DOUBLE FAIRY TALE FLASH - Cold Blooded by Katherine Herron AND The Rose by Donna Kennedy

We've got 2 tales for today's Fairy Tale Flash...

First, they catch her in a net.

She lets them.

Their wide eyes and breathless curses send pools of cool blood writhing towards her cheeks. Humans go warm with embarrassment, she remembers absently. Fish don’t blush at all. Merpeople, with their cold blood, freeze at humiliation.

They keep staring. She’s cold, colder still, an ice sculpture cracking under the pressure of each gaze.

She shatters.

For all their gaping, no one notices.

They spread her out on a metal slab cooler than her cheeks.

She doesn’t struggle.

They poke and prod at the tail she can’t bear to examine for herself. She’s not cold anymore. Her tail is grey now, and her face greyer. She’s a fetus scream and flakes of dry skin. A series of scars and a headful of nightmares.

“Don’t sing for the humans,” her father used to say, several scalpels and too many sunsets ago, gesticulating with his violet tail rather than his webbed hands.

A scalpel gleams above her now, all sharp edges and sterile sliver. Why, she’d choke out if she could, but her doctors decided to 'cut the siren's vocal cords' weeks ago, back when she still thought they might give her legs. One snip, and her world ended.

The scalpel drips towards her pallid skin.

It’s still ending.

Katherine Herron is a long-time fan of all things fairy tale. A current creative writing graduate student, she lives in Edinburgh.

Kylie always puts her pink furry blanket close to Daddy’s drum. She’s so close her heart goes boom bah boom bah boom boom. She likes it when Daddy drums. It’s like he’s trying to make something happen. She closes her eyes and snuggles into the blanket. She’s not very cold in the park. She’s not very afraid of the dark. Even without Mommy. She couldn’t come. She never comes. But it’s okay.

They always go to the big playground first. Kylie sits on Daddy’s lap and they swing so high she can see the big trees and the lake. “Let’s fly into the sky,” he says. “Okay,” she says. Maybe they really can. Maybe Daddy wouldn’t sound so sad if they did. The swing slows to a stop, and Daddy lifts her up for a kiss. His eyes are blurry.

They walk to the lake. She sits on her blanket and eats peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Daddy reads her favorite fairy tale about the little girl who has a doll in her pocket that her mother gave her. The doll tells her what to do when she's scared “I wish I had a doll like that,” she always says. When it gets dark, Kylie snuggles into her favorite blanket.

Daddy goes closer to the lake and puts something red under a tree. She runs over to see. “Why did you stick that rose in the ground, Daddy?” she asks. He doesn’t say anything. Lots of times he doesn’t say anything. He just plays his drum, the long one with beads on it.

Boombah boom … The sound makes Kylie sleepy, so she lies down on her blanket, sucking the satiny edge. The big bright moon wakes her up. Daddy is drumming and smiling. He almost never smiles. Boom bah boom bah boom boom, drums Daddy. She can tell he’s playing “Ring around the Rosie,” so she sings with him.

She looks where he is looking. Over the lake, something is moving. Something white and misty. It comes closer until it seems to spin around the red rose like a see-through dancer.  It brightens and fades to the beat of the drum, swirling around them like a warm wind smelling of roses. Kylie moves her hand through it.

The beat of the drum slows, and the wispy something goes up into the sky. Daddy stops drumming and reaches for Kylie’s hand. When the mist is gone, he picks her up, holding her under one arm and the drum under the other. It’s a long walk to the car, so she closes her eyes a little, pretending to fall asleep. When they come out of the trees, by the car, she looks up and squints through her eyelashes at shadows crossing the moon.

“Look, Daddy,” she says. His shoulders shake, like he’s crying. But he’s not.

Donna Kennedy's library includes fairy tales and myths from all over the world.  She shares them with her twin 10-year-old grandchildren. When they're asleep she writes her own. Her story about them, "Here We Are Again," won second-place in Writer Advice's Flash Memoir Contest last year. Her winning 53-word flash fiction, "The Shed is Best," appears in Prime Number Magazine at https://www.press53.com/issue-127-donna-kennedy.

