aunt Jenny, strangely like her house, isn't all she seems. She is promptly thrown headfirst into an adventure she never asked for, but enjoys anyway. Who knew that practically all her family was magical?
   - one shots: these are just a bunch of short stories (mostly like really short). In these I'm trying to develop my skills and so they're all over the board as far as genres/etc. Some of my best work here.
   - sudden connection: what was meant to be a short romance novella has turned into a novel. Summary: Taylor is a Starbucks barista acing her way through college. Brandon is a talented graphic designer. Taylor's parents are on the brink of divorce. Brandon lives alone. The two of them have nothing in common. When both are randomly struck by lightning, they involuntarily establish a physical and emotional link. They barely know each other. So why are they connected in a way no one, even themselves, could understand?
   - The Journey into the Unknown: this is my way too long to be a short story. It's like 17 pages, so it still qualifies as a short story, but yeah anyway. Summary: Firespark the dragon has lived with his best friend Lilly the fairy all his life. Suddenly, both of their lives are turned upside down as they embark on the journey of a lifetime. look i wrote this in 8th grade give me a break

Also I should probably tell you that I sign everything with my pen name, Zoë Wingfeather.
With that said, keep calm and read on!
~~Zoë Wingfeather

Chapter 2: Brandon's POV

I yawned and stretched. Another day. Another 24 hours. Time to live it, I thought, and hopped out of bed. I checked the time. “Hmm, only 6:57 am?” I said to myself. “I woke up before my alarm went off. Awesome.”
Stretching again, I walked to the bathroom and doused my face in cold water. I gasped, the icy liquid shocking me awake. I made faces at myself in the mirror and then put in my contacts. I’d been wearing them for quite a while, so they easily went onto my dark brown eyes. Quickly running my wet fingers through my messy dirty blond hair, I winked at myself. “Lookin’ good, Brandon,” I said, making finger guns in the mirror. “You should probably get dressed, though.”
After putting on some normal clothes, I made myself some peanut butter toast, reading one of my favorite novels while I ate. It was the third book in a series, one of my favorite murder mysteries so far. I couldn’t put it down.
Well, almost, I thought reluctantly, looking at the time. I’d better get to work. But first, coffee.
I locked up my small apartment and hopped in my beat up four-door car. Surprisingly, my parents let me live alone, something I wasn’t sure they’d let me do even though I was 20. They did live down the street, though, so I hadn’t escaped them fully. They were super protective when I was a kid and had only recently let me grow up.
I hit Starbucks on the way to work. My barista was a pretty girl with hair as dark as the night. Her name tag read “Taylor.” I smiled at her when she handed me my caramel frappe, and she gave me an uncertain smile back.
“Have a nice day!” I told her.
“You too!” she replied.
I shivered as I sipped my frigid frappe. Hmm, I thought. Wonder what the boss has for me to do today? Whatever it was, I couldn’t wait. I loved my job. I worked at a graphic design company, mostly drawing book covers. My art style was often described as realistic with a soft quality to it. It was always fun, and I could let my mind wander as I worked.
As I walked into work, my friend Layla the receptionist winked at me. “Morning, Brandon,” she said sweetly, batting those long dark eyelashes.
I shrugged uncomfortably. “Morning, Layla,” I said, awkwardly rubbing my ear. Layla giggled and ran her fingers through her curly hair.
“Got any plans tonight?” Her eyes twinkled and I swallowed.
“Actually, uh…yes. I…uh, I’m having dinner with my folks,” I finished weakly.
She looked suspicious, but at least she accepted the excuse on the outside. “Aw, okay. Hey, the boss brought in a new assignment for you.” She handed me a folder, with the details of the project inside. I was careful not to make physical contact when I grabbed the folder, just in case.
“Thanks, Layla. Have a great day!”
“You too.”
I hurried off, grateful for the diversion of work. Layla had been acting like that quite frequently lately, and I never seemed to know what to say around her. It doesn’t help that I’m not interested in her like that, I thought. I just…I could never see us together. She’s too…flighty.
I sat down at my desk and opened the folder. It was my favorite kind of assignment--another book cover, this one for a mystery novel. Perfect! What a score!
Plugging in my headphones, I turned on some suspenseful soundtracks to get in the mood and started to get to work on the cover, chewing my lip while I concentrated.
Time passed quickly and when I looked up at the clock it was already time for lunch. “Wow! The hours really fly when you’re doing what you love,” I exclaimed to absolutely no one. I grabbed my lunch bag and then paused. It was a beautiful spring day outside. Should I really go to the lunchroom while the weather is so amazing? I thought rhetorically. Nah. Definitely not today.
I strolled out the front door and sat down on one of the landscaping rock walls. The sun was shining. I had gotten some work done. I felt good. I bit into my sandwich with gusteau.
The fountain in front of the building caught the sun rays just right to make a rainbow in its spray. I smiled. “I should draw that,” I said. I talked to myself a lot. Usually no one was around to listen, so I wasn’t judged.
Except this time.
“Look who it is!” Aiden grinned that big toothy grin at me as he sauntered up, tossing a football from hand to hand.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh dear, here comes lover boy.”
