The ToiBox of Serials 1.2: Heart of the Golden Stag

Over on my personal blog, The ToiBox of Words, I’ve experimented with short fiction quite a bit. I’ve entered many blog writing contests and sometimes, just played around with it. In most cases, I’ve found myself expanding the stories I started on my blog and turning them into something more. All the stories in this series will be a product of what I started on my blog and then later added to in private. I will be sharing these stories in parts and encourage readers to leave positive or critical feedback (rude comments will be deleted). Perhaps, one day I’ll publish another personal anthology with these. Enjoy.

Side note: This story has never actually appeared on the ToiBox blog but was derived from a contest I entered and did not win. Still, the submission process was a good learning experience for me. This story is a retelling/reimagining with a twist. 

Heart of the Golden Stag, part 2

Read part 1 here.

The giggles and snaps of children playing in the alley below jolted Jamie’s body forward as dream and reality collided. Jamie rushed to the window, heart pounding and sweat dripping from her bushy unkempt brow. Below, little boys kicked a can back and forth between them as Jamie fought back tears. What a sad and stupid girl I can be sometimes. Shrugging her shoulders, she reached into the worn pockets of her men’s trousers to pull out a coin.

Tossing it down to the boys below, she called out in a gruff, “Bread and tea, young ones.”

The smaller of the two boys caught the coin, as usual, and then pulled the other along before replying, “Right away, Mr. Jaime. Be up soon.”

With the boys off to fetch her breakfast, Jamie quickly attended to her daily costuming. First, a few snips of hair along her forehead and at the nape of her neck. Then, a quick wash followed by fresh linen wraps to bind her breasts.

After chatting with the boys over tea, Jamie went to polishing her shoes with the intention of mulling over the day’s objectives. She’d lined up three marks the day before and was due for a good payday, yet her mind kept drifting back to her childhood. With her seventeenth birthday approaching, Jamie was plagued by nightmares and daydreams of the day she left home to become a boy.

She and her twin brother were turning twelve. Her older sister was a weeping doll, all dressed and made-up, in the corner sobbing through handkerchiefs as her stern and wrinkled betrothed pressed his hands upon her shoulder in mock-sympathy. Jamie watched the spectacle with dread, knowing that would be her fate upon her fifteenth birthday while her brother sniggered. He’d be heading off to the academy soon, to be educated and learn a trade.

Face warmed by the flickering candles, Jaime kept her eyes closed even after her brother blew out the flames as smoke wrapped around her head. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes and say goodbye to her childhood. From here on, her days would be filled with learning all the ways a wife should keep a husband happy. If that was love, Jamie wanted no part of it, yet she hoped there was more to it. She hoped to find an unconventional man not bound by Northern traditions.

With the snap of her father’s fingers, Jamie popped her eyes open to see him holding tightly onto the belt resting around his waist. Knowing he wouldn’t dare punish her in front of company, and on her birthday no less, Jamie seized the moment and ran into the woods, calling for a game of hide-and-seek. Only, she never hid.

Jamie grabbed the bundle she’d concealed days before and continued to run. She kept running until there was no chance of being able to turn back. 

To be continued...

Heart of the Golden Stag 2018 Copyright © Toinette J. Thomas 

Find out more about me, my work, and my inspiration at the following links:

Amazon | Goodreads | The ToiBox of Words | YouTube | See a list of my other posts here.

Missing by Rick Haynes

Missing

https://www.rickhaynesauthor.com

My life was as empty as a cracked piss-pot. And with each day merging into the next I had no idea of time. With my best friend, Cissy, missing, my world had collapsed. The taste of any food was like chewing cardboard. It made me retch, but being so weak, I had to force myself to eat something. Eventually, I opened a can of baked beans; with hot sauce the taste was palatable. Starving to death was no longer an option but I still cried every day. 

Why did she disappear? Is she still alive? How did I allow this to happen? No matter what I thought, the idea of me being responsible never left me. Trips to her favourite place, attaching posters to telegraph poles and placing pictures in shop windows, all failed to produce any results. Even the police showed little interest.

A week passed. The telephone rang. A man with a deep voice spoke in harsh tones. His English was poor and he frequently repeated himself. He demanded money. I was worried about how Cissy was coping without her medication and without thinking, I instantly agreed to his demands. He gave me specific directions about where and when we should meet and I was warned that Cissy would die if I didn’t comply. The bank asked questions about my withdrawal of £1000 in cash, but my insistence paid off.

