#originalbydondria

If you like fiction, i post it on the other blog now…. Outwriterandom.wordpress.com D. Ondria

She had her arrow aimed at the man’s back, a perfect shot despite the crowded ballroom. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she pulled the bowstring taut and prepared to let the arrow fly- But then her target turned and looked directly at her, finding her in the eaves as if he’d known she was there all along. He winked. Sharisha froze. It was a second too long and he was gone. She slung the bow back on her shoulder, dropped the arrow and looked around. It’s impossible to see anyone up here. She looked again into the crowd, all seemingly unaware of the man leaving. People continued to move and dance throughout the great hall and there was no sign of him. Many of the dignitaries and monarchs remained unmoved from their position on the second floor, perched above their nobles. She looked around her again, trying to hear the silence around her in spite of the orchestra playing below. She heard nothing. Felt nothing. There were no beings here with any powers like that. Oh, it was a diverse group to be sure but nothing moved that quietly or that quickly but her. “Or so you thought,” a voice said from the far side of the eaves. “Shit,” she said under her breath. “Eww, sister. What was that? You’ve been around the humans too long.” “Sister?” The male voice sighed. Sharisha removed her glasses, squinting from the light coming from below but able to see in the dark. The man stopped a few feet away from her and sat down. Princely regalia and wrinkles around his marine blue eyes, down to the stark white hair in two adored braids made it clear he was no brother of hers. A male of her people wouldn’t be caught dead in anything other than black and white hair isn’t even possible, even after the Landing and centuries of mixing across systems. And there was no way a Shifter survived. They were small, not even a tribe’s worth. They came to an end quickly outside of being commissioned into the Royal Guard and it wouldn’t make sense they would send her to try to kill one of their own. “I was sent to kill an ambassador,” she said as she pulled up the profile and cast it. “Oh, I got to him months ago,” he said as the wrinkles smoothed and his hair began to go black from the ends to the roots, just to prove his point. But it was worse. She backed up against the wall and slid down. It was her brother. “Months ago. You’ve been gone for twelve years, Shariq.” “About that —“ “I could have killed you.” “If we weren’t blood, you would have got me.” “What are you doing here?” He shrugged, “Just stealing lives and credits. Seeing what the leeches are up to. I’m bored. Being a bounty hunter back home is just enslaved assassin work for us. I decided to stir a little something up, figured they’d put their best on it and we could chat.” “You’re joking.” He shrugged again, “Bored,” he said as he transformed back into his disguise. “Word of advice: you win your freedom if you can hit the one I stand next to.” “Hold on, what do you mean win my freedom?” “Because if you kill this guy, our people can move on the ‘the 9 planets’,” he said air quoting. “Ugh. I’ve been around the humans too long. Anyway, they will be able to move on this planet and take it. You’ll be a great hero. I’ll die and just pop back up myself again.” “So you can be hero number two instead of a defector?” “Of course,” he said with another wink before disappearing. Sharisha reclaimed her perch, picked up her arrow, and looked for her brother again. Once she spotted him speaking to a highly bedazzled lady before moving on to a man that was in clear military attire. Regardless of era or planet, that man was definitely a soldier, a proud one at that. Shariq’s hair flashed black at the roots before he put his arm around him and laughed. Sharisha needed to make a decision. She released the bow and killed the unnamed man. She immediately sent a second towards her brother, threading the needle at his armpit. But he was a better shifter than her. She saw blood form on his clothes but the smile and wink was all the signal she needed. It was time to go back and report. The lie was set. “Go to the E Class station, I’ll meet you there,” she heard in her mind. “You have twelve hours,” she sent back before finding her exit from the eaves and down into the great hall. She shifted herself into a young waiter while standing snugly between two pillars in a dark corner and pushed herself into the evacuated crowd. Once outside, she added a few inches and became a civilian, keeping her head down and walking towards the rows of vehicles that would take people back to their ends of the great palace. From footman, to maid, to petitioning peasantry, she made it out and towards the merchant district. ————- I could keep going because rough as it is, it’s kind of fun. If I had more time, I’d invent some words for things, drop better descriptions of stuff. But this was a prompt and pants’d 35 min write. That’s enough. D. Ondria 06222024 P.S. if this is your prompt and you want to be tagged or a link to your site, just let me know. Not all prompts have info on them… All found on/via Pinterest or Instagram