“Shut up, bro!” My best friend punched my shoulder. I winced. “Are you jealous I’ve been spending so much time with Jamie lately?”
“Pfft. Me, jealous?” I asked sarcastically. “Impossible.”
“Alright, I’m sorry.” He plopped down beside me and held up his hands defensively. “I didn’t mean to schedule a date with Jamie on the night you invited me over.” Aiden blinked his green eyes apologetically at me.
I huffed. “Fine. But that means you buy me dinner sometime soon.”
“Deal.” Back to his smile again, Aiden tousled his blond hair. “Do you think I should cut my hair?”
Caught off guard by the subject change, I blinked at him. “Uh…”
“Jamie thinks I should cut it.” He shrugged. “Maybe it would look better in less of a surfer dude style.”
I laughed. “It’s your hair. You can do what you want with it!”
“Eh, I guess.” Aiden shrugged again. “But I wanna look good for Jamie, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” I rolled my eyes sarcastically.
My best friend laughed. “Dude, you gotta get out of this single state. You need a girl to look after you!”
“I don’t need anyone,” I protested. “I’m fine as I am!” I took a bite out of my sandwich and mockingly glared at him.
“Mhm,” he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. You need a girlfriend.”
“Whatever.” I shoved him and he laughed. Aiden was always laughing. A group of girls walked by and giggled at us. One waved at Aiden and he looked at me pointedly as they strolled off.
“Brandon, she was waving at you,” he whispered furiously.
“What the heck no,” I whispered back. “She was totally waving at you!”
“I’m telling you she was waving at you.” Aiden shook his head. “You gotta remember you don’t exactly…well, you’re not…bad looking,” he finished lamely. “But like not in that way, you know.”
“I understand.” I colored slightly anyway. “Plus, you’ve got Jamie. I’ve got me. Life is good, man.”
“Yeah, life is good,” he agreed. “Hey man, I gotta get to class. I’ll catch ya later.” Aiden grinned and held out his hand for a bro hug, which I gave to him.
“Don’t forget about dinner!” I yelled after him as he walked off. He raised a thumbs up in response.
Left to my own thoughts, I finished my sandwich and then checked my watch. My lunch break was almost over. “Hmm,” I muttered. “What’s on the schedule for today?” Scrolling through my phone, I looked up the date and thought about the rest of the day. Work ended at 4, and I had a city teens meeting later that evening and volleyball till 9 pm after that. It promised to be a busy day. But I liked busy.
I gathered my trash and then got back to work. Thankfully Layla hadn’t returned from her break when I stepped inside, so she couldn’t try and flirt with me. I blushed slightly just thinking about her forwardness.
For the rest of the day I made more headway on my mystery novel cover. I established a good base for the background of the artwork and began to apply layers of color where needed.
When I looked up at the clock I realized it was almost time for me to go. Wow, I thought, time really flew again! I finished up my progress and gathered up my things to head out. When I stepped outside I looked up at the sky and was slightly disappointed to see rain clouds. “Grr,” I grumbled. “I hope it doesn’t hinder volleyball. I love volleyball nights.”
Athletics isn’t really even my thing, but volleyball is easy enough for me to do it. Aiden often teased me that it was girly, but I always ignored him. For a big football player like him anything was girly.
I spiked the ball as hard as I could and succeeded in scoring a point for my team. My friends high fived me and patted my back as I grinned. We were winning 12 - 5, and the rest of the evening promised a win in our favor. If our luck was as high as we started, we’d cream the other team.
My friend Felicity stuck her tongue at me from the other side of the court. “Nyah, you’ll never win against us!”
“Brave words for the losing side!” I laughed. The game began again.
Thankfully, the rain had held off, though it was a cloudy night. It looked and smelled as if it might start up any moment. I hoped it wouldn’t—I was having too much fun.
After four more rounds with my team in the lead, the first drops splattered on my head. I looked up to a very dark purple and black sky as more drops rained down. It was welcome to the sweaty players, but there were good natured grumbles as more water fell. We all gathered under the community shelter and laughed about the game, friends picking on each other and laughing together.
“Hey, nice going out there, Brandon!” Oliver high fived me as I walked by.
“Thanks bro!" I grabbed a gatorade from the cooler and shook the ice cold drops off it. Looking back at all my friends, I saw them having a great time like friends should. I felt slightly exhausted by the day, after the meeting, and I decided to watch the rain instead of socializing. A part of my brain scolded me for being antisocial. I ignored it.
The rain came down in torrents. I leaned against one of the shelter posts and sipped my gatorade, watching. It was beautiful in a way. I should draw a thunderstorm sometime, I thought. Wonder how I could make it work? I leaned forward, trying to peer out into the curtain of water. Can I see any of the individual drops…?
The thought was never finished.
As soon as I leaned out of the shelter, there was a blinding flash of light and a thunderous crack; searing pain shot through my eyes; I felt every nerve in my body strain to the point of explosion. I would have screamed, but the pain in the roots of my teeth made my jaw lock up. My fingers stretched out and curled of their own accord, and I felt my hair stand on end; I felt as if every part of me was on fire.

