- Dame Rinda
Readers on Deadline (ROD) is a monthly Deadline Dame feature where we post an intriguing image and invite readers to be inspired and share the results in up to 250 words right here in the comments. The Dames will pick the one that most intrigues us, post that entry in the next month’s ROD along with a link to that writer/reader’s site. And you get a prize!
This month’s winner is Rob Charron!
Congrats Rob! Send your address to the email address at the right to get your copy of Speak of the Devil. 
She appeared between blinks as I looked out my office window and thunderous clouds came with her. She hovered a foot above the custom beige carpet, her hooded cloak a clinging shadow parted down the front to reveal her dress of velvet the color of dried blood.“I am Eronel,” she murmured, her voice like rustle of dry leaves. “I have come for you.”
“I have another ten years before payment is due,” I protested, moving my left hand upon the weathered wood of my desk for the talisman beneath my papers.
“Years are a human invention.” Eronel smiled thinly. “It is time.”
“It’s too soon!” I yelled, hoping the men stationed outside would hear, would enter, would help.
“Do you not rule this land? And has not your every crime been unpunished?” Eronel reached towards me with her corpse-pale hands.
My fingers closed upon the cool silver of the ancient talisman I had spent so many lives and told so many lies to own. I relaxed as her fingers closed upon my shoulders, crushing my tailored black suit. I grinned up into her shadowed face.
“You cannot harm me. You cannot take me.” I held up the rune-worked Seal of Solomon. “Get thee gone, Eronel,” I said, putting all the authority I had accumulated into my voice.
“Another time,” Eronel hissed, her hot breath tugging at my greying hair, then was gone.
A buzz came from the desk, then: “Mr. President?
“Yes. I’m here,” I said.
Again, I was thrilled to get permission from the artist. This piece is by Valentina Kallias. Her deviantart website is one to explore–especially if you’re looking for great urban fantasy heroine images.
In fact, go here and click on the image to bring it up larger.
The Dames would like to encourage you to think outside of the box and use the 250 word limit economically. Word choice is key when you don’t have a lot of room to work. Long, fancy descriptions can be great in a novel, but when you want to grab someone’s attention quickly, they aren’t the best choice. We want an idea, a story or a character who intrigues us–makes us want to continue reading!
Deadline is next Wednesday at midnight! Have fun! The prize is your choice of any of these “My Deadlines Don’t Stand a Chance” mugs with a matching ceramic coaster. (I drink out of one myself when on deadline. 
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Tags: flash fiction, Readers On Deadline, short fiction, writing to images
I was going to come back for this and do it later but germ of a story got to me and I had to do mine now. So, here it is:
The woman cried out in pain as I watched. I glanced over at where the doctor tinkered with a tray of syringes. “Shouldn’t you do something?”
He made an annoyed sound and went back to his work. “She’s not going anywhere.”
I wasn’t so sure. Even blindfolded and bound, this woman was dangerous. Everyone on earth had followed the story of the Gorgon Queen. She’d used her gaze to trap people’s minds and convince them to commit suicide in gruesome and public ways. The case had gone over ten states and two years before we’d finally cornered her in an old abandoned farm house. It was really a shame about the little girl …
As if sensing my thoughts, the woman’s moans grew louder. For a second I thought I saw branches growing from her hands and feet but the vision was gone as soon as I blinked.
“Ah, here we are.” The doctor stood, wielding a needle as long as my middle finger and nearly as thick. “This will calm our Mary down.”
I frowned but didn’t stand in his way as he approached her.
A muffled thump was the only warning I got as vines shot from the floor and walls, entangling the doctor and ripping the blindfold from the woman’s eyes. I fell to my knees before her gaze, screaming. The sound never made it past my lips.
She smiled and the world fell away.
“We have much to discuss, Mr. Reid. Where is my daughter?”
Congratulations, Rob! So cool that you won. I love the surprising ‘Mr. President’ at the end.
Wow, Dames. What a powerful piece of art this month. Thanks for the tips, on what you are looking for when judging. And thank you for sponsoring this monthly contest! I love participating.
Congratulations. Loved it too What a quirky little site
Congrats Rob, loved your tale! Very unique and surprising!
Congratulations Rob, Loved it:).
Okay Dottie… This is for you. I am throwing my story in the hat. I hope this is where we do this!! I am new here… hope you don’t mind! Can we do more than one story… if it comes to mind??
