It seems like everyone has their version of the gift exchange story. They’re all modeled after the original Gift of the Magi. I wanted to do my own nod to that, but I also wanted to make it my own.

What I came up with was the concept of a wizard office gift exchange. What would that be like? What might be notable about such a thing.

I hope you like the result, in this short piece.

Gift of the Mages

Jill N Davies

Marvin Vandusky used to love the Christmas white elephant gift exchange at Wizarding Inc. It took him years to secure his position in the company, and, having by his estimation ‘arrived,’ he was eager to show the other wizards just how great he was. But instead of being seen as wonderful, the whole thing had gone wrong.

Marvin had visions of acquiring all sorts of magical gift. Enchantments that make everyone around you merry for the day, conjurations that create unending supplies of mead from the sixth plane through a tiny portal, and illusions that make you believe you achieved your end-of-year goals. But his first year participating in the gift exchange he accidentally grabbed the only non-magical gift in the pile.

“Haven’t you ever heard of detect magic?” Lamar the incredible asked him when he’d opened his unmagical package.

Marvin knew about detect magic. He’d planned to cast the spell before grabbing a present since George, the very non-magical head of HR was participating in the gift exchange, but he’d had too much hard cider from the enchanted water cooler and he’d forgotten.

That was the beginning of the joke. He’d forgotten.

“Whoopsie, Marvin! Looks like you forgot to be a wizard!” Glenda giggled as he unwrapped the blank scrolls.

George was beaming. “These ones are great! You can load them with an auto-cast so the spell will go off the moment the scroll is unfurled,” He’d said.

Red faced as much from embarrassment as from the cider, Marvin tucked the scrolls away as Glenda’s forgetting to be a wizard joke made it’s rounds through the office.

The other wizards started calling him Magic Marvin that year. Archibald the necromancer started it, suggesting that maybe if they called him magical, he wouldn’t forget to use magic at the next gift exchange.

Hating to be the butt of their joke, and eager to make a name for himself, Marvin used those scrolls at the last gift exchange to auto-cast a spell on whoever opened his gift. The only problem was that he couldn’t remember what spell he’d used—or who’d gotten the scrolls for that matter—on account of someone hitting him with a forgetting spell…

Marvin had thought that getting a bunch of non-magical scrolls made him look like a fool, but it turned out that being at the butt-end of someone’s practical joke was much worse. Now he couldn’t walk through the office door without someone taking a jab.

“Hey Vandusky, learn any good spells lately?”

“Yo, Magic Marvin, forget something?”

He was so embarrassed to show his face around the office that he took on a quest overseas hoping that being gone for the season might get everyone’s minds off the joke. Alas, the second he returned the jokes started again.

“Magic Marvin! What have you been up to lately? Or have you already forgotten?!”

So, with the closing of the questing season, as the holiday expeditions get cancelled… as all the dragons went into hibernation and the Fae busied themselves preparing for the solstice instead of wreaking havoc on the nearby villages, Marvin prepared himself for another holiday party. This year, even the necromancers would be there, given the cold snap. The ground was too frozen for necromancing.

After being the office laughingstock for two years in a row, Marvin had a plan. It was time for someone else to be the sucker. Marvin hadn’t spent all those years climbing the ranks to adventure wizard to be a laughingstock.

Six years in quality control for enchanted weapons, and that miserable stint in cursed object verification were supposed to be his path to recognition. He didn’t get to start with imbuing everyday objects with magic like Randal the Regal. But he certainly didn’t deserve all the “can’t you just remember your spells like the rest of us” jokes okay!

Marvin wanted to be known for his dragon slaying fireball and for the way he used a really cool banishment spell to free that haunted village. He shouldn’t have been passed up for the wealthy kingdom quest just because he got hit with a forgetting spell!

He was just as capable of retrieving stolen treasures from power-hungry necromancing Overloards as everybody else. Except George, that was. George and his lousy non-magical gifts that started all this…

So, this year he’d figured out the best gift.