My world faded to black as spots danced across what was left of my vision. I slipped out of consciousness.

Chapter 1: Taylor's POV

“Hey Mom, I got another A,” I said, heaving my backpack off my shoulder. I heard the TV on in the living room--Dad’s probably watching one of his games--and somewhere Elijah and Isaac were fighting over who got to use the swivel chair Lego piece. The house was chaotic as usual.
“That’s nice, Taylor,” Mom replied distractedly over the sound of my little sister Emilie screaming. Mom was trying to juggle washing dishes and Emilie at the same time and wasn’t managing either. Emilie had been in quite the mood recently, strange for a two year old. Who even knows with kids? They don’t make any sense, I thought to myself.
Mom planted a peck on my cheek and turned back to the dishes, the worry lines on her face especially prominent.
I sighed and ploded to my room. Hopefully the boys hadn’t TP’d it again. I shivered as I remembered the incident. That was a disaster.
I pushed open the door. Thank goodness. No toilet paper. The twins hadn’t touched my room. I let out a relieved breath.
Slinging my backpack into my desk chair, I flopped down into my bed. There wasn’t anything I wanted right then more than peace and quiet. The house had been incredibly loud as of late, what with Emilie’s screaming and the twin’s fighting and…I sighed. And Mom and Dad’s fighting. That was probably what had been setting off the loud house. Whenever I came home from school, they were either fighting or ignoring each other. The tension really affected the family atmosphere.
I hopped off the bed and went over to my vanity. I shared the bathroom with my younger siblings, so a vanity gave me a little more privacy to get ready for the day in the mornings. It wasn’t gaudy, just a simple desk-dresser-thing with a mirror.
I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. I could look myself in the eye without crouching--I’m only 5’3”, short for an 18 year old. Running my fingers through my shoulder length black hair, I sighed again. I like my eyes, I thought. They’re icy and sharp and intensely blue. Kind of like my personality. Carefully, I took out my earrings and removed my bracelets. I wore a lot of bangles and wristbands daily, but I never liked to write with them on. The wristbands chaffed my wrists when they rubbed against the keyboard.
Swiveling on my foot, I turned to my desk and sat down. I flipped open my laptop and clicked “new post.” I stretched my fingers, tapping the keys absentmindedly. My fingers danced as I thought about what to say.
“Dear diary,” I wrote. “I’m here again. Today was a pretty good day. I got an ‘A’ on that essay I was so stressed about. Crazy, right? I freak out about something and it ends up being really simple…”
The constant click-click of the keyboard comforted me as I wrote about my day. I kept a blog where I posted my diary. It was much easier than writing it out in a notebook, and was visible only to me. Wouldn’t want anyone finding this.
After relieving my head and heart of all that was in each, I entitled the post with the date and clicked “post.” Leaning back, I laced my fingers behind my head and gazed at the ceiling. Now what? Suddenly it hit me. Homework. I groaned. Why is it that I get home from school and then have to do more school?
I pushed the laptop across my desk and plugged away at my homework, saving my favorite for last. My favorite part of homework, even though I hate almost all of it, was the programming. I loved to read and type countless pages of code and watch as it did exactly what I want to. Well, most of the time. But the numbers just attracted me. Maybe it was because they never changed, unlike people.
Trying my best not to get bitter, I scribbled furiously at my history notes, then wrote some of another essay, and then looked at the clock. 7:23 pm, I thought. Mom will be calling for dinner any minute. Let’s see how much code I can get done.
My teacher had assigned the class a faulty program that we were supposed to each fix. My fingers flew across the keyboard and my eyes searched the countless numbers, letters, and symbols as I looked for the bugs. As soon as I found and fixed one, another would take its place as a result. I chewed my lip. “Hmm. These all seem to be minor problems,” I said, voicing my thoughts. “They don’t really affect the program itself. So where’s the big bug, hmm?”
Click, click, click. Space bar, space bar, enter enter enter. The key sequences left the screen as soon as they entered it. Where could it be…?
“Honey! Taylor, dinner!” I heard Mom’s call, but decided to ignore it in favor of a few more minutes of concentration. I didn’t want to lose my train of thought.
