Short Compilations

"Crown of Constellations"

Snowflakes fell against her palm, melting upon contact and then rolling down to her wrists. A crown of thorns sat deep in the snow, red droplets mixing to a pale pink. Ellie frowned and dropped to her knees. Her hands fell in her lap, her palms greeting the Sun. The plan was never supposed to fall upon her in such a way.

Ellie pushed herself forward, leaning over the crown until the thorns grazed her forehead lovingly. The fluttering of wings stole her attention away. A feeble squawk and a peck on the head sent Ellie backwards, catching herself balancing on the balls of her feet. A red-winged blackbird stared into her soul with its beady black eyes; it cocked its head to the side, seeming to want a better look.

“And what can I do for you?” Ellie asked, her voice oozing bitter sarcasm. “I don’t speak bird.”

Ellie waited, almost expecting the creature to speak. She feared it would tell her the future, but instead it instilled knowledge she had buried deep inside. Red-winged blackbirds in all their mundane glory were omens of change. Ellie closed her eyes and reached into the innermost void of herself. Her throat was raw before she heard it—the sound of her voice carried through the wind.

The bird squawked again and then took flight, leaving Ellie with her thoughts. Her throat was sore; it would soon match her crown. She reached out to the crown of thorns, gripping it tightly enough to add her blood to the mix. She brushed her messy curls behind her ear, hoping the blonde wouldn’t stain. The crown fit her like she was always meant to rule.

Ellie stood up, bearing the weight of her new role. She brushed the snow from her skirt and adjusted her black cloak, throwing the hood over her head. She had to face her kingdom. Droplets of blood slid down her palms and into the snow. They would prove her path to the guards.

Ellie looked up at the sky. She was lost in the blue. She began trudging through the snow, leaving the clearing, and heading into the forest. Birds croaked and gossiped about their new king. She kept her head down, losing herself in epic battles and forgotten poetry. Oh, if the stars could see her now. If it had been night the constellations themselves would have come down to kiss her scars. Alas, there are some battles even a king must fight alone.

***

"The Pen"

The pen hadn’t been worth stealing. The girl turned it over in her hand. The clip had broken off a few weeks after she got it. She considered returning it but couldn’t bring herself to. It wasn’t anything special, just your regular old ballpoint. Still, it served as a reminder. She gazed out into the hallways and sighed. At least she would always have something to write with.

***

"Snakes"

My neighbors hate snakes. They take pride in cutting them up and spitting them out through their lawnmowers. I never understood the hatred. My family chatters and repeats the line, "the only good snake is a dead one," over and over. I could only shake my head. I stare at the tank on my dresser. I move until I stand before it. A read head peaks out from underneath his rocks. His tail flicks against the faux ferns I have in the corner of his home. His brown eyes are my world. He couldn't hurt anything aside from his dinner. He's never struck me. I press my hand against the glass. "You deserve to live."