While the rest of the wizards were busy sending each-other magical memes making fun of him, Merlin Vandusky was overseas learning a thing or two. Like how to put an absolutely stellar magical concealment spell on an ordinary package.

He was going to use that concealment spell on a plain old pair of sneakers. If anybody tried to use detect magic they’d be fooled. They would expect a high-level enchantment—maybe animated fireworks or something like that, but instead they’d get a boring pair of comfortable shoes. Then it would be that someone’s turn to be the office joke!

It’s what they deserve, after all. Who puts a forgetting spell on an auto-cast scroll anyway?

The End

Get the video on IGTV. I’ll read you this story, very distractedly, while holding my baby and my dog. If it’s not a positive story experience, at least you get to see me hold a baby and a puppy!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jill N Davies (@jillndavies_books)

Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my entries:

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

Get your copy of Due North Today!

Amazon

Kobo Books

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/due-north-4

Nook Books

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w?ean=2940162951827

Try a Free Sample of Due North Today:

Get your FREE Sample of Due North TODAY!

All you have to do is sign up for my mailing list!

Get my copy FREE

I’ll never spam you. You can unsubscribe at any time.

I had a list of ideas for December flash fiction, but it turns out nothing is working out quite the way I planned it.

For example, this week I wanted to write a story about jealous icicles. The actual story has nothing to do with jealousy. In fact, the only thing that stuck was icicle, and the icicle in this story isn’t even the main character!

Or is it?

Check it out:

The Magic of Windstorm Resort

Jill N Davies

An icicle is a magical thing. It’s made from water, just the same as the snow and ice, but it hangs, keeping vigil of the world around it. It collects molecules from windblown snow as the moisture drips down the roof to the ledges when the sun’s radiation breaks the molecules from their solid state. This was how Pierce came to be every year. He hung above the back entrance of the Windstorm Resort where the quiet beauty and snowy majesty worked to make magic.

The resort provided every manner of outdoor winter activity. When the day was done you could sit on the porch, snugged up in a puffy winter jacket warming your feet at the bon-fire and sipping hot chocolate or a mulled wine while the smells of smoke and spices mixed with the sharpness of pine.

Pierce thought of all of it as magic but knew that sometimes could be more magical than others, like the winter of ’06—the winter of the snowman.

“Matthew James, get back here right this instant!” a bearded man in a fitted ski-suit scolded as a small child burst through the heavy wooden door. Pierce looked down to watch the scene unfold.

“Come on Dad, I want to build a snowman!” the little boy moaned.

“How many times have I told you not to go outside on your own?” the dad snapped.

Matthew rolled his eyes. “But you’re taking FOREVER!”

“I’m trying to finalize your ski lessons,” the dad said.

Matthew kicked at the frozen snow that caked the side of the resort. “I dowanna ski. I want to build a snowman.”

“You’ll thank me when you’re older—when all your friends want to ski and you don’t get left behind at the top of the kiddie-hill,” the dad said.

Pierce could see both sides of the argument. Matthew was young. He couldn’t picture a future where the sacrifice of a dozen snowmen paid off. But the Dad was grown. He could only see the future and had forgotten the pure joy of losing himself in the games of youth. It was a classic impasse.

“Come on, you can build a snowman anytime. I brought you here to learn to ski,” the dad said with finality. Matthew’s face dropped. His head hung so that dark hair flopped across his forehead as he followed his dad back into the resort.

Pierce didn’t see the boy again that day. He busied himself doing the sorts of things that icicles do—melting a little in the heat of the midday sun, then freezing again as the evening ushers in the cold. Pierce grew, each molecule of water bringing a piece of the mountain with it.

Two more days passed. Pierce only managed a passing glance at the little boy. His head always hung low as he trudged across the deck. When he did look up, it was longingly across the resort of the Wonderland Play Area where children collected to play, building ice castles and ducking away from flying snowballs. There were always a few snowmen being erected, but Matthew wasn’t allowed to be a part of their construction.

