Fairy Tale Blogfest AND Fight, Fight, Fight! Blogfest

I have duel entries to give today. Both around 1,000 words so be warned.

The first is my entry for The Fairy Tale Blogfest. Hosted by Emily White at Stepping into Fantasy. Love the pic BTW! Go here to read all the other wonderful blend ups.

I am unsure if the story I chose these characters, can be considered a fair tail, but I definitely have two genre's colliding. You be the judge.

My Fight! Fight! Fight! entry is right after. Scroll down!!!!!! Thanks all!

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“Shahryar!” The old Vizier squinted mirthfully at his youngest grandchild, stalking him just outside the kitchen backdoor.

“Come child; give your grandfather an ear.” The old man heartily patted the edge of the fire hearth beneath him. “I have another tale for you.”

The Viziers smile grew wide while watching the small prepubescent quietly acquiesce and step obediently inside. He’d found his entertainment for the evening, a perk of being a grandfather.

“It’s not another sea monster tale is it Pa Pa? The boy cautioned, dark wide eyes reflecting in the late evening light. “Mother said I cannot listen if it’s a lie about sea monsters and such. She said I might have nightmares...”

“No monsters, only facts child. Besides, your mother would not deny a good story telling. Your father can attest to that fact. ” The old man winked at his would-be audience. The child quietly took the offered seat.

“Besides, I told your mother you are made of the stronger stuff—I know it! And to be honest, it’s tales of the truth that’s scarier. My ‘monster tales’ as your mother calls them can be given a happier ending if I see fit. A story can be as kind or as sensible as you wish in its telling. But the real can be just as dangerous and unexplained as it pleases. And if you wait long enough, the real becomes story with each new generation of tellers...” the Vizier rambled on.

“Grandfather?” the child questioned.

The old man ceased his lecture of the real and make believe and smiled conspiringly at his young charge. “If your mamma asks, just tell her I was saving your soul, a thousand and one tales at a time.” The small boy raised his brow but dutifully nodded. The old man began.

“This story goes back a while and it starts simple enough. A boy, not much older than you, was helping his Uncle on his fishing boat, the Dunyazad. Two days into the trip, the crew saw a man afloat upon the sea. They pulled him aboard—naked as a newborn babe and so very pale. They weren’t expecting the man to have breath left in him. It was all a shock when they were proven wrong...”

“So he was alive, grandfather? How did he get out there? Was there a ship?”

“Now you get talkative with all your questions, huh?” a twinkle lit the old storyteller’s eye. “Of course there had to be a ship, child—man out in the middle of the ocean—and yes he was living. What did I say? Now listen.” The old man smirked unperturbed and began again.

“Well, when this man started to come around he began to mumble things in some sort of foreign tongue unfamiliar to the boy or the men. It wasn’t long before the stranger opened his eyes-pale silvery grey eyes...” the old man trailed off into silence for but a moment, his own eyes reflective and far away.

“Well, after talking to the man and clothing him, the man began to make more sense. He told the crew about his ship and its crew. Said it was in trouble and demanded the Captain take the Dunyazad out of its way—out into the great sea near a coming storm. A dangerouse storm, growing red and angry with each passing hour. ”

The old man leaned back against the far corner of the immense old fire place and breathed in the supper cooking there.

“A day glides fairly quick when you’re heading to somewhere you don’t want to be.” The old man nodded to the child. “It felt that way to the crew of the Dunyazad. It didn’t help that the pale man sending them on their present journey took to pacing the bow of the ship—faster and faster with each knot they came.”

“It was around about supper time, the storm promised itself just over the horizon. Clouds taking out the last of the sunset and the glow of lightning taking up where the stars should have been. It was about this time did the stranger stop pacing on the bow and stood dead center, his eyes out over the sea.”

“By then the crew was busy batting down the ship, for the storm had picked up, but the boy kept watch on the stranger. Even with the ship tipping and rolling, the man stood at the front of the ship, steady legged and sure. And then, just before the ship hit another wave, the pale man turned to the boy and smiled...” the old man trailed off while he held the frozen and attentive stare of his grandchild.

