All posts by Lynn Miclea

LYNN MICLEA is a writer, author, musician, Reiki master practitioner, and dog lover. Although she worked many different jobs throughout her life, she has always loved reading and writing, and one of her dreams was to become a professional writer. After retiring, Lynn further pursued her passion for writing, and she is now a successful author with many books published and more on the way. She has published books of fiction (thrillers, suspense, science fiction, paranormal, mystery, and romance), nonfiction (memoirs and self-help guided imagery), and children’s stories (fun animal stories about kindness, believing in yourself, helping others, and being more than you ever thought possible). She hopes that through her writing she can help empower others, stimulate people’s imagination, and open new worlds as she entertains with powerful and heartfelt stories. Originally from New York, Lynn currently lives in southern California with her loving and supportive husband. Please visit her website at

D. A. Ratliff – Green Grass of Home

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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( Please note: the images used as prompts are free-use images and do not require attribution.)

Green Grass of Home

By D. A. Ratliff

Zia Crane giggled. Soft, verdant grass pressed into the soil beneath her feet. Thin tendrils curled between her toes, tickling her bare skin.

She had taken off her footwear as soon as she arrived. It was rare for her to be in a setting where bare feet were appropriate. Here, on this beautiful island, it was entirely appropriate.

For a moment, she stood, arms dangling along her sides breathing in the salty air touched with only a hint of warmth. The ground to her left sloped down to a rocky beach, spilling into a blue-gray sea. She knew beyond the horizon sat land, but she felt alone walking up the slope toward her destination. Alone was what she wanted. She was never alone at home.

As she topped the crest of the slope, the image she had researched appeared before her. The only wall remaining in the ruin of her ancestors’ home was a single narrow wall containing an arched window divided with stone. Vines not yet in bloom crawled their way on the stone façade while the first blush of spring touched the bushes now overgrown around the wall. The window framed the graying sky, and she wondered if rain was imminent.

She shuddered. What must it have been like to live here? To hear the distant sound of the ocean or breathe air lightly scented with the sweet earthy fragrance of heather. A warm sensation flowed through her as she remembered an entry in her mother’s diary. I was taken back by the soft sweet smell that drifted in the air. An aroma as if the earth had been perfumed.  Her mother was right. The earth seemed to be perfumed.

She needed to move closer, but her feet were rooted in the soft grass. She wasn’t much older than her mother was when she made the pilgrimage to visit the land of their ancestors. Memories of her mother now long gone overtook her, and for a moment, she wondered had she done the right thing in coming. The yearning for a connection with the past had brought her there. But was it really what she wanted or needed? She didn’t know.

The soft baying of sheep in the distance broke her thoughts, and Zia shook her head. Aloud she called to the sheep. “Okay, you’re right. I need to do this. Stop yelling at me.”

She placed her shoes on the ground and climbed across the rocks at the base of the ruin. The surface felt cold and somehow both smooth and rough to the soles of her feet. At the wall, she touched the stone with her fingertips, relishing the grainy, worn surface. Everything was smooth and slick to the touch at home, but this felt solid and timeless. Something from a past that was only a memory. Sitting on the window ledge, she stared out at the sea. She had seen many bodies of water in her lifetime, but none held the magic of the sea surrounding this island.

Lost in thought, she was startled when a voice interrupted the silence.

“Hello, dear.”

Zia turned toward the voice to find a middle-aged woman, hair beginning to gray, climbing the rocks toward her. She managed to speak. “Hello.”

The woman smiled. “I am Margaret. I saw you arrive and thought you might like to chat about what is left of the MacFarland castle. Mind if I sit?”

“No, please do.”

Margaret gathered her plaid skirt about her and settled into the other half of the window. “I feel that you were related to the family who lived here. Is that correct?”

“Yes, the MacFarlands are my ancestors. Like my mother and grandmother, I came to pay homage to them on my birthday.”

