Clare-Dragonfly

It was the night before the term was to begin before I finally began to hear voices in the hall. They all seemed to arrive at once, chattering girls' voices sliding past my door, accompanied by the tap-tap of patent shoes and the scrape of heavy luggage being dragged.

I pulled the door ajar and peeked out to see them, all dressed in the same nondescript khaki-and-white uniform as I was, though theirs were in better shape and some may have been tailored. They ran up and down the hall, helping each other with their luggage, opening and closing doors. They must have all arrived at once. This was no coincidence. I was the only one who had reached the school early, accompanied by my parents, because I could not make my own arrangements with Father Housman without their support.

Three days alone had been just enough time to get used to the creaky, old wooden building. Now I would have to get used to it filled with dozens of other girls.

In the time I'd stood in the doorway staring at them, they'd had time to take notice of me. There were stares and whispers. I couldn't be surprised. I was something new, something strange.

A girl stopped, dropping her trunk with a thump in front of the door next to mine. She stared openly at me, a wide smile--there was something hungry, predatory, about it--spreading across her face. "You're the new scholarship girl, aren't you?"

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At the beginning of the world, the Sivrit people were wanderers. We traveled on our feet, the very old and young on the backs of animals, from place to place as the circle of the year turned. It was exhausting—yes, I’m sure you can imagine! We never stayed in the same place for long.

The people complained of this, but the king of the time told them to be quiet. Traveling meant there was always food for the animals to eat, no matter what the season, and it meant that we never had to endure very bad weather for long. He thought it was the best way for our people to live.

But the king had a daughter, and she had other ideas. She saw how her old auntie walked stubbornly until she fell, because riding the animals was so uncomfortable. She saw how babies cried and were hungry, because their mothers were too tired from walking all day to give them enough milk. She knew there must be a better way.

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I pull out the last weed and get to my feet, surveying the snap-pea patch with satisfaction. They’re growing well this year; come summer, everyone in town will be able to get a good share of snap peas, even if everyone can’t have them at once. My mouth waters with anticipation as I think of it. As one of the people who actively work the community garden, I’ll get first pick—we’re the first to see what sprouts in the garden, so we’re the first to eat some.

Last night’s rain has made the earth rich and soft, easy to pull out the weeds that threaten our little piece of autonomy. It’s also made me all up and down mud as I worked, but that doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I don’t think my friends and family would even recognize me if I didn’t have, at the very least, dirt caked around my fingernails and smeared on my knees.

I walk over to the compost bin and drop the weeds in, brushing the soil off my hands. When I turn around, I spy a familiar form at the edge of the garden—Jessamyn in her wheels. My cheeks warm as I lift my arm to wave to her, and she rolls forward, navigating deftly along the garden’s paved path.

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Torra was working, as usual, in the back room, focusing on inserting the gears perfectly so that her new project would work correctly, when she heard voices from the front.

"This is unusual," said a man's voice. Torra didn't know the voice, but she sat up straighter and listened harder—it seemed familiar to her somehow. "Beautiful workmanship."

"My apprentice," said Missus Frigta warmly. "A very remarkable young lady. She's only fourteen, been working for me these two years, but her skills are outstripping mine already." Torra smiled at Missus Frigta's praise, though she didn't believe it.

"A twelve-year-old child, already your apprentice?" The man's voice, though reedy and hesitant, sent shivers of warmth through Torra. Where had she heard it before? Not in the orphanage, surely, and she had no memories from before it, except--she quashed the thought. She hadn't met Kandel until they came to the orphanage, so those memories couldn't be real.

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Bennet’s parents came into her room. She looked up from her comic book and stood. They looked serious, dressed all in gray as they did for raids. She wondered why they were coming to talk to her now. She’d been old enough to stay home alone during raids for a few years now, trusted enough to give the appropriate lies to any police who might come to the door.

Though they hardly ever did.

“Bennet, we have a raid tonight,” her father began.

She gave a short nod. “I know.”

“Well, you’re eighteen,” her mother said. “We think you’re old enough now to come with us. Would you like to?”

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It is the day of Beltane, and I ride at the head—almost—of the Hunt.

Our real leader is my childhood best friend, Tanis, she of the red-gold hair and bone-fair face.

On the eve of this day I pledged to be her helpmeet, to ride at her back and aid her in her goal. I do not think she needs my help, for her steed is lithe and strong, and it is all I can do simply to stay close to her. But, though we have grown apart in recent years--she with her trolls and kelpies, me with my selkies and human children—she is still my best and oldest friend, and I would do anything for her.

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She clutched his hand. Her hand felt hot and dry to his touch. “Don’t let me go alone. I can’t go alone.”

He squeezed her hand back. “Don’t worry, Mama. I won’t let you be alone.”

“You promise? I won’t have to be alone?” The spots on her skin, the second-to-last stage, were faded; the last stage of the disease was almost to an end. The shaking, the fever, the paranoia.


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Dana looked sideways at Clarissa, who was driving the car. Clarissa looked back at her and grinned. Dana grinned back, blushing. Then Clarissa had to look away to pull the car into the parking lot and find a spot without hitting any of the little kids who were also here to pick out pumpkins for their jack-o-lanterns.

It was silly to still be blushing when she looked at Clarissa, but Dana figured she would get over it eventually. After all, they’d only moved in together a week before. This was the whole reason she’d suggested pumpkin-picking together: not only would a decoration they’d chosen and made together help wipe away the feeling that their new house was just two apartments stuck onto each other, but choosing it and and carving it together would make them feel like more than a team.

The two of them had been dancing around each other, on-again-off-again lovers for the better part of three years, sometimes dating other people but always coming back to each other. Two months ago, they’d decided to give serious exclusivity a fair chance. They both liked it so much that they didn’t want to go back.

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This month's story was written to aldersprig's prompt, "ghosts and spirits in pumpkins."

“Can’t you hurry it up?” the kid asked impatiently. At least, he sounded impatient. Shante was under the car, and she couldn’t actually see him, though if she looked in the right direction, she’d probably be able to see his feet.

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This story was written to mjkj's prompt, "[name/pronoun of choice] [is/are] melting my heart." Not as romantic as it sounds.

Maggie couldn’t believe she was back at her parents’ house. Not only that, she’d brought a vampire with her, and her mother had invited them—both of them—in as politely as you please. And now here they were, eating turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce at the comfortably crowded table.

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This story was written to mjkj's prompt, "pumpkin pie?"