The relief in knowing that Cissy lived was like a lottery win that didn’t exist. I was overjoyed she was safe, yet terrified I’d never see her again if I made a cock up. I imagined she was tied up, blindfolded, perhaps tortured. Nothing else mattered. My lass had disappeared and as long as I followed the instructions, all would be well.

Going over his directions one last time, I set out to be reunited with my beloved, Cissy.

The clouds had finally decided to play elsewhere. After my long climb through the forest, I could now see the top of the disused lighthouse. Inhaling deeply, I took in the clean air lightly scented with salt. Weathered steps of stone curled around the stone colossus but that wasn’t the route I was instructed to take. Looking to the right, I saw another track overgrown with thick bushes and low slung branches.

Once more my mind wandered. Would she be waiting? Would she be unharmed? It was time to make the last ascent. Slowly, like an old man in fear of falling, I placed one foot in front of the other and followed the track towards my destiny.

A shaft of light arrowed through the greenery before instantly disappearing. Would it be my star of hope? Without thinking, I quickened my pace. Calling her name made me want to believe she would greet me at the summit. Faster, I told myself as I ploughed on. The treeline ended and all trace of the shadows vanished as a sunray illuminated the small clearing in front of me.

And there she was, securely tied to an old tree. I looked around, saw the empty bag, placed the cash inside, untied Cissy, picked her up in my arms, kissed her and quickly retraced my steps. Little did the kidnapper know I had left a tracer inside the bag and spread a little poison over the notes.

Rot in hell, I mumbled as I walked back down the slope.

No one steals my dog, my best friend, Cissy, and gets away with the crime.

rickhaynesauthor.com

The ToiBox of Serials 1: Heart of the Golden Stag

Over on my personal blog, The ToiBox of Words, I’ve experimented with short fiction quite a bit. I’ve entered many blog writing contests and sometimes, just played around with it. In most cases, I’ve found myself expanding the stories I started on my blog and turning them into something more. All the stories in this series will be a product of what I started on my blog and then later added to in private. I will be sharing these stories in parts and encourage readers to leave positive or critical feedback (rude comments will be deleted). Perhaps, one day I’ll publish another personal anthology with these. Enjoy.

Side note: This story has never actually appeared on the ToiBox blog but was derived from a contest I entered and did not win. Still, the submission process was a good learning experience for me. This story is a retelling/reimagining with a twist. 

Heart of the Golden Stag, part 1

     Rosy morning light shone down and warmed the dark olive flesh of a thin arm before it retreated beneath a blanket of golden hair. Shimmering in the pink light, the hair rippled as the body beneath wiggled and stretched awake. Soon, Aaron sat up with a wide yawn as he craned his neck to turn away, shielding his eyes from the glare. With a short sigh, Aaron flipped the long strands of hair over his shoulders before heading toward the washbasin.

     After washing and dressing, Aaron tip-toed around the confined quarters of his room, in the convent’s tower, to seek out his most prized, and secret, treasure. Wrapped tightly with blankets, Aaron pulled the bundle from underneath his bed and quietly revealed the cold and clear metallic glint of the looking glass.

     Staring at the feminine reflection before him, Aaron scrunched his nose before pulling his golden locks away from his shoulders to expose the boy disguised within. Aaron recalled the day the nuns first told him why he had to grow his hair long and wear girl’s clothing. Sister Norman sat the young Aaron in the middle of an expansive ivory hide and told him the story of his birth.

     It was the first night of the Twilight Moon, a full fall moon that rises in the East just as the sun is setting in the West, causing the sky to turn violet and allowing both the sun and moon to shine in unison for one enchanted hour. The Ivory Doe, the goddess of the North Woods, burst through the forest into our garden and pleaded with its eyes for us to conceal it. In the distance, the horns and treads of hunters could be heard and felt as they drew near. We hurried the large creature into our shed and then spread our numbers in all directions to throw-off the hunters’ tracking dogs. I alone remained; I was there when the Ivory Doe gave birth to her son, a golden fawn unlike any I’d ever seen.

     The mother stared into my eyes and called me forward. I placed my hand upon her antlers as her son fed at her teat. Mentally, she conveyed her story. Chased for months by the hunters seeking her magic. Being with child, she conserved her magic instead of using it to dispel the hunters. As her life began to reach its end, she wanted to make sure that her son would live. She impressed upon me that until her child reached full maturity, he was at risk of having his magic stolen. Should he live to see that day, he would become invulnerable and powerful. If he should find a human worthy of his love, he would grant them a great blessing. With her last pained breath, the Ivory Doe enveloped her fawn in white light and then faded away, leaving behind an infant boy, wrapped in her preserved hide.