“Happy Birthday, my dear. It is only fitting for as I remember, the family was keen on celebrating birthdays. This house in its former glory was filled with laughter, good food, and a bit of good scotch.” She laughed. “Or is that a good bit of scotch?”

“How do you know all of this?”

“My dear, we have looked through extensive records from those times. What happened here was one of the more horrific events that occurred that night. Much was recorded about the family and about the murders. The MacFarland family was the most prominent family on the island. Good, kind people who never met a stranger and never let anyone go hungry. Hard working people, even the last Lord MacFarland worked the fields and tended the sheep. Lady MacFarland organized a sewing club so that the village children always had proper clothes. She also opened a bakery and butcher shop to feed all. They wanted to maintain the pastoral feel of the community. Technology was not embraced here as it was elsewhere.”

“They sound perfect.”

“Aye, I know they sound too good to be true, but on this island, where they could have acted like gods, they behaved as mortals. They believed that taking care of each other was the way to happiness, not in the power or wealth they had.”

“My mother told me that when the war came, the family was unprepared. That they had welcomed the invaders into their home and their guests slaughtered them.”

Margaret dropped her head. “There were a few survivors.” She shrugged. “Obviously there were or you wouldn’t be here.”

Zia chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“The story as it has been passed down is that the servants who were very loyal to the family rushed the children to the shoreline and into a boat. Two of the servants, a couple, took the children to the mainland while the others returned to defend the family. No one survived.”

“And the war began after that.”

“Yes. History tells us that many of the powerful on the planet were killed that night as the invaders sought to take control. But they underestimated the power of humanity. The war went on for years, the skies alight with flashes of weapons fire. So many died, and the planet was left in ruin. The war itself ended the war. The resources the invaders wanted were so depleted that they gave up, nothing here worth the effort.”

“How many years passed before the Expeditions began?

“At least twenty. It took what was left of Earth’s technology at the time to reverse engineer the invaders’ technology.  When they did, well, you know the story from there.”

“I do. Humans left Earth behind for other worlds, and now Terran Command controls over half of the galaxy.”

“Yes, it does. I will leave you so that you may enjoy the remainder of your time in solitude.”

“Thank you, Margaret. You have given me what I needed—a feel for these people. Family is no longer a part of my life. My mother and father died in the Qwan uprising, so I am alone.”

“You are never alone. The souls of the departed remain. They exist in our DNA, and the strength of your ancestors will always be with you.” Margaret stood. “With that my dear, I take my leave. May you remain strong.”

Zia watched Margaret’s warm eyes turn dark as the Android powered down and within seconds vanished as the transporter beam whisked her away. She had nearly forgotten her experience included a history lesson from an android docent.

With an hour left before she had to depart, she walked around the highland and lay in the grass, staring at the clouds and breathing in the cool, fresh air. Margaret’s last words echoed in her head—May you remain strong. The fact was she had to be strong. She had no choice. She would draw on the memory of her family’s resolve.

At the appointed time, a hologram of a young woman appeared, dressed in a smart uniform the same color as the sea.

Thank you for visiting the Museum of Earth. We hope you have enjoyed your stay on the planet of our ancestors. On behalf of the Terran Foundation, we ask for a modest donation so that the rehabilitation of our original homeworld may continue. Your transport is waiting. Thank you again for visiting the Museum of Earth.

Zia began to feel the tingle of the transport beam. Her eyes never left the ruins of the family home as it faded from sight.

She exited the airlock and took a deep breath. Only the pure smell of recirculating filtered air greeted her, not the sweet earthy fragrance of heather or the sea salt air. Looking down at her feet, now ensconced in synthetic leather boots, she remembered the softness of lush grass beneath her toes.  As she entered the bridge of the Terran Command ship, she put those thoughts behind. There was work to do.

She approached the captain. “Captain Burgess, Lieutenant Crane reporting for duty, sir.”

The captain smiled. “Good to have you back, Lieutenant. Hope you enjoyed shore leave.”

