The Longing to Belong (A story created for Faerie Magazine, http://www.faeriemag.com/)

elf  http://www.faeriemag.com/Faerie Magazine

The Longing to Belong

 

Finally alone, Naleen removes the beastly egg from her satchel. She is drawn to the opalescence of the egg. Each moment she touches the glowing incubator she feels the power growing within. She stands near the edge of the forest. The trees hide her well as she blends in with her environment. She wants to be part of this world. She wants to belong.

 

She gazes at the egg one more time. Will she risk her wellbeing for the life of an illuminating dragon? Can she put the dragon’s life below all her desires to belong? She wants to be accepted by the nightshade tribe. The leader, Marto told her she had to find the only illuminating dragon egg and destroy the unknowing beast.

 

The eggs motions caress Naleen’s fingertips. Her heart is pounding as she takes in a deep breath and whispers a goodbye to the unborn winged creature. Naleen’s fingers can’t release the egg. Tears form in her eyes as the egg reveals the true reason for its existence.

 

         The dragon wants to be loved as well. He is the last of his kind, without him the sun will fade from the earth’s atmosphere. Darkness will take over the planet. Guilt sweeps over Naleen and she cries for her misguided reasons. She swears her allegiance to the egg and holds it to her heart.

 

          She has found her true love for light and life.

 

St. Patrick’s Day 2017

My prose I wrote in #CreativeQuills at Tuesdays meetup:

Depressed and lonely Naleen walks to the park to access her life. She is trying to decide if her life is worth living. As she sits down on her favorite park bench she can’t believe her luck. A gold box was on the ground next to the bench. She glances around to see if anyone is watching her and she slowly picks up the box, tucks it under her shirt and quickly walks home.

Jeeter follows Naleen home. He’s been waiting all afternoon for someone to spot the golden box sitting next to the park bench. His job is easy: Put a box of gold where anyone can see if and wait for the magical change. He works one day out of the year. This should be an easy job.

Today, Jeeter hopes this year will be the change. The change that will transport him back home. He waits for the magic to happen.

Naleen opens the golden box and the gold coins sparkle in front of her eyes. the brightness of the coins bring tears to her eyes. She’s mesmerized by the contents of the box. She slowly reaches for a coin, but suddenly stops.

Naleen is no fool. This pot of gold can’t be real. It’s all a cruel joke. She closes the box, walks out to her trash can and tosses the golden box into the garbage heap.

Jeeter will be a leprechaun for another year.st patty

 

 

 

 

Oncoming traffic…

We have accepted the fact that not only do we have to watch out for potholes, debris, broken down cars on the side of the road but we (us drivers) have one more thing we need to watch out for as we drive.

Texting drivers.

On my way to work this morning there were three cars ahead of mine, and everyone of those cars were crossing over into the other lanes. Each driver were looking at their phones as they were driving, or talking to the phones.

On my way home, I could clearly see the young man that was coming straight toward me; in my lane. I slowed down and pulled over onto the grass area. He looked up and noticed his driving mistake, zipped back over into his lane and drove away. I continued on with my drive until I approached a nice Dodge Ram truck going about 50 miles and hour in a 65 mile an hour area. I released the cruise control on the Jeep and waited. I drove behind this person for about two miles, and then he blessed me with a cloud of exhaust smoke as he sped off in front of me.

Here in Oklahoma the road hazards are many. Trucks, exits that you don’t see, wild animals in the road, construction sites, work trucks, and now we have to watch out for texting drivers. I don’t text while I drive. I know what a crushed automobile can do to a human body. I’ve seen the horrid results with my own eyes.

I wish people would realize: it’s not worth it. Not worth a life. In the town I grew up in, Bakersfield, CA. there was a billboard that stated: Don’t drink and drive, we can wait. It was the local cemetery’s advertisement. I wonder if that billboard now says, don’t text, we can wait.

Drive safely, and please don’t text and drive.Moorea

To get to the other side… a boy’s adventure.