     Hearing his name being called from elsewhere in the convent, Aaron quickly concealed his mirror and rushed off to assist the sisters. All these years, they had been so good to him, helping him to remain hidden and teaching him what they could of the Ivory Does. As Aaron’s eighteenth birthday drew near, his toes and fingers constantly tingled with anticipation as magic pulsed through his body. Aaron longed to love the nuns as they loved him, but their shelter had confined him and suppressed the transformation he yearned for.

To be continued...

Heart of the Golden Stag 2018 Copyright © Toinette J. Thomas 

Find out more about me, my work, and my inspiration at the following links:

Amazon | Goodreads | The ToiBox of Words | YouTube | See a list of my other posts here.

Fake It Till You Make It

Is it a good advice?

https://books2read.com/Fake-It

I wrote this short story remembering all the seemingly perfect families I've met in my life.
They show a picture perfect family life but hide the struggles, heartache, compromises, and sacrifices they made to get there.
People are not perfect and we all come with a baggage. We can live a happy life or a create a chaotic life. It all depends on the choices we make

Nancy arrives home from a long day at work. She kicks off her high heels and walks into the kitchen. Bruce lights the candles on the dinner table and embraces her in a warm hug. Her two girls, ages five and six, are running from the playroom to greet her. Their handsome seventeen-year-old boy looks up from his computer and smiles at her.

A beautiful picture, isn’t it? The man plays the role of the happy househusband and the wife is the breadwinner. Nothing is wrong with that. But, let’s just see how they got to this ideal picture of a happy home.

A short snippet from the book

Bruce remembered a conversation he had with his father a long time ago.

They were sitting at the kitchen table having a beer when he was just a teenager. He felt so grown up and important because his father let him drink a beer. He asked his father if he ever loved his mother. He had watched their relationship since he was a small child, and he couldn’t sense any devotion on his father’s part.

“She’s a dumb bitch. What’s there to love? But she’s a good mother and a good provider. I find my love elsewhere, son. The home is for security and comfort while I’m looking for a job,” he said, winking at Bruce. “She’s well trained if you know what I mean,” he continued.

Bruce wanted his father’s approval desperately. He was the role model for absentee fathers, but occasionally they had a moment together when he felt some closeness to him. All his life he believed that his mother and, as a matter of fact, every woman was just a meal ticket to an easy life. That’s what he saw, and that’s what he learned. He thought about relationships rationally: have fun with a girl but marry a steady woman on whom you can depend, as his father said. He had many girls to have fun with, and when he was in his early twenties, he began looking for a wife. He moved in and out of fleeting relationships, and he was surprised in the beginning that after four or five months, the women threw him out. They saw right through him and they refused to be used. He asked his father about it.

“Son, you have to be smart. You can’t just sit at home watching movies all day. Of course, they will find out you have no intention to work. You must ‘fake it till you make it’ Take a job, do it for a couple of weeks, and then get yourself fired. Find a way that makes it look like it wasn’t your fault. Then you’re okay for a couple of months; they will leave you in peace to look for another job,” his father advised him.

It worked for years, and he could stay in a relationship longer and longer.

My published fiction, children's books, and audiobooks:

https://www.authorerikamszabo.com

Alone by Erika M Szabo

A thought-provoking, futuristic, romantic short story

https://books2read.com/Alone-a-short-story

Will people feel the emotions of loss in the future as deeply as we do today?

How far will they be willing to go in finding the happiness they lost?

Caleb lost his Valerie. Will he find her?

A short snippet from the book:

“How could I do this alone, Val?” Caleb reached out and gently traced the name, Valerie Taylor, carved into the white marble headstone, with his fingers. “We were meant to be together until we grew old.”

As he had done every week since she passed, he sat down in front of the gravestone. Leukemia had taken her from him, moving so much faster than either of them could ever have imagined possible. All the plans they’d had for what was going to come meant nothing. She was gone.

Caleb sighed to ease the heaviness in his chest and looked up at the tree covered with flowers, close to the grave. “We had studied here when we were young. But always loved this magnolia tree. That’s why your parents chose this secluded spot to… Oh, Val. I miss you so much!”