“Taaaylor!” Elijah and Isaac burst through my door loudly. Elijah jumped on my bed, his long dark brown locks flopping over his eyes as he bounced. He gave me a toothy smile as I swiveled to make sure they weren’t destroying anything. Isaac, the twin who was generally sweeter to me, flung his arms around my neck. His hair--just like Elijah’s, because they were identical twins--ticked my face.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered in my ear. I couldn’t help but smile.
“It’s time for dinner.” He grinned so wide his eyes closed. I grabbed him and tickled his ribs.
“Thanks for the newsflash, dork!” Isaac dissolved into a fit of giggles as I mercilessly dug my fingers into his sides. He begged me to stop, and I finally released him to run away laughing. I stood up and stretched, feeling happy, and then walked into the dining room.
The atmosphere doused my mood like a bucket of cold water. My dad was sitting at the head of the table, where he always sat. This time, like many other nights of late, he was glowering at the plate in front of him. Mom sat down a gurgling Emilie in her high chair, and the boys playfully smacked at each other, seemingly unaware of the tension.
“How was work, Mac?” Mom said, trying to lighten the mood as she served green beans to the twins.
My dad rolled his eyes. “I had lunch with a customer. It went well, not that you'd care. I talked her into buying a share of our company." He worked at a huge graphic design company that created everything from book covers to logos. He made a lot of money, so we lived very well. Although that could change any moment, a nagging voice in my head pointed out. Even though Mom worked, Dad was really our primary income.
"That's wonderful, honey," Mom said. Her cheerful voice sounded forced. She tried to get along with Dad, though I don't know why. A divorce was imminent.
Dad huffed. "Oh please. Don't even try, Dianna. Isaac, eat your green beans," he ordered harshly. Mom made a small disapproving sound at his tone of voice, but at his glare she looked down.
"Dad, I got an A on the essay for my AP English class," I inserted. Maybe he'd he cared this time.
My dad completely ignored me, still shooting angry glances at Mom. I felt my own anger rising up in my chest. I opened my mouth to start ranting, then stopped quickly and shut it. "Excuse me," I said, and got up to go to the bathroom.
After shutting the door, I put my hands on the counter and stared into the mirror. Calm, I told myself. Stay calm. Blowing up will only bring on a yelling match and make the kids cry. Stay. Calm.
I exited the bathroom and sat down again, my head held high. The rest of the meal was mostly silent. It went better than some had lately. After dinner, Dad went back into the living room to watch TV again. Elijah started to protest that he wanted to play video games, but at a glare from Dad he quieted. Mom looked like she wanted to say something, but kept her mouth shut as well.
I fumed inwardly. Why don’t we just all blow up at him? I screamed inside. Mom could kick him out--she doesn’t need him! I can help support the family, I’ll do anything! I just wish he’d leave already! The past few months flashed through my memory as I recalled the shouting matches, crying, downcast eyes, and icy looks. I gritted my teeth to keep from crying as I helped Mom clean up the kitchen.
“Why don’t I put Emilie to bed?” I offered. My mom looked very tired and ready to cry like I was, so I knew she’d appreciate it.
Mom smiled, her eyes grateful. “That would be amazing, sweetie,” she said. “Thank you so much. It means the world to me when you do things like that.”
“I’d do anything if it would make you smile,” I pledged. “You deserve a break.”
She kissed my forehead and cupped my chin in her hands. I gazed into her eyes, blue like mine. “I love you, Taylor.”
“I love you too, Mom.” I smiled. She pulled me close for a quick hug, then let go, hastily wiping her eyes.
“I’m going to go to bed early tonight, I think.” Mom grabbed a magazine from the table and headed to her bedroom. “Don’t stay up too late doing homework, sweetheart.”
“I won’t. Sleep well!”
“You too!” came the reply, and then I was left alone in the kitchen with a gurgling Emilie. I looked at the clock. 8:45 pm. Hmm. The boys are probably heading to bed, so I shouldn’t have to worry about them. “But it’s way past your bedtime, missy!” I told Emilie. She smiled at me, her two front teeth peeking out from between her chubby lips. I hoisted her out of the highchair and carried her into her room. She was blinking slowly by the time I got her dressed in her pajamas. I read her a book till she dozed in my arms, then lowered her into her crib.
Tiptoeing out of her room, I gently shut the door. Now, back to programming.
It was 10:53 when I finally found the main bug and decoded it. I facepalmed when I found it. It’s always so simple when I know the answer, I thought. How could I not have seen that?