I hope you all have a great night and a wonderful tomorrow!!
The Orcale & Air
Mother Nature can be such a bitch. My roots are made for fresh dirt; to bring forth life, not be the death of me. My body is in pain, for it’s trying to take root in this room. I can’t physically see where I am, but my senses tell me where I am. Salvatore’s basement. My sense of smell is above anything you can comprehend; actually all my senses are. I am Natasha, the Oracle of The Earth Dwellers. I am the life provider for all of Earth. Without me, there would be no life. I do not procreate life form; however, I am the essence of life. If I should perish, life as everyone knows it would cease. What humans call Mother Nature, my people call Natasha!
Salvatore, King of the Air Dwellers, has long ago made it known that he has wanted me. It would bring our two worlds together he claims. But our kind is not to be mixed. For I am of Earth and he is of Air; kind of like oil and water, we just don’t go. But his elders claim there is a prophecy of us uniting and bring forth a new, improved life. Isn’t the saying, “if it’s not broken, then don’t try to fix it,” why can’t he listen. But I do have to give it to him, he is very determined. But holding me hostage like this only makes me want to kill him, instead of marrying him.
Another great image, Rinda! Here we go again:
Bound. Blindfolded. Bereft of even her name. Beyond exhaustion. Beyond feeling. Warrior stock though she was, she had failed. That precious spark within her would die as she died, for death was preferable to the fate of any taken by the Dark.
“Such bravery from one so doomed,” her nemesis sneered. “Come to me willingly and save yourself. Simply gift me with the child you carry and I shall fill your life with pleasure and riches untold.”
She spit in his face.
He backhanded her.
The cold stones at her back shuddered. Life. The stones sang with it. Someone had heard her plea. Branches swayed around her though no wind blew. The creatures that hunted her fell back.
“What magic have you wrought?” their master hissed.
Before she could reply, the air filled with green fire and thunder. Her womb emptied.
“As you petitioned, Clóinagh of the Aes Sídhe, so it is done,” a voice whispered. “We of the Sídhe Draoi will protect and cherish the seed of Lugh. So long as she lives, so shall live the magic of all the Sídhe. May the Draoi live to see the heir of Danaan and the Child of Light fulfill their destiny.”
Clóinagh. Now named, her spirit fled.
Nimaru cursed. Pain wracked his whole body, like hot flames licking at his skin. The Sídhe bitch was dead, her belly empty. His creatures were smoking husks.
“Drochrath ort an bás!” he cried. “Damn you to death!”
Ack! I forgot to congratulate you, Ron! Nice piece of writing there!
She staggered backward, clutching at the circle of wood that had been thrust into her chest. “No,” she gasped. “You can’t do this to me.”
“If you won’t be mine, I won’t let you belong to anyone.” The mage’s eyes were dispassionate. People might fear the fury of a woman scorned, but this man’s displeasure could make even the most courageous flee in terror.
The woman reached the wall. Her retreat was further cut off when her feet turned wooden and grew into the ground. She doubled over in pain and then screamed when tree branches pushed through the skin of her back and extended like brown wings behind her. “Please, I will be with you. Just stop the pain.” She was begging, she knew she was begging, but the pain was more than she could stand.
He snorted in disdain. “You are still in love with Caleb, even now. Your heart would never be mine. Besides, you are not worthy of my attention.”
The weight of the branches forced her to stand quickly. If her torso wasn’t quickly becoming stiff, she would have fallen over from being suddenly off-balanced. She cried out one last time, and became still. She was immobile, a half-tree, half-human monstrosity that was a warning to all those who would consider crossing the mage Darin. He examined his handiwork, and sighed with false pity. “You should have chosen me, Ariana. Now it is too late.”
Eyphah emerged from the underground wall. She called darkness to her, pulled it forth seething and writhing. If she achieved full dark, I’d have little chance.
Lior, came the thought in my head, come to me. Let us be as we once were.
“NO!” I shouted, forcing my legs into a run. I was not ready to go back. If I could reach the surface, I might gain a reprieve.
I felt a surge of hope when I saw the steps ahead. Eyphah was obscured, swallowed in the darkness of her own making. In full power, she was moving toward me inexorably.
My salvation lay in the light which had forsaken me. I believed that seeing Eyphah in pursuit, the light would welcome me home.
