November 21 - 28

[Wlonnie]

For this week's challenge you must write short story (500-1,000 words). This story must be about 2 people you have seen in real life, people you have observed, met, talked to or whatever. It has to be about their relationship and personalities. Have fun!
By Taria.

[Wlonnie]

Pierre and the Drugstore
Written about an old couple who comes to my work to buy coffee. This is how I imagine them in their youth.

She stands there every morning at quarter past eight. I wonder if she knows that I’m watching her. But I cannot help it. She is my love - I know it’s true. I feel as though God Himself has placed me in this city to speak to her, to show her that we were meant to be wed and married. Or do those words mean the same thing? English is not my mother tongue; therefore I cannot remember. One of the intriguing things about this woman is that she only speaks English. But this is okay - Pierre can forgive her for her lack of knowledge. French is the most beautiful language, but when speaking to a woman more beautiful than my mother tongue, exceptions can be made.
Oh, look. There she is again. That Canadiens sweater I dropped off secretly at her door looks so cute on her. It touches my heart that she would wear a gift from a secret admirer. Perhaps, if one day I build up the courage to speak with her face-to-face, she might even thank me for my kindness. Pierre is very kind. He is especially kind to beautiful young women.
“Excuse me, but could you spare a light?”
I nearly faint when I see her standing beside me, on my side of the street. When did she cross the road? There is no crosswalk this far down the street, and traffic has been weaving in and out like a crazy bunch of chickens! Not only is this woman beautiful, but she is brazen and bold. I can feel my heart melting as I look into her eyes.
“A light?” I question.
“Yes, silly.” She laughs. “A light. You know, for this?” She lifts a gloved hand, showing off the lazy end of her cigarette which looks as though it’s been used a few times already.
My lips form a frown. “You know that those things eat away at your lungs, do you not?”
“Oh come on, you sound like my parents. Besides, the war’s over. It’s not like my cigarette is going to set off any German bombs.” Her smile is coy and her words are sweet. In that moment, if I’d had a lighter, I think I would have given it to her.
I shrug and smile. “Sorry, but Pierre doesn’t smoke.”
“Pierre? We’re going into third person now?”
A warm blush spreads over my face, and I mentally curse myself for my habitual usage of my name. “Actually, I was hoping for an introduction.”
She smirks. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”
“Okay then.” I take in a deep breath and shove my hands into the pockets of my pants. I bow lowly before the unnamed beauty. “My name is Pierre DuPont. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”
She doesn’t say anything for a few moments. I know she is toying with me, yet for some reason, I can’t bring myself to care. She is paying attention to Pierre – to me – and it is more than I could ever hope for.
“Marissa,” she says. “My name is Marissa McPhee.”
“Marissa. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” I don’t realize that I’ve spoken the words aloud until Marissa’s deep blue eyes widen in a sudden alarm. “I – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like... well, like...”
“A stalker?” She tilted her head to the side, a look of childlike innocence capturing her face as she purses her deep red-coloured lips.
I blush. Mon Dieu, she knows!
“Well then, Pierre, why don’t you show me that you’re not a stalker and take a walk to the drugstore with me?” She grins and slips her cigarette back into her small purse. “Sodas are on sale this week. Maybe we could get to know each other a little more.”
Bold, brazen, and beautiful. Pierre feels like swooning on the best of days, but today of all days, he is positively sure that he will faint. But he plays his part and keeps a smooth tone.
“Of course, my love.” I extend my hand to her and she takes it coyly. “Nice sweater.”
She laughs, and a conversation strikes up as we walk to the drugstore.

[Melody]

Darumil

It is cold. Deathly cold. The forest around me is completely silent, a fact that bothers me. My foot fall is soft on the damp carpet of moss. There is no moon—my only source of light comes from pale and distant stars. I can make out only the darkest of shapes. In the distance I hear water.
I have been here, along with my best friend Amy, for several days now. Three weeks ago we were in Summerland, a cheery small town near Kelowna. We had gone swimming. The bottom of the lake had suddenly dropped out beneath us, and our bodies seemed to have lost all buoyancy. We sank down, unable to make any gains against the dark water pressing down on us.
Both of us passed out. When I awoke, Amy was still out cold. Instead of being in the water—or dead even—we were in a grassy meadow. Lakes and mountains surrounded us, and a warm sun beamed down against our skin. It was beautiful. But something was wrong. There was an air of hostility; a blanket of malice had been laid upon the land. I knew right away that we were not in the same world.
We quickly discovered that there were other human inhabitants in this land. I still have the scar to remind me. The people her live in small villages, and do not welcome outsiders. Amy and I were barely able to escape with our lives the first time.
But we learned to adjust to this new lifestyle. We also learned how to get what he need—food, clothes, weapons. We travel far, raiding villages at night as we go. We never stay in the same place twice.
Now, I go to find water. About a hundred yards behind me is a small, uninhabited cave. Amy stayed behind to prepare the rabbits she had snared into a small but satisfying meal.
It is dark, so I find myself feeling around with my hands. There is little underbrush, thankfully. I let out a small scream as the group drops out beneath me. I land hard, scrapping my hands. I can feel mud and gravel underneath me. I've found the creek.
Fumbling in the dark, I open the large flask I obtained on a recent raid. I fill it with water, then return in the direction of the camp. The stars are different here, but I have learned to navigate by them. I have learned many things I never thought I would.

