Improvement (Micro-Fiction Monday)

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be holding this sword, facing his “opponent”—a wooden block, carved vaguely into the shape of a person. He didn’t want to listen to the sharp thwaks of metal against wood, or the constant yelling of the Guard Master and his useless orders.

No, I will not space out my feet.

No, I will not grip the hilt differently.

He didn’t want to be here. But here, he was stuck—unlike his older sister, who was standing at the opposite end of the field, surrounded by her peers. He was lucky she controlled the earth element, because those were the only ones permitted to train on the field with the warriors. The rest of the magic students were spread out across campus—the water students were down by the fountain in front, the fire students on the concrete platform behind the main building, and the air users were up on the rooftop. At least, that’s where they started. Every now and then one flustered child would go running past, hair wild, the silver emblem on their uniform flashing as they hurried off to rejoin the group.

Now, he watched his sister wave her hand. Sparks of jade flew around, as the ground rumbled gently—he could feel it, even from here. A vine sprouted from the broken earth, reaching up and wrapping itself around her finger.

Why did she get to be a magic user? They had the same magical ancestry. Why did he have to be the one trapped, without any elemental connection of his own? He yelled out and struck the wooden dummy in frustration.

His teacher nodded at him, his approval silent, but evident. The boy was improving.

The boy didn’t want to improve.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Click (Micro-Fiction Monday)

He waited up high, in a tree, an old pistol loosely clutched in his hand. The branches were dead, rotten, and crumbling. They wouldn’t hold his weight for much longer. Luckily, his target was almost right beneath him. There were no leaves to cover him, but that was okay; the thick cloud of polluted air did the job nicely.

Just about there, now. Three more steps. Two. One...

He dropped, silently, from his perch, his feet colliding with his target’s back. The target cried in pain and dropped to the ground. The attacker was satisfied at the cracking and crunching of the target’s bones beneath his boots.

He hopped off of the fallen traveller, and stuck the pistol in between his teeth as he yanked the worn backpack right off his shoulders. The target groaned, rolling in pain, as the attacker rifled roughly through his belongings. Some old photographs, a dirty teddy bear, an empty water bottle. He threw the bag down in disgust and yanked the pistol out of his mouth. There was nothing he could use.

Frustrated, the attacker kicked his fallen target, hard in the gut. The man gasped, clutching his side. “What kind of survivor are you?” the attacker spat. “Not a crumb of food, or a drop of water...pathetic.”

“Please,” the man croaked. “Let me...have my things. They’re all I have left of my family!”

The attacker dropped to his knees, waving the pistol carelessly in the air. “You miss your family?”

“Yes...” Relief washed through the man’s eyes.

His gun clicked. “Then allow me to reunite you.”

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

More Books

Because you can never talk about books too much.

I got a Goodreads account a few months ago, finally, despite the fact that I was extremely reluctant to do so. (I was ticked off with it constantly trying to log me in when I didn't even have an account, thus making me unable to read anything on the website without being signed in. Despite the fact that making an account ages ago would have solved this problem, the fact that it was bothering me made me stubborn. I DIDN'T WANT TO GIVE IN.)

I have to admit, I really, really like the website. I like keeping a record about everything I've read, I like updating a status about what I'm reading, I love rating it and writing reviews...

I find it funny, actually, how much I enjoy writing reviews for the things I read. Even the things I didn't enjoy as much as others, I really enjoyed writing and talking about them. It's a little weird, considering how little I enjoyed English class. I've been trying to figure out, lately, why that is.

Whenever I was in English class, no matter what we read, I never had any real interest in it. Pretty much anything I said in any essay wasn't a result of me looking at it critically, or giving my true thoughts about it. It was always about me trying to say things that seemed smart, or things that my teacher would give me good marks for. Maybe the reason I enjoy it so much now is because I'm not being forced to think too deeply about everything, or being rushed to finish it by a deadline. I move at my own pace, talk about the things that I picked up on, and that's that.

Either way, I'm certainly enjoying it now.

I've written several reviews over on Goodreads, if you wanted to go check them out! I'm thinking of making book reviews a regular thing I do elsewhere, be it on this blog or a different blog or something else entirely. I'll keep you posted on where I go with that (if I go anywhere with that).


Until later,

- Justyne

Micro-Fiction Monday is a GO!

Remember Snippet Sunday? Remember how that kind of fizzled out into nothing?

Well, say hello to a new weekly challenge!

Starting today, every Monday I'll post a piece of micro fiction (or flash fiction). For those of you who don't know, micro fiction is basically a very very short story, with a word count clocking in at 300 words or less. To give myself a bit of a challenge, I'll roll my inspiration dice and create a piece of flash fiction based on the prompt.

I hope you enjoy!

~~

Genre: Children's
Character: Hero (willing)
Motivation: to become

His mother could always tell. The way his eyes lit up at bedtime, she could tell that’s when his world opened up. The way his eyes stayed glued to the page, even though the both know that he couldn’t read. Even though it was supposed to make him sleepy, it did quite the opposite—she caught him staying up late, more than once, a flashlight turned on under his bed covers as his tiny little fingers traced over the words his mind couldn’t quite grab onto yet.

She could tell from the way he grasped the sticks he found in the yard, even though she had scolded him more than once for playing with them. The way he swung with confidence and jumped and yelled and shouted. The way he “saved” his little sister from their pet dog, even though she had little interest in being rescued.

His mother could tell because he was never scared of the monsters hiding in the closet. She could tell because, every October, he pulled out that same old wooden sword. She could tell because of the dragons and demons that he battled bravely in the backyard, every day. They were invisible to her eyes, but he knew they were real.

She could always tell that he was a hero. Her very own little hero.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

"Aspiring"

There is no such thing as an aspiring writer--you either write, or you don't.

If you are a writer, you've probably heard that statement--or some variation of it--at least once, and for good reason.

I feel like, too often, the term "writer" is synonymous with a career--any career--that involves writing. If you refer to yourself as a writer, people automatically assume that you're not only a professional, but successful and financially well-off, as well. I think it happens with other artistic pass times, too; artists, painters, poets, you name it. 

I'm guilty of it, myself. Just look at my blogger bio! "Aspiring writer". How do you "aspire" to write? "Oh, I want to write someday! But not today. I'm too busy today."

Seems more like procrastination to me. Trust me, I'm an expert. (Kinda.)

When I made my first e-mail address, I chose the name "futur_writer". I cringe now, not only because of the terrible spelling (I confused it with the French word, okay? It was one time!), but because of how...wrong it was. I was working on a book series--I think that more than qualifies the title of "writer". No futur/e required.

I think, instead of aspiring "writer", we need to say things like "aspiring novelist" or "aspiring poet". "Writer" is too broad a term, anyway. I love writing, but I definitely like some mediums much more than others. (Has anyone seen me ever enjoy writing an essay for school? Didn't think so.)


You shouldn't aspire to simply write in general--you should aspire to improve.


Until later,

- Justyne