I raced upward, stumbling, breath burning my lungs. The darkness was almost upon me. I harnessed my panic and threw myself up the last steps.
Outside, I gasped for breath, nearly weeping with relief. Darkness/Eyphah mounted the steps behind me.
“You lose, Eyphah! I’m going home now!” I cried.
Still, she came. Uncertain, I glanced to the sun. Its light dimmed, the moon edging across its face, leaving only a brilliant corona. I watched Eyphah’s approach resignedly. I had been forsaken for the final time.
Demons and Angels
I have been trapped in this place for too long. Once, I was magnificent. I walked upon the Earth wreaking havoc; forcing my will upon these weak souls. Man lusted for my body; I lusted for their souls.
The scrabbling sounds greeted my ears and I slowly becoming aware that my warden had returned. How long since my last awakening?
“Azdel, demon, I summon thee.” A weak croak stirred my ire and vengeance.
“What is it human? I can smell the stink of death upon you. Come, loosen my bonds, I will heal your dying body.” I offer, tasting freedom almost forgotten.
“Azdel, demon, do not mock me. I come before you to pass the chalice. You are right, the Angel of Death soon comes for me, but I leave you in good care.”
“No! I, Azdel, own your soul. The Angel cannot take you.” I shake with fury, another soul cheated.
“Yes, Azdel you did, but it was your greed for souls that caused your forfeiture and entrapment. I may die, but your existence is doomed for eternity.” A choking chuckle echoed around me.
I show a small grin, doomed eternity with lust to sustain me for there are always souls to entice. The battle has not yet been lost.
It didn’t always used to be this way. Not long ago a Dryad could wander through her Grove for days and not run out of forest. Then Humans came with their iron and steel. They chopped down the trees to build their ugly cities. They chopped down whole forests and covered Mother Earth with lifeless Stone.
Some of the Humans told their kin about the damage they were causing, but the warnings were ignored, or perhaps came too late. When all but the last hope had expired, the Elders called upon the Witches to find a way for the Woodland Kin to survive without Grove and Soil. In doing so we sowed the seeds of our own destruction.
Each equinox we gathered—oak, elm, and ash—deep within in the undergrounds. We let the Witches’ magics bind with ours, but the binding has changed us. Many can no longer take tree form. Blood now nourishes our roots. Human flesh is sweet and gives strength to our limbs.
The ‘Zone no longer stretches ‘cross the sky and Sister Sun’s light blinds and burns. We hunt in the night under the gentler beams of Sister Moon, but our prey has become scarce. Where once Humans numbered in the billions they are now but hundreds, and are fading fast. The ugly cities have emptied save for wild dogs rampaging in vicious, rabid packs.
We have become as foolishly destructive as our prey and are fallen into darkness. The Circle closes.
Dame Rinda,
First, my disclaimer (hah! it’s okay to laugh). I’ve been fighting a sinus infection for a week, and it’s made it difficult to write. I don’t feel this is my best work, but here goes:
Death or Therapy. The verdict gives the Panel options on how to proceed. Despite making their soldiers shoot each other while capturing me, the Panel sees potential in my telepathic abilities. Assuming they can tame me. I could tell them how wrong they are, but I won’t.
They think the neural inhibitor curbs my ‘aggression issues’, making me more pliant to Therapy. They don’t factor in my self-hypnotic commands before it’s slipped into place.
And now, it is Wakey, Wakey. I’m enraged to discover Therapy includes slaving me to the Grid. Through it, I sense other minds. I try touching them, but they are too deeply embroiled in the Grid’s tender mercies.
The Grid is evil. Why can’t they see that? Grossly bloated from decades of slurping neural activity, it has long outgrown its original purpose.
Clearing my chakras, I draw power from the Grid, feeling other minds winking out one by one. They are better off dead, I tell myself.
I push out, the Grid’s skin molding to me in a sick parody of a lover’s embrace. I push harder. Tendrils snake out, obscene umbilical cords pumping ‘feel good’ hormones into my unwilling body. Straining, I push harder and snap free.
I yank off the inhibitor. Alarms scream. A feral grin graces my face, matching the hatred in my eyes. Footsteps pound toward me. I race to meet them. They are coming to tuck me safely back in. I am coming to shut them down.
