F is for Fiction (#AtoZ 2023)

Fiction encompasses stories that are created, invented, and made-up by the writer.

literarydevices.net

I was an avid creative writer of fiction when I first started writing in grade school. I specifically remember what I probably inaccurately describe as my first story being about a magic pebble. However, since coming back to writing as an adult (or sorts), I’ve been strongly pulled in the direction of memoir/autobiography. But I greatly admire the ability to develop characters and weave a compelling story from pure imagination. So let’s give it a go!

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The Village Stone

The towering carved stone stood at the center of the village. Moss covered and ancient looking, it had been the source of wonderment for generations. What was this stone for? Who carved it? How did it get here (there were no stones of it’s nature within 1000’s of miles)?

The village grandmas’ used the stones mysteriousness to weave tales of spirits that lived under the stone and would come out to punish misbehaving children. A convenient misdirection that depending on the grandma’s story telling skills either terrified the children into obedience or was to no effect and dismissed as lame.

At the tavern, talk of the stone was a regular pastime. Conspiracies abounded from alien technology to government surveillance (and of course the requisite theory that aliens had take over the government and were surveilling the village folk). As with most bar talk it wasn’t that long into the night before the tone of the discussion turned from conspiratorial to confrontational with the right-wingers accusing the lefties of being stone worshiping pagans and the lefties accusing the righties of being idiotic wing-nuts. The lefties had a point, but as usual they acted way to superior about it all. But as the beer and whiskey continued to flow the lefties and righties were soon standing side-by-side pissing on the stone before going home. Some said it was for good luck. Other’s said it was to ward off evil. The village sherif said it was public indecency but held a blind eye on the nightly ritual.

Alexis had grown up hearing the stories. Her Grandma was one of the more skilled story weavers and often had her on the edge of her seat in horror as spirits bit off the toes of naughty children or worse, told Santa on them. But that was over a year ago when she was little. She wasn’t little anymore. She was going on ten and would be in fifth-grade, the top of her school, in the fall. And she had big plans for this summer. Plans that would definitely put her on the naughty list. But she wasn’t scared. She didn’t believe in toe-eating spirits. And she was pretty sure Santa wasn’t real either. She was a scientist and this summer was going to be her big discovery. A breakthrough that would make her famous and, certainly, win her the first place prize in the fifth-grade science fair.

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“Hey, where are you going?”, whispered Eli from the other side of the bedroom.

“Shh!”, Alexis whispered back with an internal groan. She was ten years old. Why did she still have to share a room with her baby brother? He is only seven and so annoying.

She saw his little chubby cheeks glowing in the yellow light of his Winnie-the-Pooh nightlight. Darn-it! She’d thought he was already asleep. Now what should she do? There was no way she was going to be get away to do her experiment if that little brat told their parents on her. Shrugging off the unplanned inconvenience, she grabbed her back-pack from under the bed and told Eli to get dressed because they were going on an adventure together.

“Where are we going?”, he asked excitedly.

“To the Stone”, she whispered equally excited. “There is something I want to show you.

“To the Ssssttttone?” Eli stuttered? “But, I like my toes.”

“Don’t worry! As long as your quiet don’t tell anyone about this I’ll protect you. But if you make a single peep, I’ll let them eat both of your big toes and your little ones too!”

Eli quickly got dressed. Not as quietly as Alexis would have preferred but the house stayed dark. As they snuck out of the room to head downstairs, neither or them noticed Winnie-the-Poohs head swivel as it followed their exit. A dull red light now glowing from his big honey-colored belly. Nor did they, or anyone else in the village, notice the slightest of hums now emanating from the village stone.

To be continued…

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That was quite a different write from anything I’ve done before. It was fun to try. There is still a lot more work needed for character development and, of course, the story would need to be fleshed out, but I think I managed to illustrate fiction well enough. What do you think?

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Be well,

• We’re Alright
• Portrait
• Cinco de Mayo