Covers: Amanda Bergloff                                                                                      

Check out Kate's book

BEYOND THE GLASS SLIPPER

Ten Neglected Fairy Tales to Fall in Love With

and also sponsored by

Check out LARRY'S BOOKS HERE

DOUBLE FAIRY TALE FLASH - Dark Bat, Bright Bat AND When Indigo Left the Rainbow

Summer and rainbows go together...
This week, Enchanted Conversation presents two tales that feature the beauty of rainbows.

Dark Bat, Bright Bat retold by C.L. Clickard

and 

When Indigo Left the Rainbow by Carmen Redondo

We hope you enjoy them and share your thoughts

with the authors of these tales in the comments section below.

In the time when animals spoke and we remembered to listen,
there was no animal uglier than Bat.

Coconut palms cradled chattering higuaca birds.
Waterfalls welcomed the heron’s dance.
Tiny humming guani fluttered in the golden vines.
But Bat huddled alone in the shadows
loved by no one.

On a morning, shimmering green and hot,
Bat swooped to the hut of Yaya
the great creator.

“See, how my wings are bent with cold
and my back is slick from rain?
I want a fine warm coat of feathers!”

Yaya had no feathers left in his basket.
“I will borrow one feather from each of your brothers.”
Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet

Ruffling his new coat,
Bat swooped over the forest.
“No one can call me ugly now!”

Each day,
after the sun soaked up the afternoon rain,
Bat soared and swirled through the clouds.
And the sky echoed his colors

All the forest stopped to admire Bat’s new skin.
He peered down at his brothers’ gaping bills and beaks.
“Look at the holes in your coats!” Bat smirked.
“None of you is as beautiful as I am now!”

Click. Clack. Bills and beaks snapped shut.
“We did not give our feathers
so that he could brag!”

With a squawk and a snort
the birds flew to Yaya’s hut
“Bat makes fun of us,” they complained.
“And we miss our feathers!”

Yaya stirred his cook pot.
“I hear you little brothers.”

The next day Bat swooped across the sky.
He swelled his chest
shook his wings
and PLOOF!
A rain of feathers fell on the forest.

“Noooooooooo!”

All that day, while the sun
smiled down on the forest
Bat huddled in his cave,
covering his nakedness with shadow.

When the sun fell asleep that night
Bat darted over the treetops
searching for his lost feathers.

He’s looking for them still.

But the only one who remembers
Bat’s beautiful feathered coat
is the sky after a midday rain.

Carrie L. Clickard is an internationally published author and poet.  Her books include MAGIC FOR SALE (Holiday House, 2017), DUMPLING DREAMS (Simon and Schuster 2017), VICTRICIA MALICIA (Flashlight Press) and the forthcoming THOMAS JEFFERSON & THE MAMMOTH HUNT (Simon and Schuster, 2019). Her poetry and short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies and periodicals including Andromeda Spaceways, Havok, Myriad Lands, Spellbound, Penumbra, Muse, Haiku of the Dead and Underneath the Juniper Tree.

You can learn more about Carrie & her work at www.clclickard.com.

Cover: Amanda Bergloff

The seven spirits came together as always to create a rainbow. When Mother Sky told them that a rainbow was in order for Earth, they listened and glided along the clouds. Red led the way followed by Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet. Far below, humans glanced up to the heavens, admiring the glorious rainbow.

As they flew in place, holding their position next to Mother Sky’s guidance, Indigo looked down at the Earth. He often wondered what it would be like to live among the humans. Suddenly, mother told them their task was finished for now, and the siblings dispersed, ending the rainbow.

Indigo flew to his mother and spoke of his wish to join the humans. He asked for a way to live below on Earth. She pondered the matter with Father Sun and together decided to allow their son’s request. Indigo was to take the form of a young man and live among the humans for one year.

Before he left she said to him, “Indigo, you will learn the significance of why you create rainbows with your brothers and sisters. When you return, you will have gained wisdom.”

With this spoken, he became human. Indigo found a home with an elderly couple and worked all day among their field, as payment for a room and food. He learned what physical labor meant, often chopping wood under the warmth of Father Sun up above.

One evening after the rain, he saw a rainbow. The kind man he lived with squinted up, his many wrinkles forming creases that signified days of happiness and sorrow. His wife was also looking up to the sky, which made Indigo curious to find out what they were thinking.

“Excuse me,” Indigo asked, “Do you like the rainbow?”

The wise woman smiled and said, “Well, it is something remarkable. My husband and I like to think of it as a reminder that life is very precious. It also makes you forget about your troubles, if you have any. I will say though, it seems as if a color is missing lately, but my eyes are not what they used to be after all.”