So many interesting entries. I never read the other entries until after posting my own. It is such a treat to see how one piece of art can inspire in so many different directions. Love reading what everyone writes.
Eep, 249 words is cutting it a little fine, but here goes:
I disagreed with Michael.
We didn’t corner her, she let herself be found. He forgot that I knew her before, too.
I hurried after him down the steps, footfalls echoing off tiled walls, and we rounded the corner to join the others who had been ‘containing’ her. She rose to her feet as we approached, turning to face Michael with such certainty that at first I missed the blindfold. Just like the stories said, it hid her eyes so she could focus the magic more strongly. Not that she needed it.
“You came, then.”
“Of course I did.” Pause. “You can come back with us, you know. It’s your home.”
“You really think that, after all you’ve done?” The words had gone cold, angry. “After all I’ve learnt about it, you think I would return? Could return?” Her turn to pause, now. “You’re a fool, Michael.”
Magic crackled in the air, and for a split second, I saw it. She threw her arms wide and black tendrils snaked across the wall, before her hands shot forwards and flung the power at us.
Foolish to try against so many, Michael had said, but again I thought different, and as I spun away from her to throw up my shield, I knew I was right.
Dust cleared and the others raced off, but I had eyes only for our mentor.
He couldn’t lie to himself now. Michael had been betrayed in the worst possible way.
His prodigy had turned on him.
The woman arched her back, mouth open in a silent scream, leather cap blinding her eyes and hearing. There was only soul numbing pain. Black roots exploded on the wall and floor where hands and feet shadowed, crawling with their own life.
“I don’t know how long we can keep her like this. She’s on the brink of insanity. Heart rate and blood pressure are through the roof.” A man sitting in front of the computer watched that monitors as the numbers kept rising. Fingers shook as his glasses were adjusted, brown eyes flickered to the veins spread along the walls. Ends tested for vulnerabilities to get out.
“She’s fine.”
“She’s going to have a heart attack if we don’t stop.” He looked up at his companion.
Dead eyes stared through the mirror. “She’ll survive. The other experiments hadn’t gotten this far before.”
“But the readings…”
“Are flawed!” the gaze snapped down. “Keep it running.”
The bespeckled man lowered his gaze to the readings. “Yes, Mr. Recht.” He jumped at the hard thunk on the window, looking up to see the roots covered the entire wall. Reinforced tiles covered entirely in black.
Mr. Recht smiled slowly, thin lips pulling as he reached out a hand, resting it flush against the one way mirror. “Hello there. I’m your papa.”
The technician swallowed as he saw a small crack appear in the corner, raising his eyes to see the woman. The screaming stopped by the wicked smile on her lips.
Murderous, it took everything from her. Stripped her body and soul and made her as cracked and parched as the desert. Twin scars from the permanent I.V. lines marred the inside of both arms. A new open, unhealed hole gaped in the center of her chest where the unfamiliar Hicman Central Line snaked along muscle and bone into her heart, delivering poisoned medicine directly into traitorous veins of cancerous blood. Veins pulsing and throbbing and killing her one dying cell by one dying cell.
The body’s betrayal of itself is the worst betrayal of all.
Finally got inspiration for this… but way too late! Still—I had to share at 244 words.
______
I feel alive again.
I always thought that when I took a hot shower and loosened up all the stiff muscles and joints. Being alive meant you no longer felt like zombie, shambling across the floor and forcing appendages to motions that were no longer natural. I always thought that was what it meant to feel alive… until now.
I was chosen and washed in the waters of Life. I was scared when I started to take root and again when I started to see more than what was before my eyes. I shrieked and thrashed, but before the ceremony was over, I learned I could do more.
I could reach through the roots and feel each plant growing in the soil. I could feel them turn and welcome the energy from the sun. I could even feel them dancing in the breeze. I had my servants cover my eyes so I could see the life in shades and hues my feeble human eyes could not.
With practice, a single thought would dart my mind between plants and animals, experiencing life as they did. I flew as an eagle and swam as a whale. I killed as lion and escaped as a gazelle. I guided winds and rains and I ensured the strongest of all things survived.
I had been chose to be the new “Mother Earth,” for this new Earth. I had been chosen to guide and as reward, I was truly alive.
Congrats Rob – that’s brilliant!
I’ve not written any piece of prose since I did my GCSEs – many, many years ago. Reading this lot has scared me into not having a go lol.