Then it was time for me to go to bed. I took off my makeup, changed into my pjs, brushed my teeth, and snuggled under the covers. My brain raced from figuring out that program, but surprisingly within minutes I fell asleep.

* Teaser *

     I chopped some herbs and tossed them into a saucepan. The aroma from the sauteeing vegetables and seasonings wafted through my apartment, and I breathed in deeply. I paused my knifework. “Aaahh,” I exhaled, my eyes closed. “Delicious.”
     I’d probably get teased if any of my manly friends found out I loved to cook. For all they knew, I lived off of microwave meals. Or whatever it was that they ate. I rolled my eyes and cut a bunch of green beans in half, throwing them into the saucepan.
     Because I had a job in the arts, my friends had already mockingly threatened to take away my metaphorical man card. If they found out I was practically a chef as well, they might send me to a reforming camp to restore my masculinity.
     I personally didn’t find anything wrong with cooking. It was fun, stress relieving, and much healthier than just eating pop tarts. Reaching over to a pot, I lifted the top on my rice. It was coming along nicely.
     All of a sudden, I was hit by such a strong wave of emotion I actually staggered backwards from the stove. Blinking, I shook my head. “What the—?”
     I quickly set down the knife. I felt so incredibly angry—furious, even—that holding a knife was probably not the best plan.
     As someone who wasn’t typically nearly knocked over by immense anger, this was extremely shocking to me. The heck is happening?! I thought. One second I’m just enjoying myself, cooking, and now I want to kick a wall?! Is this a really bad mood swing? Am I—is my masculinity really leaving for good? Will I start having hot flashes next?!
     I stomped over to the couch and glared at it. “Why am I so angry?” I almost yelled. “I want to just—”
     I punched my couch several times. That seemed to help.
     After I had expended some energy on the couch, I flopped down on it. I glared at the wall. “Brandon,” I said through halfway gritted teeth, “what in the world is happening to you?”