Labor of the Mind So two posts this week since last week got skipped and this week was just late. Recently I had a brief encounter with art work in progress that was labor of the body and mind. It is funny how this society (USA) has a tendency to only view very specific things as work and that everything outside of that must be easy. I wish that was the case though. Because for all of this year so far, my mind has been worn out and deprived so much of what it needs to do any labor and as a result, the labor I do has suffered. Once I get used to the lack, it’ll be fine, of course. No different than your stomach adjusting to smaller meals. Or your lifestyle adjusting to smaller income. Things just kick in to survive. Ah, sweet sweet survival mode. (Sarcasm) But it is funny how I put that crappy ‘this should be easy’ mindset on myself. I mean, I am a writer after all. Why would writing be hard? (Sarcasm in rhetorical form) But there is no way this is work! I’m not being paid for it. Blah. Whatever. I say all of this to remind all of us who do labor that isn’t paid for or viewed as labor, that you absolutely are working, and as such, you absolutely should take time off. To heal, to rest, to do nothing, whatever. But don’t forget that in those spaces of life where you are in control to approve some time off from those spaces too. Rest up. D. Ondria 03302023

I mourn too often. Not often enough to keep it away. Mourning for years. Never fully. Just bits. Grief of possibilities unmet. Grief of alive and unliving. Of living but questioning if this is alive. If this falling short. A torture of leaping and falling into an abyss to respawn on a precipice and every effort to move forward to end in a void again. I mourn too often. Not often enough to keep it away. D. Ondria 03032026

The woman was nearly one hundred years old. She taught her grandson everything she knew. He would need it one day. She had actually seen this coming. That was the scary part. Not leaving her, as he watched her set up the guns on something at one point only crazy people would have come up with. He was coming back. There had to be enough time for him to make it back. “You know what to do,” she said patting the device next to her. “Go.” All Ahmad could manage was a nod. His mind would always be here but his heart was definitely on the other side of town. He gathered his things and locked the door behind him. The chaos was just starting to kick up. Anything retail would be overran soon and on fire by the end of the night. He stood at the door a moment and heard his grandmother again encouraging him to leave as the barricades came down over the doors and windows in the house. The lights around the property went dark. Once he got into his car, he cut a few wires before starting it. Twelve hours. That was at least three hours ago now. His mind kept racing around a million different thoughts, like flipping through a Bible’s worth of pages, every word seeming to be in red, nothing of comfort. He could get to her. He knew how to get around the mayhem. Xenia stuffed a few more shirts into her backpack. It was weirdly quiet in her building but she didn’t want to stay around to see which side her neighbors picked in all of this madness. The protests were real this time. It wasn’t just about better pay or affordable housing, it was about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in the most real and aggressive way possible. But there were way too many factions. Last time it was just red and blue, for the most part, for the ease of retelling the history. Too many survivors to sell that simplistic lie. Probably why this is happening now. She sighed and looked at her phone. He was on the way. It was risky to even be able to keep anything on. But he knew she’d worry. That was the only thing keeping a smile on her face. Walking by a few units, some music gave her comfort. The more diverse side of the factions held on to Kendrick Lamar and Michael Jackson, even a little Renaissance and Cowboy Carter seemed to have some staying power. It was the silence that was deafening. The reason the wifi was running so damn slow. The unmistakable blueish computer light glow that tainted every space under doors that definitely had extra locks on them. As soon as she got outside, she took a deep breath. Regular lights, colored lights, all signs of a side more on the path for wanting equity. Screen lights heavily filtered through curtains, new bars, no lights at all, unironically hailed the presence of the opposite. Distant smoke, just far enough to relax a little, sent her to the gate of the otherwise quiet apartment complex. Familiar lights and a whistle nearly made her drop everything. She hopped in the car and closed the door with a sigh. “We’re going back for her aren’t we?” “I already told you —-“ “It’s fine, Ahmad. But we’re going to need to hurry. Look.” The sky was filled with helicopters. The search lights weren’t on yet but they weren’t needed any more either. That was just for show. Ahmad waited til they flew overhead and cussed under his breath. He’d have to take a long way back around and pray to God that the roads were clear. Xenia sighed and put her hand over his before he changed gears, “Let me drive.” “What?” “Baby, you are clearly in about four different places right now. Where is everyone meeting? Mama ‘Isha’s?” “Yeah.” “Cmon. Hurry up,” she said as she opened the door and looked around. He waited until she came to him first and then hugged her heard. Both of them knew one second too long and they wouldn’t make it. She kissed him quick and sent him to the other side of the car. Once they were settled. Ahmad held his breath. One thing Xenia was going to do was drive the hell out of his car. Once the helicopter sounds got quiet. Xenia peeled out and tore down the street. Xenia sighed as she remembered a very unique lesson she got from her own grandparents. More smoke would provide some cover for the drones. More distance glows of red and yellow began to creep up. “What’s on your mind,” Ahmad finally asked as she drifted a corner in the abandoned industrial park. “So, why and how this all started, I kind of know everything. Kind of. And well, look at your phone—“ she waited until he picked it up then looked at her, “yeah, scrambling, because I can and want to.” “The hell are you—-“ “I’m on the good side. And once we got engaged, I kind of hooked up Mama ‘Isha’s place for ya’ll. Us.” “She told me, ‘It hasn’t even begun.’ She meant that literally didn’t she?” “A little.” “Xenia?!” “Yes. Literally.” Xenia made a hard turn into an open but abandoned garage and waited. The sound of helicopters brought Ahmad back to reality and out of what he quickly put together was an unnecessary argument. She was one of them. But—- “Man, don’t even look at me like that. It’s called playing both sides against the middle for a reason. Definitely trying to topple this shit from the inside. But the inside got hot so, I’m helping where I can.” “Your family—“ “Is in another state for a reason. Listen, the only thing I lied about was my job. I’m going to get you and your family safe. If you’re that mad, I can go.” “Helicopters’ passed.” “We good?” “Yeah. So what else got lied about because of this job?” “Let’s cross all those bridges when we get to them,” she said with a smile. D. Ondria 06222024 P.S. if this is your prompt and you want to be tagged or a link to your site, just let me know. Not all prompts have info on them… All found on/via Pinterest or Instagram