“I did, sir.”

“Good. Then get to your station. We’ve finally caught up with the bastards that destroyed Earth two centuries ago. Time to teach them not to mess with humans.”

Zia slipped behind her weapons console as the captain gave orders to depart the space station.  She reached into her uniform pocket and touched the souvenirs she had taken from the highlands, a small flat rock and a clump of grass blades now covered in silicon to preserve them. Her family was with her. Time for revenge.

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Please visit D. A. Ratliff’s blog at

E. C. Fisher – The Ravages of Time

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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The Ravages of Time

By E. C. Fisher

The dawn of the sun, the glow of dusk’s falling light

On a hill overlooking the valley

Through my window; the passage of time shines

The seasons pass; leaves turn green to brown and fall

Temperatures change from hot to cold; green grass to white snow

The ravages of time are not kind

My body weakens; youthful to old; I sit here and decay

The trees wilt; the sun rises and sets

The ravages of time are not kind

Life flows on; the light through my window wanes

The moon shines in the valley; high above the sparkle of the stars

Through my window it shines; the passage of time

A century beyond my age has passed; my window is left and only it remains

It overlooks the valley which has forgotten my presence

The seasons continue to pass; time rages on; beneath the green grass and white snow

The ravages of time are not kind

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Please visit E. C. Fisher’s page at

And please visit and follow his author page at

Sean Bracken – “Boru, Boru”

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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“Boru, Boru”

By Sean Bracken

I arrive in misty, early morning light,

Stark against the fading night

She stands defiant, a skeleton of former glory

This lonely ruin, keeping close her silent story

Of ancient monks and times of glory

Of battles lost and battles won

Of Viking warriors, to battle come

Her last remaining, lonesome arch

Remembers well this final march

Of Brian Boru, Cuchullan too

Of all the clans’ united power

Standing proud, defend the tower

Beyond this line, they dare not strike

Back to the sea, we drive them back

With cut, with thrust, with savage blows

The mighty battle ebbs and flows

Boru, Boru, the chorus grows

For Ireland, for freedom, for God and more

We chant, we fight, we stand against our mortal foe

Cut and slice, hold, advance, bellies burst, eyes gouged out

Body to body, blood and gore

With rage, with fury, we stand our ground

We roar and roar our chant out loud, our death defying, proud refrain

Boru, Boru, for Ireland, for Ireland, for Ireland and you

We fight and fight, with all our might and stand as one against the pain

Two days, two nights

We battle on, tireless and brave

And after all the battles fought

And after all our comrades lost

And all the Norsemen dead and gone

Cradled in my arms, a hero unsurpassed

Boru lay broken, breathing out his very last

With final breath, Boru cried out

Fight on for freedom

Fight on, fight on, for all our lives

Never surrender to invading tides

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In memory of my Grandad, who I loved, and my Great Grandfather, a man I never knew. They fought together against the might of the British Empire in Boland’s Mill, on Easter Sunday, 1916. May they rest in peace and feel proud of the republic they helped to create.

In 1014, at the battle of Clontarf, Brian Boru, the high king of Ireland, defeated the Vikings. In all of Europe , this was the only defeat of the Norsemen.

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Please visit Sean’s website for more of his writing.

Calliope Njo – The Hurricane

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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The Hurricane

By Calliope Njo

I had to go because the hurricane came sooner than predicted. With winds expected to reach one hundred miles an hour or higher, there was no other option but to leave. My parents lived inland so my intention was to go far away from the storm.

I couldn’t go through because the roads were closed. Dammit. While I may have been overreacting, I would die if I stuck around. I didn’t know what to do.

All the shelters filled. No one had any room. One hotel about half a mile inland stayed open to act as a shelter but they filled up quickly.

I screamed, but no one heard. Out of options, I got in a boat and took it out to sea to offer myself as a sacrifice. Crazy, stupid, and every other description possible for that action, but I ran out of choices.