More than once, over the past four years, he’d been told he was young and there would be someone else in his life. He’d love someone, to fill the void, but nobody understood what it was like to find a true soulmate. “I miss you, every day, and I keep trying to push myself to keep going, but there have been so many times when I’ve thought about just ending it all. I know I shouldn’t. You would never forgive me if I’d throw my life away, but you were my life, and…” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know every time I come here it seems like I say the same thing. I want things to be different, but without you here, there’s no happiness in my heart.”

https://books2read.com/Alone-a-short-story

https://www.authorerikamszabo.com

I write speculative alternate history fiction, romantic urban fantasy, historical suspense novels as well as fun, educational, and bilingual books for children ages 2-14 about acceptance, friendship, family, and moral values such as accepting people with disabilities, dealing with bullies, and not judging others before getting to know them. I also like to encourage children to use their imagination and daydream about fantasy worlds.

Peanut Butter Lesson by Cindy J. Smith

A short story

by Cindy J. Smith

This is a short story about something that happened when I was young. I am sharing it here because for some reason it will not get out of my head.

First, a little background. I attended a Catholic grade school in a small town. We took our lunch to school as there was no cafeteria there. I was young back when milkmen still delivered, and parents could pay to have milk available for lunch. Since there were 6 of us, we were not among those students. However, if a student who did receive milk missed school, their drink was given out to one of us who did not have any. Obviously, I learned to eat without the benefit of a beverage to wash it down.

Two more things before the story. We had bed times. These times were based solely on our age. At the time of this story, I was about 10 and my bedtime was 8:30. This meant I missed the end of lots of TV programs. The final piece of background is my parents both worked nights, my dad left at about 10PM.

THE PEANUT BUTTER LESSON
It was a Wednesday night and my favorite show was on TV. Unfortunately, it lasted until 9 and I had to be in bed at 8:30. Just once, I would like to see the end of the show!

Cheryl and Rae were arguing over who was going to make dad's lunch. Neither wanted to do it and their voices were escalating. I walked into the kitchen and they both turned. It was as if a light lit up as the same idea crossed both of their minds.

"Cindy," they both said, "how would you like to stay up until 9 tonight?"

What could I say? "Of course!!!" Then I remembered who I was talking too and immediately asked, "What must I do?"

Cheryl replied, "just make dad's lunch. It is only 2 peanut butter sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. We'll do the coffee."

"Sure!!! I'll make them right now."

Well, I proceeded to make two PERFECT Peanut Butter sandwiches. My mouth was watering just from looking at them. I carefully wrapped them and placed them tenderly in dad's lunch box. Glancing wistfully back at the box, I went to the living room to watch my program in full.
The next morning I awoke to awful banging. My dad was home and he seemed to be ticked, Suddenly, my name was bellowed by him. I came running downstairs.

"Did you make my lunch sandwiches yesterday?" he asked.

Unsure why he was asking, I answered "yes".

"Sit down right there," he said as he pointed to my place at the table. Then he opened his lunch box and sat one of the PERFECT peanut butter sandwiches before me. "I want you to sit there and don't move until that sandwich is gone!"

I was confused, I mean, here he is giving me a treat when I thought he was mad. But, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I proceeded to enjoy the lovely sandwich. I glanced in the lunch box as I picked up the last half. I noticed that there was at least half of the other sandwich still in there. Hmm, I wondered. If I finish this, will he let me have that piece too?

As I finished the last bite, he came back into the dining room. "Well, do you have something to ask me?" he said.

I glanced at him then at the lunch box. I said, "I peeked in your box and saw the other sandwich, can I have it too?"

Oh my! I have never seen a face change so many ways so fast! When he found his voice, he asked, "Aren't you wanting a drink?" That is when I realized, my father did NOT EAT his lunch. Perhaps, my being told to eat it was NOT a treat but a punishment.

It turned out the lesson I was supposed to learn was there is such a thing as too much peanut butter on a sandwich. The lesson my father learned was this is not true for a child who loves peanut butter!

© Cindy J. Smith on AMAZON

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Would you read this? Vol.4 #OurAuthorGang

Welcome back. See volume 1, 2, and 3 of this series at the links provided.