Taylor is a Starbucks barista acing her way through college. Brandon is a talented graphic designer. Taylor's parents are on the brink of divorce. Brandon lives alone. The two of them have nothing in common. When both are randomly struck by lightning, they involuntarily establish a physical and emotional link. They barely know each other. So why are they connected in a way no one, even themselves, could understand?


Coming soon to a blog near you.

In which I wish I could write nonfiction

     I sat here for a couple of minutes before letting my fingers touch the keyboard.
     I can always tell when my writing is forced. I sit down, I’ve got what I need--music, water, The Vibe--and then I just sit. And then I realize I’ve been reading what I want to write, and the thoughts flowing through my head aren’t mine, they’re just restatements of what my busy brain has pulled out of the books I’ve been reading.
     I’m on vacation, and I finished The Wheel of Time, a fantastic series which has a very small fanbase. Perhaps too small. Any time I find someone who loves them, they always happen to be an adult. Where are all my young fantasy fans? All you read is this contemporary mess, the types of books I shelve nearly every day. Cheesy teen romance is just fluff. It’s predictable. Why would you want to spend your time on that? Girl meets guy, who happens to be girl’s best friend’s boyfriend, girl falls for best friend’s boyfriend, who falls for her as well, poor choices are made, people get mad, everyone lives happily ever after. Trash.
     Back to The Wheel of Time. After I got over the emotional damage caused by all the characters I love dying, I started A Slip of the Keyboard by Terry Pratchett. It’s just a collection of randomness; I imagine it as a book full of blog posts. It’s a good book, and now it’s the only thing running through my head as I’m writing this. I want to be a good writer. I want to sit down and write like he does, pumping out books like nobody’s business. Problem is, I just rewrite what I’ve read.
     Pratchett says that good writers take the tropes and cliches that exist and make them their own. He says that good books are like good cakes--the main ingredients are all the same, more or less, but a good cook will spice it up and add their own touches. And that’s what I want to do.
     I’ve grown out my nails. Also, my hands are really tan. Resulting is the beautiful illusion of long, healthy nails. Don’t let them fool you--there’s sand and sunscreen under there. Do you know how hard it is to type with long nails? I have to type practically flat-fingered.
     I think one of the great mysteries of writing is how to make your thoughts sound connected. See, that bit about my nails was on my mind, and so I added it in. But if I wanted to write like the masters, I would have integrated it into my writing flawlessly.
     There’s been a lot on my mind lately. It’s been a rough couple of days, or months, or maybe years. It goes back as far as I remember. I’m not sure how to write something beautiful out of it. There’s got to be a way, of course. There’s a way for everything. But how do I turn fact into fiction? How do I turn pain into beauty, the kind of beauty that makes you know that it’s all going to turn out okay?
     I fall in love with little things. Nothing can really compare to the feeling of being under a wave. It’s exhilarating. You see the whitecaps coming closer, or maybe it’s just about to break, and you know you’re not going to be able to go over this one. So you hold your nose and drop down--and there’s silence under. You can feel the cold water all around, and it’s smooth, but you can hear the wave rumble as it goes over. There’s a thrill as you feel it tousle your hair. Sometimes it grabs you by the hair and pulls you along with it, and you come up with a mouth full of salt water and sand.
     Is that all I want? To feel free, like I do in the ocean? Like I do when I run across grass in bare feet? Like I do when I roll the windows down and sing my heart out?
     I thought about writing this whole page on why I hate waterspots on the bathroom faucet and mirror. There’s something grounding about sitting down and writing something passionate on a very small thing like waterspots.
     Alas. There were other things on my mind.
     I’m going to go outside and read my Terry Pratchett book again.
         ~~Zoë Wingfeather


Books hold memories.