Pierce noted that Matthew’s skiing was improving. He spotted the messy hair peaking out of the bright orange snow cap as the boy zoomed down the hill—first the bunny slope, then the meandering path of the Easy-skiing Green Cruiser path. Pierce knew that Matthew’s father was right—that he would appreciate these lessons, maybe even as soon as next winter, but he wished there was something he could do for the boy… something to give him what he wanted right now.

“Do I have to?” Matthew whined as he trudged after his dad, fastening a thick padded glove on his hand.

“One more lesson,” his dad said.

“But we’re going home tomorrow!” the boy blurted.

“After the lesson, okay?”

Matthew’s face brightened and he hurried off to the mountain. The smile warmed Pierce’s core.

But after never came. The midmorning brought dark, snow-filled clouds from the valley. By noon the snow was coming down with such ferocity that the lift chairs shut down. Everyone rushed for shelter leaving Pierce to shudder in the cold wind, contemplating Matthew’s lost snowman.

The storm blew through and, by late evening the sky was clear enough for the full-moon to reflect on the mounds of fresh powder. A few vacationers were brave enough to venture onto the patio and sit by the fire and sip hot beverages, their voices muffled by the fresh powder.

Matthew’s dad ventured out onto the patio just before midnight. Pierce could tell he was on the phone, even though the hood obscured his view.

“Yeah, alright. Our flight gets in at eleven,” he was saying.

Pierce listened, wishing things had been different for him and the boy.

As the dad continued, another figure appeared on the porch. Matthew had followed him out. Pierce watched the little boy take in the mountains of fresh snow before his eyes settled on the Wonderland Play Area.

The dad finished his phone call. He put the phone in his pocket and turned to head back in, stopping when he saw his boy.

“Hey Bud, I’m sorry things didn’t work out today,” he said, putting a hand on Matthew’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Matthew agreed.

Something in the dad’s face shifted, as if he were seeing the vacation through Matthew’s eyes for the first time.

In that moment, as if melted from the warmth of a father’s love, Pierce’s core cracked open. He fell from the ledge and landed with a soft thud in the unpacked snow. Matthew’s eyes settled on him. His dad reached down and picked the icicle up. He held it up to his nose, prompting the boy to giggle.

“Hey,” he asked, “do you want to build a snowman?”

Matthew’s eyes twinkled with the reflection of the moon off crystalline ice.

The End

Don’t feel like reading? I’ll read it to you on IGTV!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jill N Davies (@jillndavies_books)

Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my entries:

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

Get your copy of Due North Today!

Amazon

Kobo Books

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/due-north-4

Nook Books

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w?ean=2940162951827

Try a Free Sample of Due North Today:

Get your FREE Sample of Due North TODAY!

All you have to do is sign up for my mailing list!

Get my copy FREE

I’ll never spam you. You can unsubscribe at any time.

Another Flash Friday is upon us!

I didn’t want to jump straight into Christmas-related fiction on the first Friday of December, so instead I decided to go with a little cold weather immagry.

Here’s the inspiration for this weeks piece. I learned something about penguins recently…

Did you ever wonder why there are no dead penguins on the ice in Antarctica – where do they go? Wonder no more!! It is a known fact that the penguin is a very ritualistic bird which lives an extremely ordered and complex life. The penguin is very committed to its family and will mate for life, as well as maintain a form of compassionate contact with its offspring throughout its life.

If a penguin is found dead on the ice surface, other members of the family and social circle have been known to dig holes in the ice, using their vestigial wings and beaks, until the hole is deep enough for the dead bird to be rolled into, and buried. The male penguins then gather in a circle around the fresh grave and sing:

“Freeze a jolly good fellow.” “Freeze a jolly good fellow.” Then, they kick him in the ice hole.

(Full disclaimer, this isn’t my joke. My mom told it to me…)

So that’s where I got the idea for “Revenge of the Penguins”

Revenge of the Penguins

Jill N Davies

“It’s not right,” Ace said, before shoving another few silverfish down his gullet.

