Emily Kinney's Blog, page 3

Abode So Foreboding

“Those who wander in uncharted places are bound to either be swallowed, or return not as they once were,” Mira recited ominously in her head. After hours and hours of only hearing the crunching of leaves and twigs under her feet, her mind was starting to turn desperate. Text books could only warn you so much about such forests, she realized, glancing to both sides of her, once again seeing the mirrored image of trees and gloom and uneven ground. Mira couldn’t tell if she was going in a circle, or unconsciously heading towards an actual location. If specific locations existed here. It was hard to believe that there was anything even remotely human to be found so many miles away from civilization. Mira’s legs ached from walking, and her arms throbbed from swaying by her sides for so long. She cursed herself for choosing to come into this woods in the first place. “Maps,” she mumbled. “Maps are always the way to go. Everyone wants to sneer at them, call them safe, but you prove yourself an idiot the minute you set off without one.” Still enraged and mumbling, Mira almost missed the flash of masonry in the distance that signalled the idea that maybe spots of life did exist in such wilds.”

Sleepy As He Was

Aroused from his slumber, he rushed to the shutters. Flinging them wide open, he popped out his head into the night air, his beard at once sailing off in flutters. Where had that noise come from? Surely he as too high up for mere arm-thrown projectiles? A specialty device must have been used. But who in the world wanted to speak to him so badly that they’d go through so much trouble? – Emily Kinney, author of The Island of Lote

Can’t Stop The Fall Coming

“The sun set golden. His leaves crisped to orange. The grass, dull with age, bemoaning its short life span, swayed back and forth. With tired eyes and knotty skin, Edgar the Oak fiddled away, bidding the harvest days good-bye.” – Emily Kinney

Waiting For The Stroke

 

“One more minute. That was all that remained of his wait; one more minute. The anticipation had caused his wobble to cease, despite the continuation of the extravagant height. The beads of sweat popping out across his forehead no longer were because of his concentrating on balancing. No, they now squeezed and pooled over because there was now only one more minute. And then . . . Then all would see. . . . All would know.” – Emily Kinney

Bath at Dusk

 

“The sea might have been knocking and foaming restlessly outside his abode, but inside, nothing could hamper Darran’s bathtime. Yes, he would eventually have to return to the turbulence and brine, but for now he indulged in his desire to be a fresh water seahorse, and not one of those saltwater imbeciles who were always sticky.” – Emily Kinney

Tempest On A Hook

 

 

“The trashing lasted a notably long time. Far longer than any nautical beastie they had hauled up before. Then again, never before had they snagged anything that had a touch of human in it. As they stared at it, or her, for none were blind, the gnarled faces were impassive, as gnarled faces have taught themselves to be. When the creature finally wore herself out, they slowly lowered her to the deck, slick with all the ocean she had shook off herself. Her neck and shoulders hit first, her tail, resembling both a fish body and a fine pair of shapely legs, stayed up in the air. The storm wailed on to all sides of them, but it now held no interest. Whatever ungodly horror they has just let touch down on their vessel was now their only concern. The only attractive part of her was the middle, the lower half being far too animalistic, and the top half the stuff of nightmares. Rows of garish, bloodied, triangular teeth stuck out vulgarly from her double wide mouth, the hinge nearly kissing her tiny, deformed ears. The seamen couldn’t contain the shudder that rippled through their shoulders at the sight of these teeth. Tidbits of flesh and algae clung to the corners and gums, made more unwholesome by the realness. The undeniable truth. Even if their eyes were tampered with, and their muscles strained by hauling up a ploy, their noses couldn’t lie to them. This scaley hussy had a stench on her that made both their throats clog and their groins strain. Their discomfort increasing for a multitude of reasons, the crews blinked at the captain, waiting for orders, and for the first time, none too patiently.” – Emily Kinney

Night Panic

 

“Standing by the rushes, the wind whipping her hair, she strained her ears for the noise that had lured her from the house. It surely wasn’t a water bird, with their mournful warbling, or a fisher cat, whose scream could curdle cream. What, then, had it been? Another patrol? Didn’t they come by often enough? Always sneaking, always spying, checking on her, seeing if she would cave and start levitating spoons. Yet, even they caused more commotion than a single yowl. No, more than that. It resembled howling, yes, but there had been speech there as well. She was certain of it.” – Emily Kinney

The Island of Lote – Arriving in Town

 

 

 

The house looked larger on the inside than on the outside. It had dirt floors, packed down hard. The door led into a walkway, a hall extending straight ahead, and on the left was what looked like a sitting room, filled with furniture made from the same wood as the house. To the right of the front door was a kitchen.