Overthinking Yeah there was (is?) 0 consistency in my life from my POV. And anything that was, I didn’t recognize usually. So it was always guessing and preparing for any possible anything. Made me a great multitasker and efficient procrastinator. Made me anxiously early for things. But rest? Tf is that? If i ever had it..i dont recall and what I do remember was pain pill or alcohol lead. Both times. That is 1 time each. On different days in different years. 😂 It’s why I stay away from the stuff. It is why I can understand even a lil bit how folks get caught up in it, but I digress… But rest? My brain doesnt know how. Always thinking. Sometimes planning. Sometimes hoping and wishing. Often criticizing myself. Sometimes in flat out doubt. But never not off, resting, chillin. Unless I am distracted. TV shows are my fave distraction. Movies are better but it is hard to string together a bunch of good ones for a few hours. Podcasts have helped in recent years. Video games are a good escape. Reading just reminds me I’m not writing now and the doubt and critic sit around and start up again. Ah yes, overthinking. It’s cool when there is a place to focus it. All other times it is just a drain of energy. A constant leak like an open window in a wind storm. D. Ondria 10172021

Miari went to her basement during the day. Only during the day. Even in the cover of darkness, this one was too weak to do anything during the day. Wasn’t her first catch. Her first study. But it was a curious thing, the discipline in this one. No blood hunger at all. St least not the lustful degree of most. As a precaution though, the fiend was shackled in leather lined silver, just in case. Slumped in a far corner, just on the edge of the thin sliver of light coming through the dust covered window, the creature’s labored breathing drew Miari’s attention. She’d be lying if she said there wasn’t something familiar about him. Not in appearance but at least in the energy about him. The thing before her, even staring, possibly half dead, possibly in quiet rage, still felt safe to be around. The bag he carried, she hoped, would give her some answers. It was the oldest thing about him. The fabric was well taken care of but delicate. It rested inside a modern leather messenger bag for good reason. Even that was nearly as old as her in style and to the touch of it. He was either never poor or a good thief. The leather bag held many IDs, faces in varying stages of grooming and weight but all the same. Clearly fake. Still in the corner, the creature stared at her. She turned her attentions again to bag, the older one, gently opening it to only see old bundles of paper. Slowly lifting the thinnest among them out of the bag stirred movement in the corner. She acknowledged it was a look and blindly continued her task. “What value do these hold?,” she asked. The thing sighed, “I am not a creature,” he whispered hoarsely. “You read thoughts, do you?” “Among other things.” Miari stayed low but pushed herself to the opposite corner and held up a small device. A simple button. “Your name then?” He sighed again, “In this era I chose Ahmal.” “Interesting. I’m guessing you went back to sleep around 2001 by the bag. How’s that working for you?” “I knew America would be a strange place to settle given its history. What do I have to lose if I can’t be killed.” “Dismemberment sounds like a hard bitch to come back from?” “Ah,” he said with a slight chuckle, “Did that once. Around 700, I think. Got to make sure you make friends behind enemy lines to heal from that.” Ahmal sat more comfortably and straightened his back against the wall. Miari watched but didn’t let her guard down. Either holy water and acid really would do something to the being before her or he valued whatever these papers held. Miari untied the old bindings carefully and took the top letter and unfolded it carefully. Ahmal seemed to relax in observing her care of his things. He could only hope that he was bound only to understand English. Gently straightening the letter in front of her, she touched a small lamp above her for light. Her eyes obviously scanning the page before. She looked in the corner at Ahmal. The shine of his eyes flickered with a quick blink before disappearing as Miari gasped. She knew her name in any