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They told him it could be done. They warned him of the dangers and every possibility of failure. “Many people have tried, you won’t succeed.” His own grandmother stated to him as he began his journey.“Well,” his father interrupts, “there was that man that attempted his fate twenty years ago. Look what happened to him.” His grandmother smiles and comments “oh yeah, that was a mess to clean up.”“All I need is a rope, good shoes and a crane.” He states.

“A crane. You think a crane will help you at this point?” his father laughs.

“Yes, I do father. I have a plan. A plan like no other.” He proudly smiles.

“Yeah, plan all you want. You will never succeed.” The grandmother states as she walks out of the hut.

He will show them. This can only be done on this night. The night of a full moon.

The giraffe was found along the river after the flood. He will risk his life to return the giraffe to its home. He is shocked the giraffe survived the torrent water and the deadly area under the bridge.

He slowly places the rope on the giraffe’s neck and begins to walk across the bridge. He drops the small morsels of food on the ground so the crane will follow.

The bridge begins to shake and rumble from underneath. It’s awake and now the boy must decide his future.

He pulls on the rope, grabs the crane and regretfully tosses the unwilling sacrifice down into the creek. He runs as fast as he can pulling the giraffe with him.

One hand grabs the bridges structure creating a crackling sounds and a small scream comes from under the bridge as the troll accepts the bird as payment for a safe passage over the bridge.

This was a writing prompt in my writing class Tuesday.

Check out my novel, Happiness is Hard to Find on Amazon.com https://www.amazon.com/Happiness-Hard-Find-Debbie-Fogle/dp/1491795883/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1488676029&sr=8-1

 

 

 

Are We There Yet?

I kept telling myself: as soon as the elections are behind me, I am working on my book stuff. Then I tell myself: as soon as the holidays are behind me, I will work on my books.

Well, it was a nice goal to set for myself, but life has a funny way of interfering.

I have worked on the cover of my next book, and also the formatting. Can I get a good job vibe from someone? Those tasks have taken me over six months, and still I have no motivation to get up and complete my goals for my next book. What is going on you ask?

LIFE! My real job is now consuming not only my time but also my thoughts. I have to focus on so my intricate details at my work, that I have no thoughts or creativity for my writing. This has bummed me out immensely. I get home and then I have housework, car maintenance, feed animals, fix leaking drain, oh and don’t forget about the winter weather that could possibly hold you hostage in your own home.

Now, I’m not complaining. I know there are people in the world that are going through a hardship that I can’t even relate to. The hardships people are going through grab at my heart and I want to put something on paper about my feelings. Buuuuuuut, I get home and just want to sleep. When I lay down to sleep, all I think about is what I should’ve written down today. It’s a crazy catch 22 that I find myself in.

I just sit here and wonder, Are We There Yet?

I thank each one of you that visits my blog. Thank you, and bless you for exploring the internet to find crazy, odd people such as myself.

Sincerely, Debbie Fogle

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My Grandma and her toenails

I have realized why the one bonding moment between me and my Grandma Hatfield was when she would ask me to give her a pedicure. Now, being eleven years old at the time I didn’t know what a pedicure was and the importance of pedicures, but the time talking and listening to my grandmother was the most precious time for me.

I now know why ‘I’ gave her pedicures. She couldn’t see that well. It has occurred to me in my age that to see the detailing of my toenails is so blurry I wish I could trust my granddaughters to do my toenails.

The reality of growing older is finally catching up to me. For some reason I thought I was still thirty years old with great eyesight. NOT!

Plus, I’m not that flexible to bring my foot up close for me to see my toenails. Oh, this age stuff is getting me down sometimes. So I sit here, soaking my feet in a lavender foot soak typing away on this blog.

It’s all this new writer can do. My feet will thank me in the morning, and I will have shared a great moment between me and my Grandma Hatfield.

I’m sure we all have those moments with an elderly person in our lives.feet