“And then he looked to the sky...” the old man looked up to the ceiling and then back to the wide eyed child.

“It was in the light of the next lightning strike, did the boy see something he would not forget to this day. The strangers eyes, those pale grey eyes had taken on the glow of the lighting—the lightening that now seemed to be steadily following the ship over the waves into the night. Before the child could blink another bolt of light shot across the bow of the Dunyazad but at a strait vertical, sending the boy for cover. When he turned back to the bow, both the stranger and dancing lightning were gone.”

A silence fell over the kitchen, the crackle and pop of the fire filling the space.
“What ha-happened to the stranger Pa Pa?” the young boy finally spoke. The old man gave the child a quiet smile.

“Some say he fell overboard, maybe got hit by the lightning. No one but the boy was watching him at the time, but no one believed what 'I' told them when we got back to port...”

“So the boy was you Pa Pa!” the boy exclaimed in awe. The old man gave a nod. He’d only partly meant to let that bit of information slip.

“I told you I tell stories about the real—it’s what I saw.” The old man leaned in close to his grandchild, placing a wide palm on the boys shoulder. “And I say that the stranger didn’t drown or get burst apart by a lightning zap. And he wasn’t looking for his ship that night out on the sea. I say he wanted to be taken back, so his ship could find him and take him up and away into the stars...”

“Father, Shahryar...”

The steady foot falls of the lady of the house neared the kitchen threshold. The Vizier’s daughter had come to take away his young audience.

“In here, Scheherazade.” Quietly, the storyteller raised a finger to his lips and winked at his grandchild. “Tomorrow I shall tell you the one about the giant squid...”


(One Thousand and One Nights or Scheherazade and the 1001 Arabian Nights and a visitor from anther planet tale.)

And now, my entry in the Fight, Fight, Fight! Blogfest, being held by JC Martin at Fight Writer. Check out all of the other entries here.

I have written shoot outs, verbal fights, fist fights and even a cat fight. This ‘fight was a bit different for me. This is a part of scene from my temporarily shelved WIP, Touched. Logan is my MC. He is a telepath, amongst other things. He is helping his childhood friend Mike (a deputy), with a dispute outside of town. The islands dock manager, Stan Murdock, is drunk and taking revenge on Dr. Melbourne, a marine researcher who runs the science center.

I attempted to give the reader the viewpoints of both Logan and Mike. I am not sure it worked (hence shelved WIP). In this scene, Mike gets a small hint that his long lost friend has something more than money and attitude going for him….

WARNING: Curse words and some crude epithets of a derogatory nature. Do not read if this offends.

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“Hey, Buddy?” Logan called out just as Murdock slammed the axe into the door hinges. “How about ya call it a day and go sleep it off…”

“FUCK YOU!” Murdock bellowed, now focused on the embedded axe.

“No, I don’t think so.” Logan knowingly smirked, his eyes solidly trained on the axe wedged into the door.

When the big man reached for his weapon of choice and pulled, the axe stayed put by the sheer strength of Logan’s telekinetic stare. Murdock’s hands slipped from the handle, sending him staggering back from the door and into a table top.

Taking the opportunity, Mike moved to Logan’s side. Murdock found his unsteady footing and was reaching for the axe once more.

“Come on Stan, let the axe alone…” Mike calmly ordered the bleary eyed dock manager. At this point, a voice could be heard from behind the mangled door.

“It’s Deputy Michael Mahoning, Doctor. We are here to help…”

“You people get this deranged Neanderthal out of my lab!” The muffled sound of authority bellowed from behind the door. “To protect and serve, my ass…”

Logan could only feel indignation and a over bearing sense of entitlement emanating from Murdock’s target behind the door. (through his ability) For a half second, he considered allowing the big brute to bag the snooty intellectual and call it a day.