language. He had all but gone quiet wondering if she could crack the code. Miari stood quickly. Ahmal relaxed. She couldn’t believe it. It was so beautifully written. A poem maybe but she got more than enough of the meaning to know it was a love letter. A hundred emotions filled her as she softly returned the letter to its folded state when she noticed a drawing of a face, too similar to her own, barely three inch portrait. “I’m impressed,” Ahmal said. “Who—why?” He extended his legs in front of him and shook his head, “Hundreds of years and I am still good at making bad decisions. There was a moment I was able to share. I followed her to every end the earth had, never able to get her to see me, to understand. That was the last time she knew. Those letters. I cursed myself in hoping to rejoin us.” “And if you were rejoined with her, then what?” He laughed, “Hopefully it would free me or hopefully she’d join me. The way people move these days, I believe the end may be near either way.” Miari turned on the rest of the lights in the basement. Ahmal stood in his corner, suddenly unable to read her as she approached. She reached out gently and removed the shackles, reciting the last line of the letter in the code only they knew. In a language forged of love between Arabic and Spanish, in a pronunciation only they knew would be correct or wrong. With a smile he thought denied. In a woman he hoped remained, even so far removed, as magical as she once was, as powerful as she could be. But then he heard it and for her, once, he would have burned the world and dared any being claiming creator to the death to make sure she could have it all her own. Miari let his hands go once the memories they shared subsided. “You can stay or go. I found what I was looking for. Have you?,” she said turning her back to him and heading back up the stairs. D. Ondria 07122024 P.S. if this is your prompt and you want to be tagged or a link to your site, just let me know. Not all prompts have info on them… All found on/via Pinterest or Instagram

Paths In life or in story, you have to deal with paths. Sometimes, and if you are either lucky or headed in a popular direction, pathways are pretty plainly laid out. Sometimes it is just a map with no warning of what lies ahead. And sometimes you get to experience what it really menas to create. I feel like a lot of us hope for luck and popular direction. That what we want is so possible, many have obtained it to the point where things are almost fool proof. That the hero’s journey, or the 3 act outline is there just waiting to be filled in by you. Because that would be the easy thing - to merely contribute presence to the path. I think a lot of us get maps. We can see the routes and a few obstacles and the re-routing isn’t so bad if it comes up because again, enough have been there and done that to get the message out. It’s reboot energy. Fan fiction that sticks close to the original. No multiverses. Maybe a bend here and there or a new setting but the map is clear. Sherlock always goes up against Moriarty. Captain Kirk is always cool but defiant. Spock, Spocks as only he can. The creation happens when you stand before the void of your own making because you chose the rare or weird occupation or the story you wanted to form refused to fit perfectly in and around the molds of story that exist. Sure, on some level, all stories are retelling of preexisting paths and maps. Humans are as consistent as we are unique. But even with in that sometimes you camel something. Pieces and elements from genres and paths from established worlds are ripped from the familiar and hodgepodged into something different. It’s a struggle but things take shape. Parts are reworked and redefined until something all yours comes to fruition. A new world of new paths made from old bits, perhaps. But there was no map. There were no paths to it. Just void and the thing that sprung from it. I have never heard a creator of things and art and of life paths say it was easy. I have often heard them say it was worth it. And those that take established roads or plan best possible routes from the information they have, also tell a good story. Nothing wrong with that. It is just a matter of which pros you want and which cons you want to deal with. D. Ondria 04122023