The last thing I recalled was a huge wave hung over me. I shut my eyes to ready myself for the crash. “God, please take me home.” I remember the surge of water as it crashed on me. That moment went beyond explanation. No words described it.

After a while, I opened my eyes and felt sand beneath me. Sand Dunes Inn in front of me with the only gas station in town next to it. The ice cream shop on the other side of the Inn. Busy during the summer months as tourists loved to go there for their freshly-made ice cream.

I witnessed and experienced the hurricane and remembered that helpless feeling not being able to leave, but yet, all was as it should be. How?

I stood up and pulled a blond hair from my head. It hurt. OK, that meant I didn’t die, so what happened?

Everything looked the same. Old Man Marty, who owned the ice cream shop, swept the entry. The Petersons stood in front of the office door to the Inn and waved. Three or four boys wheeled on the path in front of me.

Did I dream the entire goings on?

Well, I got in my Beetle and drove to Mom and Dad’s house. Mom always had an ear to the gossip circle and Dad had a knack for knowing stuff.

I loved the trip. The fields of green were something to behold during the late spring and early summer months. Always an enjoyable sight.

I knew I was getting closer when those fields ended, the roadways got bigger, and McDonald’s became more visible. Sure enough, Dad’s Lincoln was parked in the driveway. My yellow Volkswagen Beetle sat next to his.

I readied myself for the ongoing argument over the necessity of a car alarm. My car wasn’t big enough to have a car alarm, he always said. It’s my car, and it’s my money. His only reply would be at that point there was nothing in it worth stealing.

I walked inside. Mom stood over the sink cleaning green beans while Dad watched a game on TV.

Dad turned it off and looked at me. “Did you hear anything about a hurricane coming through? Sources told me it died as soon as it formed. Strange phenomenon, they said. They have no record of it happening before. Of course, that doesn’t mean it hasn’t, only they don’t know if it ever has.”

“Marge told me her daughter was going to California to get married,” Mom said. “It seems the earthquakes there don’t scare her any.”

I still waited for that argument that never happened. I didn’t know what to reply with and went into the kitchen to help cook the food. Mom did the meatloaf while I did the vegetables.

Conversation never took place at the dinner table during mealtime. When everything finished, it did. “Oh, by the way,” Mom said, “what are your plans for July Fourth? How about a barbecue with potato salad and a special dessert?”

“Sure.” What’s up with the invite? She never did that before. “Why not?” I looked at my watch. “Oh. I better get going before traffic picks up.”

Dad rose from the table the same time I did. “I’ll walk you out.”


“Yes, daughter?”

I studied him before I turned around and left. Mom of course laughed.

As soon as we walked out the front door, he said, “So, you got the alarm on that insect of yours?”

I raised that eyebrow. “It’s a car. It’s mine. Yes, I did buy an alarm for it and had it installed.” I made it beep.

“So I will see you in my office to discuss retirement investments, since it seems that you have extra money to spend.”

A different argument this time. I groaned.

“Do not take that attitude with me, young lady. I demand respect.” His hands clutched at his sides.

Uh huh. Yeah. “I’m going now, Dad.” I got in my car and drove away.

Mom made plans of some sort and Dad changed character. Something had to have happened. I did not imagine that huge wave over me. I did not dream about those palm trees bending over. Mom and Dad are different. Nothing made sense to me.

Someone moved into the apartment next to me. Tall with dark hair and I got enough of a glance at her facial features to be able to tell a woman moved in. A strong woman at that. She carried five boxes all by herself.

Strange that she wore a scarf around her neck. Nobody here wore one. It never fit in with the beach scene. To each their own.

Between work and spending time at the beach, we never got together. I assumed we had different schedules. I taught at the elementary school, so I left by six-thirty and got home around five.

With it being the summer though, meetings, inventory, and paperwork were the only items on the summer calendar. It never made sense to me but that’s how things went.

The lady next door never introduced herself. I tried but when I was there, she wasn’t and vice versa. Eh, at some point we were going to. She did move in next to me after all.