Indigo nodded in silence. He had never thought of his job in that way. He always thought that rainbows were merely created to look beautiful, and nothing else.

From then on, he kept gaining knowledge as his mother said he would. He enjoyed every second of his time on Earth, until the year was over and he returned to his home. United with his family, he discovered a respect for the immortal requirement of creating rainbows. Each time he flew next to his siblings, he hoped humans below were glancing up and feeling an ease to their burdens, if only for a moment.

Carmen Redondo loves fantasy and fairy tales, which are elements she often includes in her writing. She loves reading a good book, watching a new movie, warm weather, and eating pizza.

You can follow her on Twitter: @storieswriting  

Cover: Amanda Bergloff

Check out Guy's "Night Walking" Book

and vote for it HERE

DOUBLE FAIRY TALE FLASH - The Great Escape AND Pond Life

This week, Enchanted Conversation Magazine 

presents two classic Fairy Tale Flash stories with a twist:

The Great Escape by Fanni Sütő
and
Pond Life by Jane Dougherty

Rapunzel didn't remember when she arrived to the tower or when she first sat in the window. The rich gold of her hair had turned into silver, shining bright in the moonlight. Nobody asked her to let down her hair, so it just grew and grew and it twirled around her, filling up the room slowly but unstoppably. Rapunzel sighed and looked into the spyglass again, She was hoping to spot a prince. Or a young merchant. A soldier. A handsome peasant maybe. Or even an average looking peasant. Anybody, please?

But nobody came.

The surroundings of the tower proved positively princeless. And merchantless. No man was to be seen, neither near nor far. No woman either, for that matter. Rapunzel bathed in total, utter loneliness. A bird used to visit her, he sang to her every day but it hadn't been around for a while. It must have found a mate and flown away to build a nest.

Rapunzel's body felt like stone, her backside sunk into the chair, melted into it as if it didn’t want to break away anymore. Her eyes were tired from the endless looking and watching and peeping. Yet she couldn’t rest, what if… What if the moment she closed her eyes, the moment her saviour appeared and she missed her opportunity. No, she couldn't allow that.

Other days despair seized her. What if humanity died out and she was the only survivor? What else could explain the fact that nobody had come for her?

One day when she was even more bored than usual, she started playing with her spyglass, looking at its shiny copper body more carefully. She span it around, and found herself eye to eye with the big, curious lens of the telescope. Her own distorted reflection stared back at her. It was the first time she'd seen a human form in years. Her hair had grown unruly and long hair, the glass had dug a permanent wrinkle under her tired eyes. Her lips were dry and smileless. The unexpected meeting made her realize that she'd had enough. She got up from the chair which was reluctant to let her go. Her legs trembled at first because they had forgotten how it felt like to stand. After a few minutes, she felt her blood rushing through her body; it was a new, intoxicating sensation.

She stuck a pair of scissors in her belt, tied her hair around the foot of the spyglass, went to the widow and jumped. The wind rushed into her face and the claws of freedom tore into her dress. Her landing was painful, but she survived with only a few scratches. Rapunzel cut her hair tying her to the tower and her old life. She sighed with satisfaction; after all these years she finally saved herself.

Fanni Sütő writes poetry, short stories and a growing number of novels-in-progress. She publishes in English and Hungarian and finds inspiration in reading, paintings and music. She writes about everything which comes in her way or goes bump in the night. She tries to find the magical in the everyday and likes to spy on the secret life of cities and their inhabitants. Previous publications include: The Casket of Fictional Delights, Tincture Journal, Enchanted Conversation. Fundead Publications.

Website: www.inkmapsandmacarons.com

Follow her on Twitter: @Fanni_Pumpkin

A frog sat on a lily pad watching the mayflies. A shadow fell across the pond and the flies whizzed away. The frog sighed—she was wearing gumboots today.

“C’mon,” the princess said, wading into the pond. “Just one little kiss.”

The ripples made the lily pads bob like boats in a tempest. The frog dived beneath the agitated surface and hid among the lily roots.

The next day, the princess came back with an excavator. She drove the excavator into the pond and within half an hour she had emptied it of weed, water, mud and pond life. She poked gloomily among the expiring minnows and tadpoles. No frog. But there was a toad. A toad that tried to crawl out of the way, but the princess was too quick. She pounced and raised the bemused creature to her pouting lips.