“I know, but what’s done is done. We can’t bring him back,” Flappy said, stuffing his brood pouch. His youngest chick was grown now, but the habit died hard, much to Tier and Misoo’s chagrin. The last time Flappy brought fish to Misoo, she’d given him a loud and indignant gakker. She was, after all, old enough to lay her first egg.

“They didn’t even eat him!” Ace proclaimed in a long, sorrowful honk. Appetite gone, he turned away from the school of silverfish.

“It doesn’t matter. There still wasn’t anything left to put in the ice…” James T. Penguin pointed out as he, too, abandoned the school.

Flappy stuffed a few more fish in his pouch before scuttling over to his brothers. “Come now. None of us have had our fill and it took two days of diving to find this school.”

“I’m not hungry. I’ll eat squid later,” Ace said.

“I hate squid!” James T. Penguin blurted.

Ace cut through his bubble-stream, blocking his path. “You’re missing the point. I can’t eat fish like everything’s fine while the orcas get away with it!”

James T. raised his wings in abdication. “Orcas do what orcas do. What’s a penguin going to do about it?”

“Get pulled apart in a senselessly violent game of toss the Freddy?” Flappy blurted.

“This isn’t funny brother!” Ace gakked as they surfaced into the frigid Antarctic air.

“I know that! James T. knows it. The entire raft knows it! But what do you expect to do against a group of murderous orcas? We’re not going to attack them, we’re just penguins,” Flappy squawked.

“We can banish them,” Ace chirped before launching himself onto the ice.

Flappy and James T. exchanged incredulous looks before doing the same.

“Ace, brother… we all miss Freddy, but you’re talking crazy. Penguins don’t banish orcas. We eat fish. We raise young. We march…”

Ace watched as James T. lost steam.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he said.

“Penguins can’t win against orcas,” Flappy argued.

“You’re right,” Ace agreed. “One penguin doesn’t stand a chance. But all of us? A whole raft of penguins… has it ever been done?”

“You know it hasn’t,” James T. said.

Upright, they waddled back toward the mass of endlessly circling black and white. The ruckus of the birds carried despite the high winds.

“I think we should do it,” Ace said.

“The orcas would kill us,” Flappy said.

“They already do. It was Freddy last week. Who’s next? Mildred? Daphne? Our chicks?”

Flappy gasped and James T. gakked.

“My point is, the ice is moving no matter what we do. When it closes, it could shut the orcas in, or out. I, for one, would like to see it shut them out,” Ace said.

The brothers were quiet for a long while. Three silverfish slid unnoticed from Flappy’s untended pouch.

“It could be done,” James T. mused, “and it wouldn’t even take the whole raft to do it.”

Ace nodded. “Not if we can get them to chase us past the ice gate while it’s closing.”

“A chased penguin is a dead penguin,” Flappy said.

“One, yes, but if we can confuse them—make them lose track of who they’re chasing… then we’ve got a shot,” Ace said.

“Yes!” James T. agreed, “We’ll use their tactics against them. We’ll trade off the chase when we pass the schools.”

“We’d have to have perfect timing,” Flappy said.

“Then let’s have it,” Ace concluded.

“How long have you been planning this?” Flappy asked.

“Since before Freddy,” Ace said, then, puffing his chest, asked, “are you in brothers?”

James T. cocked his head to the side. “It might be worth it. Our chicks are grown. It would protect the rest of the raft…”

Ace shifted his gaze to Flappy. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, brother. Misoo’s still young…”

Ace’s wing shot out across Flappy’s beak. The rest of the brood pouch’s contents spilled across the ice.

“Misoo is hatching her first chick as we speak!” Ace said.

Their eyes met across the frozen wasteland. Black pebbles skewed by the dust of long-frozen snow.

“There’s nothing left for us here… Not with Freddy gone. Not without the safety of the raft…”

Flappy turned to look across the shrinking expanse of open Antarctic sea. In the distance, spray from an orca’s blowhole misted the horizon.