Some books smell of cigarette smoke, and lingering behind it, leather and deep brown-red mahogany. They smell of homespun tales and suspenders and thick glasses, of white hair and deep, belly laughter. They smell of hastily bookmarking the page so that the grandchildren won't read it--they're too young for that kind of thing, anyway.

Some books have sand stuck in the dust jackets. I can imagine the salt spray that made them feel sticky not too long ago. They make me want to have my feet in the sand with the ocean in my line of vision. They make me long for summer and hot air and sunscreen and still-wet towels. They make me want to dive into their chapters and let the words rush over me till the sounds of the ocean fade away.

Some books have flowery pink covers and, if designs had smells, they would smell like strawberries. I imagine sweet tea and eyes misty from the love contained in their pages, read in a rocking chair with knitting needles somewhere nearby. Sugar cookies are baking and the aroma permeates the pages.

Some books smell of sweat and outside, and lingering behind it, exhaustion and distraction. They smell of lounging on the couch, oblivious to the stains now on the couch. They smell of lawnmowers and fresh grass and dirt. Images fill my mind, of a tongue barely sticking out in anticipation of what the next page holds. These books smell of adrenaline from the thriller, and apologies and kisses to make up for the stains on the couch.

Christmas: Day 12

~ ~ On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, ten lords a-leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, five golden rings, four colly birds, three french hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. ~ ~

     My anticipation grew as the day went on. I couldn’t wait to see my love. The day crept by minute by minute. I found myself losing concentration at work as my mind drifted to what I should wear to the park. I--just--couldn’t--wait! Finally the moment came. I broke at least twelve traffic laws on my way home. I spent a whole hour on my hair and makeup and outfit. And I practically ran to the park.
     When I arrived, I eagerly searched for my love. I wandered around the park, peeking behind bushes and walking every trail, but I couldn’t find him. He wasn’t there. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe I had read the time wrong. I pulled the letter out of my pocket and smoothed its many creases. I had gotten the time right, and now it was 5:36 pm and my love still wasn’t here. I found my way to my favorite bench, which ironically overlooked the pond where I dumped my geese. Sitting down, I put my head in my hands. What had happened to my love?
     Suddenly I heard a commotion. Standing up, I squinted over at the other side of the pond. What could that be…?
     Over the horizon, on the background of the setting sun, marched a small band. Twelve drummers beat out a rhythm for eleven wind instrument players--there were horns, trombones, tubas, and trumpets. The ten long jumpers and nine dancers I’d met in the previous day were following the band in a small crowd, waving at me and smiling. I waved at them. They waved back.
     The parade gradually made its way over to my bench, where the instrument players marched in place and played their song. I clapped my hands and smiled. It was all amazing, and I was trying to be happy for the display they’d put on for me.
     The song ended, and I applauded. But the show wasn’t over.
     The small crowd parted, and there in the midst of the dancers and long jumpers and instrument players was my love. My hands flew to my cheeks as I gasped. He smiled at me, his special smile, and knelt down on one knee. The park had gone silent, even the spectators who had gathered to watch.
     “My love,” he said, “I know I’ve been away for a very long time. And these wonderful people have told me”--he gestured to the crowd--“that you patiently put up with what I sent you. Even all the strange birds.” He smiled and shrugged. “I figured if you could deal with all that, you might be able to put up with me. I love your little quirks and sarcasm and the way you deal with hard situations and the way your eyes shine when you’re happy and I could go on and on and on. I’ve realized that you’re exactly who I want to grow old with. You deserve all the best things in life, and I know I’m not the best, but,” he fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out a ring, “will you marry me?”
     I felt my eyes well up with joyful tears as I nodded.
     The crowd applauded as my feet brought me to him and finally, after so many long months, we were together again.
But anyways yay this small series is finished now!! Yay!
Again I am so sorry that I missed posting this two days ago *wince*
I'll probably edit this tomorrow or something but anyways yeehaw!
School has started and today has been a day. I don't know when I'll be able to write again, so TTFN! Thanks to those who enjoyed this :)
~~Zoë Wingfeather