Simon walked into the kitchen, not bothering to show Milo the rest of the house. He took a sharp looking knife off one of the counters, which were also made from the strange wood. Milo, who had followed him into the kitchen, now started to rethink her decision. But the only thing Simon did with the knife was cut away the bandages on her head.

He did this so swiftly, the knife just a blur, that Milo’s stomach lurched. He unwound the cloth carefully and examined the wound underneath. It seemed to meet his satisfaction, for he did not apply another bandage. Throwing the bloody cloth away in a wooden barrel, which appeared to be the trash can, he turned and headed the door.

Milo, who would have preferred to stay and explore the house, reluctantly followed. It was most definitely his house, and she didn’t think it would be polite to wander through it without his company.

Once outside, he again tried to hold her hand. She clasped both her hands securely behind her back and marched straight ahead. Though this puzzled the boy, he decided not to start another argument.

This was wise, considering that Milo was a woman, and you simply can’t mess around with women’s feelings. Nothing can be more frightening than an angry female, and may no man forget it! Women are warriors of a different breed, and Milo was one of the toughest specimens. Simon could sense this in a small way; if she did not want to hold his hand, then she wouldn’t. That was that. No debate. No pushing his luck.

Simon took the lead, striding towards the heart of the island. The ground was becoming as hard as regular cement. The trees were becoming fewer and fewer, and the hot sun beamed down on the two teens. Every now and then they would pass a house, built in the same fashion as Simon’s, some smaller, some larger. As they walked on, the trees began to reappear. Very tall, wide trees with broad, green leaves that provided shade. Encircling the bases of those trees were flower beds, where tropical flora had been transplanted.

They trudged onward a short distance until they reached what undeniably had to be their destination. Passing several decorated trees, Milo gasped in amazement. It was a town! An entire town, constructed entirely from that strange type of wood. There were many houses, some sporting porches, several shops, one very large building with a huge doorway, a school house, and a church that she identified by the large cross on its roof. There was another big building, on the far side of town, with a second story and many windows. Milo couldn’t tell what it was used for.

All these places were widely spread out from each other. Way off in the outskirts, Milo thought she could see what appeared to be a large, black house. Palm trees speckled the streets, towering over everything. These trees also had flower gardens planted around the bases, and some even had benches nailed around their trunks.

But what most astounded Milo was the abundance of people milling about. They were dressed almost exactly the same as people at home, only more modestly, with no offensive or statementmaking clothing. But since it was a tropical island, they were mostly dressed in colorful island attire. Such as what Simon was wearing.

Simon led Milo down the streets, pausing now and then to let her gape in through a window or at a passing person. Nobody was paying them much attention. Simon would occasionally receive a warm greeting, but Milo mostly got bemused stares.

They eventually reached a small store with a window cut into the wall. Attached to the window was a sill, and on the sill was a bell. Not the type of bell found in the lobby of 711 Shady Ally, that you slap and it would ding, but more like an old-fashioned school bell. Simon leaned his elbows on the sill and rang it. Like the bell at 711 Shady Ally, it also had a woman hurrying to answer the call. In complete contrast to Miz Ricca, this woman was a plump little thing, with a pleasant smile and a full bun of brown hair. – from chapter five of The Island of Lote by Emily Kinney

Ghostly Savior

 

 

“Eternally lost never sounds like a hopeful or happy prognosis. But, in her rare, mysterious case, it was the best news she could ever receive. Better to be eternally lost, and wandering throughout a neverending woods as its protector, than eternally tormented. So she took up her post with barely a moan, her large, empty eyes seeing all, looking for those whose lostness she could help, to make up for her own.” – Emily Kinney

Drawn to the Waters

 
“Radiance reflected on the lake’s surface. It swirled and sparked and sang. So temptin. So very tantalizing. It called, cajoled. Lindy couldn’t resist. Her little legs broke the water, barely feeling the chill. The early morning mist whispered nothing of danger, only tranquility. The hem of Lindy’s nightie dipped in the water, dampening and sticking to her skin. But she didn’t notice. She noticed nothing by the water and its growing swirl.” – Emily Kinney