“Let’s do it,” he said.

“Now?” James T. balked.

“The gate is closing. If we wait much longer, we’ll have to wait until next season,” Flappy said.

It was true. The massive ice sheets were growing every day. Two days ago, they’d shifted to close the deep inland bay. It was now or never.

James T. nodded. He couldn’t argue with them. The chirp, caw and bray of the raft drew his attention from the shifting ice.

“Should we tell them at least? I mean, in case we don’t make it back?” he asked.

“No. Let’s save it for when we return,” Flappy said.

Ace cawed in excited consent. “This is happening.”

“It sure is,” James T. agreed.

Flappy turned to face the open sea. In doing so he stepped on one of the silverfish, now frozen over from the frigid cold. He lost his feet, slipping and sliding until he tumbled into the water.

“I’m okay!” he cried when his head popped out of the water. “Let’s go banish some orcas!”

Ace approached the water as Flappy swam toward the orcas.

“You planned it this way, didn’t you?” James T. asked.

Ace raised an eyebrow. “Me? No. This was a spur of the moment sort of decision.”

Ace launched himself into the water and sped after Flappy.

James T. sighed, giving one last look at the raft.

“Don’t worry, Freddy m’boy. We’re about to make it right,” he said before his bubble trail shot out like a mistle.

The End

Don’t feel like reading? I’ll read it to you on IGTV!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jill N Davies (@jillndavies_books)

Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my entries:

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

Get your copy of Due North Today!

Amazon

Kobo Books

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/due-north-4

Nook Books

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w?ean=2940162951827

Try a Free Sample of Due North Today:

Get your FREE Sample of Due North TODAY!

All you have to do is sign up for my mailing list!

Get my copy FREE

I’ll never spam you. You can unsubscribe at any time.

Happy Holiday weekend!

For my family yesterday was Thanksgiving. This year we didn’t do the big family gathering, which made things very different.

Normally my Thanksgiving day starts with an early rise for the Turkey-Day 10K. This year I ran a 5K with the family at noon.

Normally it’s all rush-rush to get showered and down to the family in time for the big meal. This year dinner was at 6, well after Charlie’s afternoon nap.

Normally I bake at least one pie. This year we purchased a pie from Costco.

In short, everything was different.

It was different, but it was nice. In the absence of every normal tradition, we had an opportunity to explore the parts of the holiday that were important to us. We had a lovely meal, we goofed off and laughed together, and of course, we missed our extended families.

The whole experience got me thinking about what I would write, because I hadn’t started writing my flash fiction piece for this week yet. Perhaps I was experimenting with the idea of being a vaguely irresponsible adult. Or, maybe I’m just a busy mom and it was a holiday week.

I sat down and started writing at about 9:30 PM on Thanksgiving evening. Fueled with a bit of wine and an Irish Coffee, I was enticed by the idea of talking food. What resulted was this piece, which combines the concept of a solo holiday with food that talks. I hope you enjoy the result.

I was so tickled with how it came out that I decided to use a longer version of it as a reedsy submission. That means that technically, this story was first published on Reedsy.

Regardless, I give you Bitter Cranberries

Bitter Cranberries

Jill N Davies

Frances had never cooked an entire Thanksgiving dinner all on her own. It wasn’t that she couldn’t, but that she came from a very large family.

Coming from a large family made holidays the stuff of chaos. The way she figured, the apocalypse was probably more organized than her parent’s house on a holiday. The kitchen absolutely bursted with the smells of so many dishes…

Grandma Trudy’s famous roast, Uncle Iver’s pickled radishes, Great Grandma Ida’s spiced potatoes…

And then you had to count the current generation: Hildy’s brownie bottom pumpkin pie, Trevor’s sweet corn casserole, cousin Barbara’s pineapple upside-down sweet potato dish…. It was enough to make anyone’s head spin!

