Each Tuesday, rather
than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping
hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My
family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just
have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial
inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc.) and then a thought or two that came
to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically
treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me
know if anything comes of them. Regarding
Fantasy, this insight was startling: “I see the fantasy genre as an
ever-shifting metaphor for life in this world, an innocuous medium that allows
the author to examine difficult, even controversial, subjects with impunity.
Honor, religion, politics, nobility, integrity, greed—we’ve an endless list of
ideals to be dissected and explored. And maybe learned from.” – Melissa
McPhail.
F Trope: “jerkass gods” (CS Lewis Till We Have Faces; Neil Gaiman American
Gods; Rebecca Roanhorse Trail of
Lightning)
Current Event: http://www.wftv.com/news/news/local/9-investigates-dolphin-manatee-deaths-indian-river/nZYSx/,
Abril Molina stood with balled fists on her hips. “They did
this, you know.”
Santiago Ribeiro pursed his lips and said in a low voice,
“It’s the easier answer. You know, blaming jerkass gods rather than taking
responsibility for polluting the lagoon ourselves.”
Abril bristled, “You blame Humans for this?” She grunted, “I
know you hate all of us who are pure blooded Humans…”
“Please! Don’t bring magism into this! I may be three
fourths elf, but I can no more conjure poisons from the water than you can
conjure a will-o’-the-wisp to light your way to bed!”
Abril turned to belt him. He caught her fist but was
powerless to stop her words, “How dare you! I am no magist! We’ve been friends
since...oh, I don’t know, since I had to change your nest litter! I am no more
magist than you are thoughtful.”
Stung, he released her and returned to the side of the
lagoon. Squatting, he reached out and spread his fingers, lowering his hand
until it was centimeters from the surface. He closed his eyes, took a deep
breath and stilled himself. After a few moments, the same stillness seemed to
flow from his hand and across the surface of the lagoon, traveling from shore
and farther and farther into the water.
The stillness spread until the air seemed to stop gusting;
even the light grew gellid, thickening until the image of near-elf and water
appeared to be a painting.
After some time, dark began to creep upward from the water.
Boats, barges and skiffs collecting dead animals slowed until the stopped
moving. Abril felt her breath congeal in her lungs and could not breathe.
Then Santiago stood up, turned to her and said, “We are both
right.”
“What?”
“True war brews and this is but the first skirmish.”
“There’ve been other die offs! Twelve years of them – how do
you explain that away with magic?”
“It’s the dolphins and the manatees.”
“What?”
“It’s the dolphins and the...”
“No, no! I know what you said, I mean to say, ‘What have
dead dolphins and manatees...”
“And the pelicans and the algae and other microscopic life,”
he interjected.
She nodded, adding, “…and pelicans and phyto and zooplankton
have to do with magic and pollution?”
He lifted his chin to the farthest reaches of the lagoon,
the water between a barrier island complex, “There is a war brewing.”
“Between who?”
“I can’t tell, but the gods jerking the strings have stuffed
each dolphin and each manatee with a spirit and they are the front line – and
the manatees are losing.”
“Which side is the good side?”
Santiago turned to look at her, his gaze boring deeply into
her own. Abril shuddered as he said, “In the war between these gods, their only
good is their entertainment.”
Names: ♀ Uruguay, Spain; ♂ American Hispanic, Portugal
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