Soon I see the distant glow of embers from a dieing fire. A brief moment of panic seizes me. Who else might notice the glow? You can't afford to take chances in this country.
I carefully make my way to the cave.
“Amy?” I say in a loud whisper. Silence.
I decide that she isn't far—perhaps she went to dump the rabbit guts and remains. I stomp out the fire. No sense in taking chances. I notice the food is gone, presumably eaten. That is unlike Amy. She would have saved some for me. And she would not normally leave the fire going.
“Amy?” I call, getting more worried now.
I try to keep a level head. What could have happened to her? The thoughts that poor into my brain do little to calm me.
I pack what little belongings I have, and sling my bow over my shoulder. Using a flint I gained recently, I light a makeshift torch in spite of the prevailing dangers. I search for footprints, broken branches, a strip of clothing. Anything.
There are imprints in the soft soil, like that from the boots Amy wore. But there is something else, something bigger. I had never seen anything like it before—large footprint shaped imprints in the ground as big as my head. They are mingled in with Amy's steps.
I follow them. The bush becomes noticeably denser. There is at least one good thing about this world—no mosquitoes.

Dawn slowly approaches. The sky is a pale azure, and thin clouds highlighted a bright red streak across it. Mist hovers in every valley and low spot. The tracks have led me up a mountain. I notice the odd bird, but there is not a song or call to be heard. There never is here.
The landscape around me become noticeably rockery. Boulders lay strewn every few yards, thrown down by the high mountain peaks. I have lost the tracks.
I'm in a narrow valley now with steep sides—it would be nearly impossible to go in any other direction, so I continue on. I feel uneasy. I'm trapped and vulnerable.
The valley leads to a large cave—much large than the one Amy and I had planned to stay the night. I enter it, not knowing what else to do. I have my bow drawn.
Before I can loose even one arrow, I am grabbed from behind. My bow drops, smashing on the hard rock. A large hand envelopes my waist.
“What do we 'ave here?” a loud voice booms.
This can't be real I think. If I am correct—which I believe I am—this appalling creature is a giant. Then again, nothing that has happened in the last three weeks could be real. But it is.
In a dark corner of the room, I seem Amy. Her tangled brown hair frames her pale and trembling face. She is tied to the rock.
The giant places me beside her, and with an amazing deftness for hands so large, binds me with another rope.
“A fine stew you two will make,” the giant says loudly, chuckling to himself.
“Are you alright?” I whisper to Amy.
“Am I alright? Am I alright? Of course not! Look at me! I'm about to be eaten!”
I take that to mean that currently, she is physically unharmed.
The giant busies himself over a large pot of water set on top of a stone fire pit. He hums to himself as he throws in various vegetables and spices. To my horror, he pulls out a large knife crudely made from rock, but sharp.
“A very fine stew you two make.”
He begins to untie our ropes. We both struggle. He doesn't even seem to notice.
The stone slab is cold on my back as he forces me to lay down on it, Amy beside me. The knife draws near to my throat. A scream wells inside me.
I hear a whizzing sound. The giant falls to the ground, and arrow protruding out of his head. Blood stains the cave floor a dark red. I see a figure dressed in black jump down from a crevice on the cave wall.
“Thanks,” Amy and I both call out.
The figure closes the distance between us with a couple long strides, and pulls of their hood. Long hair cascades down their back—it is a girl. She looks to be about our age, her dark hair showing just a hint of red.
“Don't mention it,” she says.
“How did you get here?” I ask.
“It's a long story, and not one I feel like discussing now.”
“Wait a minute,” I say. “I think I know you. Is your name Mya?”
She looks me the eyes, a shocked look on her face. “Yes. You're from the Outer World?”
Amy nods. “We've been here three weeks now.”
“I've been her for almost a year,” Mya responds.
“A year? How is that possible? I texted with you on Skype shortly before Amy and I found ourselves here.”
“It is something like Narnia I think.”
“Hah! Narnia under the rule of the White Witch maybe,” says Amy.
“Do you know how to get back to our world?” I ask, feeling a slight ray of hope.
“Maybe. I have found myself involved in a quest right out of a fantasy book. If I can complete it, I will get to go back. Perhaps if you help me, you can come back too.”
Amy and I agree instantly. “What is the quest?”
“The queen of this dreadful land told me that if I could defeat Darumil in the land of The Lost Mountains, and bring his head to her, she will grant me passage back to my home.”
“Who is Darumil?” Amy asks.
“Not who, but what. All I know is its a creature that makes this giant look like a pussycat.”
“And if you can't defeat it?”
“Then I stay here forever.”

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