And the food was only the half of it all. Each family member managed to bring their own drama to the table. Since Frances was a chef, she embodied that drama in the dishes:

Momma’s histrionic glazed ham

Anita’s baked brie stuffed with petty jealousy

Cousin Benji’s pigs in a blanket with another woman, resting on a pile of divorce paper cabbage and served with alimony sauce

When the opportunity arose for a solo Thanksgiving, Frances basked in the idea of a peaceful, drama-free meal. She hadn’t counted on how judgy the food would be.

Turkey trussed-up in a double-deep roasting pan stuffed with vegetables, mounds of potatoes obscuring the counter-top, bowls full of lettuces, breadcrumbs and several experimental sauces, Frances viewed her world.

She took a sip of wine, letting the bright acidity contrast the scent of simmering broth laced with rosemary.

“I’m so glad I don’t have to spend the day smelling Aunt Kacy’s over-seasoned green beans with emotional-baggage mushrooms,” she said to the turkey.

She stared at the turkey as if she expected it to respond, but it was the sprouts that spoke up.

“You sure don’t sound like you’re enjoying it,” they said.

Frances’s eyes settled on the sprouts. She tilted her head curiously as she studied their ordinary-ness.

“It’s nice not to have any drama,” she said.

“No drama? What do you call that panic-attack you had when the salt-shaker top came off then?” the turkey asked.

Frances gave the turkey a stern side-eye and said, “Fixing that means that you’re going into the oven instead of the trash, so watch that attitude!”

The Turkey gulped and the oven dinged. She grabbed a couple of oven mitts and set about the task of getting the bird settled.

“Enjoy yourself in there!” she said.

“I will!” the turkey replied.

She gave it a content nod before shutting the oven.

“Where’s my wine glass?” she asked.

“Over here!” it called.

She retrieved it, took a sip, and decided that it wasn’t weird that her food was talking to her.

“You all make better company, anyway,” she said.

“You don’t miss your family at all?” the potatoes asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Frances said.

“But you said that a bunch of talking food was better company. Don’t you think that means there’s something wrong with you?” the Waldorf salad asked.

“Food’s always spoken to me. It’s why I became a chef!” Frances said.

“Yeah, but we’re literally talking to you,” came the muffled voice of the roasting turkey.

Frances shrugged. “You’re all in my head. What’s the harm?”

“Some serious mental and emotional ramifications?” the pecan pie suggested.

“Cuz you’re not quite drunk yet!” the pinot chimed in.

“Damn, that was gonna be my excuse,” Frances said. The diced fruit snickered.

“Just admit that you miss them!” the sage-rubbed yams said.

“I don’t miss them! Family is nothing but drama, noise and a bunch of people who don’t appreciate your cranberry sauce,” Frances said.

“Didn’t Uncle Iver like your cranberry sauce?” the sprouts asked.

“Yeah, and cousin Chelsea too!” The turkey piped in.

“And Pappa, don’t forget him,” the pumpkin risotto added.

“Sure, a couple people liked them, but Mark’s kids said they were goopy and Grandma Jane threw them out after dinner. She said there was no room for leftovers!” Frances argued.

“Maybe they were goopy,” the potatoes said.

“They wouldn’t even know! They took one look at them and stuck their noses up!” Frances cried.

“You’re being a little sensitive,” the pinot suggested.

“I’m not being sensitive! My mom’s the one who gets sensitive. Anita and Hildy get sensitive. Those cranberries were the same recipe that earned me my first star,” Frances argued.

“Maybe this isn’t about cranberry sauce,” The turkey suggested.

“Yeah, maybe this has more to do with feeling like your family doesn’t appreciate you,” the sprouts agreed.

“They don’t,” Frances agreed.

“Do you appreciate them?” the yams asked.

“I… do. Most of the time,” Frances faltered.

“When you’re not criticizing their cooking,” the rolls said.

“And their personal problems!” the mushrooms added.

“I don’t criticize,” Frances argued.

“What about the dish names—Henry’s close-talking clafloutis?” The dang mirepoix was too observant.