I’ve written a lot of short stories in the last few years. Some have been published in a collection while others are simply awaiting their time to shine. As I considered how to organize my collections, I began to wonder if the stories themselves are worth reading on their own. As a collection, these short stories have the benefit of being part of something greater, but I want to know “would you read these stories?” if they were presented on their own. That’s also when I begin to consider that I write blurbs for the books I release, but I don’t write blurbs for individual stories in a collection, a tagline usually does the job. Well, that’s about to change. In this series, I’ll be sharing unpublished blurbs to stories that may or may not yet be released. These blurbs are not meant to be used to pitch or sell these stories. This is just a practice on the concept of writing a blurb? I just want to know if the blurbs are any good. I may also offer some ideas of what cover designs for these stories may look like. I hope you enjoy this adventure.

For the fourth post in this series, I thought I’d start with a blurb for my first attempt at a contemporary piece. It, like the last story, is included in my collection, Legend of the Boy, In the Window, and Other Short stories.

Our Place is a story derived from a prompt. I don’t remember all the specifications, but I do remember the story had to be less than 1k words, contain some type of bug, and feature a mystical element (not necessarily magic)- remember, it’s supposed to be a contemporary. Sounds easy right. Well, I knew right away I wanted to write a sad story that had an element of hope toward the end. For some reason, I ended up with the tragic story of three childhood friends.

Below is the proposed blurb for the story (all three parts) and two book cover mock-ups for you to vote on. These are rough drafts that will never be produced, but I’d still like to know your thoughts on making them better, if you have any.

~

The old Funhouse was the epitome of summer fun and she was the center of their world. They were three friends, as thick as thieves. 

When the years and the discovery of attraction catches up to them, Lewis and Billy understand- they can’t both have her. 

One night of passion will change everything, for better or for worse.

~

Don’t be shy. Your feedback is welcomed, but please be nice. 😌

Results as of 1/18/19

Find out more about me, my work, and my inspiration at the following links:

Amazon | Goodreads | The ToiBox of Words | YouTube | See a list of my other posts here.

Click here to read more posts at our Blog Post Gallery

COMMENTS

Erika M Szabo shared this via Google+

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Tricia Drammeh

1 week ago  -  Shared publicly

 

The blurb is very intriguing, Toi. It definitely makes me want to read the story!

 

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Ruth de Jauregui via Google+

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Toinette Thomas shares a new blurb and cover choices on #OurAuthorGang today! -- What do you think??

 

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Ruth de Jauregui

2 weeks ago  -  Shared publicly

 

I think it's good, but you could leave out the middle paragraph.

"The old Funhouse was the epitome of summer fun and she was the center of their world. They were three friends, as thick as thieves.

"One night of passion will change everything, for better or for worse. "

Well done, Toi!!

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Toi Thomas

2 weeks ago

 

 

Thanks for the insight. That does make it more concise.

Joe Bonadonna

2 weeks ago  -  Shared publicly

 

Another great post, Toi! The blurbs are good and I like the first one best. I, too, chose the second cover.

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Toi Thomas

2 weeks ago

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Thanks Joe. I'm finding this to be one of my favorite series. It's a lot of fun to play with the cover designs.

Joe Bonadonna

2 weeks ago

 

 

+Toi Thomas - you're welcome! One of these maybe I'll dabble in some cover art. 

Joe Bonadonna via Google+

2 weeks ago  -  Shared publicly

 

Today on #OurAuthorGang, Toinette Thomas talks about story "blurbs," offers up a few samples from her own books, and asks which of two book covers you like best.

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Chris Weigand

2 weeks ago  -  Shared publicly

 

The blurbs sound intriguing I would definitely read the book. The covers are a little harder. I like both of them and can't say which one is better.

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Toi Thomas

2 weeks ago

 

 

Thanks for that Chris. Glad to know the story sounds interesting enough to read.

Chris Weigand shared this via Google+

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Cindy Smith shared this via Google+

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Cindy Smith

2 weeks ago  -  Shared publicly

 

I love the blurb and prefer the second cover, it feels more inclusive to me.  Three friends going to have fun, while the Ferris wheel one makes me feel differently, maybe gives away the outcome?

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Toi Thomas

2 weeks ago

 

 

Thanks for the insights.

Toi Thomas via Google+

2 weeks ago  -  Shared publicly

 

Today, I offer up another blurb and two covers for readers to vote on. #OurAuthorGang

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Eva Pasco

2 weeks ago  -  Shared publicly

 

I prefer the second blurb.  In the first you duplicate the verb "was". The third seems a little cliché. The second is perfect.   I chose the first cover for its clarity.

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Toi Thomas

2 weeks ago

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Thank you so much for your feedback. All three lines make up the blurb, but I do agree that the last one is troublesome. When I wrote it, I knew it was, but figured I'd see what others thought. Great insights.