“At last,” she breathed, “I will have my very own prince.”

The toad croaked and squirmed, but the lips came closer and smacked upon its broad mouth.

In a ditch by the trees beyond the wreckage of the pond, the frog watched sadly. His fairy frogfather hopped out of the culvert to watch the scene by the pondside.

“Shall I?”

“It’s the only way to stop her,” the frog said with a heavy sigh.

So the fairy frogfather waved a willow wand, and the toad turned into a great, green, warty, and very hungry, swamp ogre. And that was the end of the frog prince nonsense.

Jane Dougherty is Irish, brought up in Yorkshire and now living in South-West France. She writes stories where the magical and the apocalyptic mesh, where horror and romance meet, and the real and the imaginary cohabit on the same page. Her first YA post-apocalyptic fantasy trilogy is published by Finch Books. She has self-published three collections of short stories, and has poetry and short fiction published in anthologies, literary journals and magazines.

Amazon author page HERE

Blog: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/

Website: https://wildgeesebooks.com/

Covers: Amanda Bergloff

Check out Guy's "Night Walking" Book

and vote for it HERE

DOUBLE FAIRY TALE FLASH - Goblin Tree AND Regarding the Complaints

This week, Enchanted Conversation Magazine 

presents two Fairy Tale Flash stories:

Goblin Tree by A.A. Azariah-Kribbs

and 

Regarding the Complaints by Monica Wang

We hope you enjoy them and share your thoughts

with the authors of these tales in the comments section below.

Once, a goblin stole whatever he could from a human village, jewels, apples, and buttons. He was lean-limbed with fierce gold eyes, but his hands, though slender, were like talons.

His one weakness was a human woman. When their love became known, the village threatened her if he did not surrender himself. He surrendered. I can’t tell you how many different ways they tried to kill him, but nothing harmed him. So they buried him alive. Some say these gnarly roots evoke the goblin’s reaching hands, clawing for escape.

“Ugh. Mommy.”

I ruffled the little girl’s hair fondly. “It’s true.”

She turned. “Is it true, Daddy?”

He held up his hands playfully, crooking them. “Oh aye, don’t you see the resemblance? It’s a good thing I cut my nails.”

“You’re not a goblin! Silly! You’re not scary at all.”

“Well now. That’s not a nice thing to say.”

She glared at him with his own clear, golden eyes.

A.A. Azariah-Kribbs lives in Maryland with her Brussels Griffon, Fuffle. Her work has been published in several venues, including The Sonder Review, Huizache, and Mythic Circle. Her blog, "Wallies Wentletrap" (https://wallieswentletrap.com/) features her original artwork and fiction.

The skeletons in the bedroom window weren't a good idea. I just thought they looked impressive up there.

I crossed out the last line—didn't want to give the wrong impression in my statement. To be clear, it wasn't a confession. The police said there were no official charges yet, though I had to admit all the circumstantial stuff looked bad.

The cage in the living room, for instance. It was for the parrots I had. Exceedingly large parrots. The crushed skull on the bottom of the cage was a calcium supplement, so my parrots wouldn't get mushybeak. Where were the parrots? They succumbed to mushybeak after all.

The oven looked a mess because I hadn't cleaned it in a month. I last used it for a roast that didn't turn out quite right. A whole suckling pig—that was the burnt hair the neighbors smelled. The entire thing just came apart (I must've set the heat too high), and I hadn't the heart to scrape it all off. It was a lot of wasted meat, so much meat. But the neighbors were right to complain. I certainly didn't harbor ill will toward that young couple or their children. When those kids disappeared, I was upset, too.

They did do a lot of damage to my house, those kids, especially around the main entry. Perhaps it was my fault for using gingerbread walls. I baked them myself; it was cheaper than what the contractors quoted, and I liked home improvement. Sugar glass and so on were easy with video tutorials.

And the skeletons I bought at a yard sale. The police said the bones were “child-sized”, but the small ones were cheaper, that was all.

I trust this statement cleared everything up.

Warmest Regards.

Monica Wang was born in Taichung, Taiwan, and raised in Vancouver, Canada. Her stories have appeared in Green Hills Literary Lantern, Electric Literature's Okey-Panky, Kansas City Voices, and The Temz Review. She currently lives in Germany.

Covers: Amanda Bergloff