“Okay, so maybe I can be a bit of a jerk to them sometimes too. It’s hard not being noticed, being put aside because I’m the single at the table. Always sleeping on the sofa because I don’t have a partner… I just want to feel important!” She said.

“So you shut yourself in and made a 12-course meal all to yourself?” The turkey asked.

“Who’s going to tell you you’re important, you?” the pie asked.

“She probably expects it to be us,” They sprouts said. Frances could practically hear their non-existent eyes roll in the back of their sprout-y little heads.

“Alright! I get it! I’ll go call them right now. Will that make you happy?” She asked.

The vegetables cheered.

“Put them on video so they can see my drippings!” They turkey yelled.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Frances chuckled.

She set her wine glass on the counter and made her exit in search of her phone. The door shut, knocking a small paper sack over and spilling its contents.

“Can you believe she didn’t even notice me?” the spilled cranberries asked indignantly.

The End

I finished the story at about 10:45 last night. It was just in time for Juniper to be due for another feed, so I took the opportunity to snuggle the pup until then.

Don’t feel like reading for yourself? I’ll read it to you on IGTV!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jill N Davies (@jillndavies_books)

Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my entries:

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

Get your copy of Due North Today!

Amazon

Kobo Books

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/due-north-4

Nook Books

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w?ean=2940162951827

Try a Free Sample of Due North Today:

Get your FREE Sample of Due North TODAY!

All you have to do is sign up for my mailing list!

Get my copy FREE

I’ll never spam you. You can unsubscribe at any time.

Another Friday is suddenly upon us! It’s difficult for me to believe that we’re already nearly through with November. I also have to admit that I thought that things would be different by November.

If there’s something I’ve learned, though, it’s that things don’t always go the way we’ve planned. That’s a truth I’ve gotten to know through some of our struggles.

I’m thankful for my strength and endurance. I’ve weathered a lot of storms. I’m also intensely grateful for my daughters.

I wrote this week’s flash fiction piece back in August. The entire story is based on an image that flashed in my mind of a woman in knight’s armor standing at water’s edge in a very dark place, looking up at a star.

I wrote the piece in the same fashion as The Babadook. That is to say that I wrote it to be an analogy. The Babadook is meant to be an analogy for mental illness. Light Paladin is meant to be an analogy for something else. For me, it’s meant to be an analogy for someone fighting a long-time illness, but it could be for anyone who has a long-time struggle.

The story has a prequel. I will provide the link immediately after the end.

Light Paladin

Jill N Davies

“Hello little light. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you here in this dark place.”

Gwendolyn lowered her sword and removed her helmet to gaze upon the twinkling beacon.

Since entering this dark realm the lights were her only companions. When they shone, it filled her heart and made her whole. They gave her the strength she needed to go on. To fight.

Gwendolyn was a paladin for the order of light. She stood against the darkness, fighting for all that was good and right— for the light. It was her sworn duty, so she could do no less.

She used to live in a world full of light. Her life and duty gave her joy, and she was fulfilled. But that was before. She couldn’t remember what that world was like. She couldn’t picture the people, couldn’t remember the places or her routines… it had been too long.

Gwendolyn couldn’t even remember what she looked like. All she had were distorted reflections in the shadowed, murky waters that swelled and festered in this dark land. She didn’t dare linger at the water’s edge long enough to look. Too many beasts gathered there, hungry for a fight. Besides, Gwendolyn preferred to imagine she looked the way she used to— short blond hair, easy to tuck under the smooth metal of her helmet. Piercing green eyes that weren’t muted by the darkness. Smooth skin free from the scars of so many battles…

The second light blinked on, twinkling against the inky black sky. She watched as the lights danced around each other— bright points, not strong enough to fill the dark realm, but enough to fill her.

As she watched, willing the lights to pull her back with them, something moved in the dark.

Gwendolyn reacted without pause. She had done this dance so many times that it, like the lights, was a part of her.