I’m Fine Heart hurts Ignoring it as usual Dont have time to cry Nothing cares but the air Things to do Little of it mine But I’m fine I’m good And if this aint How can I tell I mean I know it aint But I can no more change it now Than I can my DNA So like I said I kinda have to say I’m fine Will be in due time In the blink of a thousand years God’s eye Clearly not mine Because my heart hurts Some days it’s worse So bad I cant feel it And I miss normal Because the pain echoes I’m sorry Not trying to be ungrateful In fact That aint it It’s a lot of shit but Safe space where So I wear the smile Head down And type Clean and do Sleep and redo Repeat and go Fail down and schedule out No time to cry Won’t dare pout I’m good I’m fine Tellin the truth and lyin My heart hurts Sure could be worse And glad it aint Pain felt is still pain D. Ondria 07132022

“Don’t you know who I am?” “Yup. I just don’t care.” “Oh c’mon, 600 years, millions of miles of traversing the planet and you’re still mad?” “Yes. Volcanoes hurt, a lot. So do the arrows when you try to roll out of the damned lava flow and jump into the ocean because the pumice is easier to break than the obsidian,” she said flashing her glassy black fingernails, “Much easier.” “Okay, so I miscalculated that one. Please tell me you have seen some of the world since.” She stared at him, “What else is there to see? Humans do the same shit every decade, every day, everywhere. War, hate, oppress, fight, repeat. Besides, I knew two things,” she said taking a sip of her drink. “What’s that?” “If I ran into you, I’d kill you.” “And two?” She dug her hands into his chest discreetly behind the covering of the bar and closed her claws around his heart, severing the attachment to his body. “You would show up and make it real easy for me to do so.” His eyes widened in the midst of death, she glamoured her area long enough to make sure he was dead. Stunned humans thought to approach the bar and seemed confused as they made their way back to their cabanas and pool side chairs. She smiled as she felt the organ go to goo then ash in her hands before she gently pulled back, sealed the wound, and placed a drink in his hand. She retreated to the other side of the island, emerging from the shadows of a great palm tree to stand among a few people at a bus stop. In her mind, she could see the discovery of a pile of man shaped ash holding up a button down Hawaiian shirt and matching trunks. Thank God, this era of man was stupid. The bartender laughed and took a picture at the decor that randomly showed up. A few patrons did the same. She took a deep breath. Patience is a virtue. But there were a few more scores she needed to settle. D. Ondria 06232024 P.S. Probably my shortest post but I like this prompt. I might try again. :)​ P.S. if this is your prompt and you want to be tagged or a link to your site, just let me know. Not all prompts have info on them… All found on/via Pinterest or Instagram

Late Post The first quarter of this year has been pure trash for me and I am not htting the wall but embedded in it at the moment so… And then on top of that, I had an idea for this week’s post and didn’t write it down so… (5 days later) I still don’t remember. So if you like any parts of this blog and have suggestions or want to see something expanded on, let me know. That’s the post. 🤷🏾‍♀️ D. Ondria 04102023

Short Post Pretty sure I will bore my future readers in spots. Pretty sure because I really want to describe the eyes that were perceived as green. Green and only green, because of the angle of her face in the dim bedroom light…no, the diffused sunlight that came from the window as he looked at her. Sure, they were in fact hazel. She corrected him. He jokingly looked closer to see for himself before kissing her. Only in a deep thought later, one nobody knew of did he realize. He was seeing green. Green. Jealous, even the slightest bit, even for a moment, because she was free to love, and he was a slave to his one and only. To a woman who defied the simplicity of the word and deified love itself in his mind. That I’ll write some mess like that and the reader will simply 🙄. K, bye. D. Ondria 06142022 P.S. random thought of Californication (Showtime show) ala Abby (the lawyer) and Hank Moody inspired this. Maybe this will be a thing? Idk.