“FUCK YOU TOO, YA MURDERIN TREE HUGGIN FAG!” Murdock yelled his unoriginal epithets to the scientist behind the door. “I told ya I’d get ya for burnin my boat, ya freekin fairy…”

“You stupid, half breed ogre.” The doctor retorted. “I don’t give two shits about your precious rat trap skiff. Why would I burn it?”

“Shut up! SHUT. UP.” Murdock’s screamed at the top of his lungs and pulled angrily once more on the axe handle, becoming more frustrated with each try.

Logan took the opportunity to step away from Mike and walked closer to the exit door, cautioning his friend the deputy to stay put.

Mike watched his friend with raised brow, his gun now trained on Murdock who was still trying to move the strangely unmovable axe. ‘What the hell is Logan doing?’ And then he realized and his stomach went sick.

“Hey big guy…” Logan could almost taste the immense swell of anger and frustration swirling in the alcoholic whirlpool that was Murdock’s head. It was familiar and it tasted bitter, but it was strong, too strong for the man to stop the path he was taking now.

‘Need to focus that nasty elsewhere. Need to distract…’

“Tell me, what kind of man will your girl think of you for killing this guy…” Logan nodded to the storage vault. The large man abruptly turned and let out a bull snort, focusing his full attention on Logan. “Then again, I guess it wouldn’t matter much anyway, being that you’re not much of a man to begin with, being a wee thing and all…”

Mike’s eyes grew wide when Logan raised his thumb and pointer finger to demonstrate the size of the large man’s questionable manhood.

Murdock screamed with rage and lunged, knocking Logan into the emergency exit he'd purposely positioned himself. Logan had hoped to take the party outside.

‘Oh, shit.’

Logan realized the flaw in his plan too late. The door was locked. Something he was quickly remedying with his ability, while trying to avoid getting smashed like a bug by the larger man pinning him into the door.

Mike joined the tussle, throwing his own body weight onto the man to try and subdue him. And then the lock on the emergency door disengaged, and all three men went sprawling out into the back parking lot. The door alarm blaring.

“Holy hell, Stanley. Knock it off!” Mike yelled, reaching for his cuffs, trying to sit on Murdocks flailing legs.

Logan pushed his weight into the man’s head and shoulders and into the ground, trying to get his arms. “Mike. Cuffs!”

This needed to end.

Logan closed his eyes, before they began to blur, the hand he held down on Murdock’s head began to hum with everything—all the anger and humiliation and even pain that drove the man struggling under him. The fast frightening beat of the mans heart became Logans own and he focused on it, held it within his own mind as tight as his grip on the mans body. ‘Slow…’ Logan breathed out, eyes squeezed tight. ‘Rest. You are done, here.’

Mike could feel the large man slowly begin to still under him, giving him enough time to catch the hands that now lay limp on the snow and gravel. Finally cuffing the man he sat back on the now listless man’s legs, and looked to his friend who had rolled off the big man’s body and was now on his back in the snow.

The young deputy felt a shiver go down his spine; the light blue of Logan’s eyes almost appeared white when he opened them to the overcast sky. Something had just happened here and Mike was damned if he knew what.

Before he could say a word, the frazzled but no less indignant Dr. Melbourne walked through the alarming exit door, reaching up with his key to shut off the sound. “So you got the son-of-a-bitch…”

Logan sat up, wiping the snow off his body and out of his unruly hair. Mike turned his attention to the scientist and the large axe in his shaking bony hand.

“How did you get that out of the door?”

The doctor continued to eye his ex-captor, now trussed up on the ground like Christmas Turkey. “Found it on the floor.”

Mike turned back to Logan and found his friend’s cool crystalline blue eyes dulled and settled upon him. His expression unreadable.

“Keys? I’ll pull the Jeep around and help ya load ‘Gigantor’.” Logan snarked, his voice calm and even while Mike still found himself panting for breath.

Mike nodded and flipped him the keys. “Thanks.”

Logan nodded and turned, feeling his friend’s eyes and questions follow him into the falling snow….



Thanks for reading folks. I will be around to ya soon!