The helmet slid silently back onto her head, sword drawn from its sheath, muscles tensed; Gwendolyn was ready to fight.

The creature lashed out from the darkness, attempting to envelop her in gripping tendrils. The cool metal of her sword bit into flesh. It shrieked in protest, giving her an idea of where it hid in the shadows.

“A nightmare,” Gwendolyn whispered. It was the largest of the creatures that haunted this realm.

She had fought nightmares before, but not often. They hid in the deepest parts of the realm, rarely venturing out when she could see the lights. But something felt different about this time—about this nightmare.

The beast lashed out again, baring razor-sharp claws that glinted even in the shadows. She jumped out of the way, landing without sound on the damp rock. Again, she sliced into the darkness to impact a reaching tentacle while simultaneously lifting her shield to block another attacking appendage.

The impact of claw and metal rang out across the stagnate water, echoing through the cavern so that it felt as though the walls were closing in. With all her might, Gwendolyn heaved her shield and forced the nightmare’s arms away from her.

The beast continued its attack as though there were no limit to its reach. Each time Gwendolyn blocked the onslaught.

The battle wore on. It was difficult to say for how long because time didn’t exist in this world. It slipped and slithered so that huge swaths were lost, then fell into stillness so that a second stretched out into eternity. Gwendolyn grew tired. The ache of old wounds crept in, dragging her down and slowing her strike. The nightmare crept out from the depths, towering high and blocking out the lights with its terrible body.

She wasn’t certain she could defeat it this time. She was too weak. She’d fought for too long. Her body demanded rest. It would be easy to let it take her. She could finally lay down her sword. The lights would blink off and she could sleep …

The nightmare dipped its head down and bore a mouth of dagger-like fangs in a terrible roar. Drenched in the stench of its breath, Gwendolyn was knocked prone. She scrambled, slipping on the wet stone.

“I’m so tired,” She whimpered into the dark.

The creature prepared to lunge. She caught a glimpse of the black sky above its head. The lights twinkled in that slice of space, filling her heart.

“Give me strength,” she begged through gritted teeth.

The attack came swift. Gwendolyn thrust herself into the murky water to dodge it. The beast lumbered in after her, sloshing enormous waves as it thrashed, searching for her in the pool of death.

Desperate to escape, she heaved an enormous breath and sunk into the murky water. She forced herself deep to elude the encroaching horror, moving through the darkness guided by instinct alone—and the lights.

When she surfaced she was at the nightmare’s back. Stifling the coughs and stutters, her lungs begging for air, she threw herself forward, blade angled down.

The sword plunged into the nightmare under the weight of her body. She let out an earth-shattering scream, drowning out the sounds of the dying beast. She pulled her sword from its lifeless body before falling, exhausted.

Panting, she gazed up at the sky, her eyes fixed on the lights. They blinked at her, growing larger with every breath until she was consumed by them. They filled her. The lights filled the realm so that she had to close her eyes against the brilliance.

When she opened her eyes again, she didn’t recognize where she was. Her whole body ached and trembled with weakness. She whimpered and groaned.

A hand closed around hers, small and gentle. Then another, smaller, but fierce grip. Gwendolyn forced her eyes to focus on the little girls that gazed up at her.

“Are you awake Mommy?”

She recognized the voice.

Then another.

“Mommy? Are you back?”

Two of them, holding her hand, pulling her from the darkness.

Her little lights.

The End

Read the Prequel, Knight of Another Realm, HERE to learn how Gwendolyn ended up in the Realm of Darkness

Don’t have time to read? I read Light Paladin to you on IGTV!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jill N Davies (@jillndavies_books)

Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my entries:

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

Get your copy of Due North Today!

Amazon

Kobo Books

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/due-north-4

Nook Books

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w?ean=2940162951827

Try a Free Sample of Due North Today:

Get your FREE Sample of Due North TODAY!

All you have to do is sign up for my mailing list!

Get my copy FREE

I’ll never spam you. You can unsubscribe at any time.