I couldn’t forget the hurricane. No damage and no loss in population as if nothing happened. Dad mentioned scientists had no explanation for it. Here one minute, gone the next. Maybe it bothered me more than it should have.

I tried to forget about it and went to my parents’ barbecue feast. After I stuffed myself, I followed Mom into the kitchen to help with the dishes. Of course, she asked if I dated anyone. It seems she might be the only one without a grandchild.

I heard the game on TV. I also heard him snoring. Typical Dad. Of course, if I dared to turn off the TV, he’d yell at me and tell me he knew what happened. Maybe he had an off day.

Dad still snored when I took off, so maybe he had an off day. Mom gave me a cake trimmed with strawberries and blueberries to resemble the flag.

I thought I could share with my neighbor.

I got home and put the cake in the fridge. I didn’t have any room in my stomach so if I ate any more, it wouldn’t be pretty. I sat on my chair and turned on the TV. There had to be a movie on.

I found a Lord of the Rings movie I saw before, but I didn’t care. After the opening credits, someone knocked on my door. I answered it and it was the lady from next door.

“I had noticed you looking at me. You overlanders are a curious bunch. I am Aberdeen and I am here to live. If you are in need, come to my door and knock. I will be there. There is plenty to be done so I will not go away soon. Enjoy your night.” She walked away.

I stayed there and saw her leave, too amazed to do or ask anything. You overlanders are an interesting bunch? I pictured myself waking up next to Dad in the next minute. I closed my door and went back to Frodo.

The only problem I had from that point on was that I couldn’t get involved in Frodo’s adventure. Aberdeen stayed on my mind. Soft spoken, a little formal, and maybe a bit odd. It made me wonder if I somehow ended up in Mom’s Twilight Zone. She loved that series.

Toward the end of summer, kids and teens swarmed the beach to get in the last bit of fun before school started. Some of them had scarves around their neck too. They wouldn’t be caught wearing scarves. It meant looking old.

I knew a few as I had their younger siblings in my class. “Hey, Shawnee.” I waved her over. “So what gives?”

“Oh, hi, Ms. Richards. We’re just out here swimming and digging for clams before the work begins. The rest surfed.” She shook her head as she scrunched her face. “Can’t wait to be done with school.”

OK. Nothing new there.

“And the Oceaners wanted to come and join us. They knew where the best clams were. They helped us collect them so we could have a feast.”

“You? Eat clams?”

“I know. Huh.” She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Can I leave now?” She bounced up and down.

I nodded. I stayed put and watched them. One of them with a scarf around their neck took it off. They had gills.

“Exactly what kind of world did I end up in? This isn’t my world.”

One with gills ran over to me. “It will be OK. The elders said it would take time to adjust.” She ran away and into the water.

What elders? How did she know I said that? Fins grew and gills became more prominent on a few of them. Did I end up in another world? I had to find answers. The only person I knew with them would be the people at the town’s historical society. They loved to talk to anyone who had any questions about Ocean Port.

I found it, parked my car, and went inside. Wall-to-wall bookshelves filled with books. I didn’t think even a hair could get in between.

While I loved reading, it would take me until the day I died to get through all of them. A lady at the front desk looked at me as I scanned the place. She waved me over.

As soon as I sat down she started telling me about my little town. The part about the original inhabitants I knew. The part about being observed by strange beings I didn’t. They wouldn’t have been able to survive without them. They became the town’s secret since then. Nobody outside of Ocean Port knew about them, it seemed. That’s how they existed for so long without discovery.

I got lost somewhere after that. That little piece of information threw me off. I couldn’t understand how it is that I never before realized they never existed. Still, that little piece of information brought a little more interest into my search for answers.

After I came home, my stomach growled. I looked in my fridge and saw that cake. Well, no time like the present. I took it out and balanced it on my way out the door. I knocked, and she opened the door with a smile.

“I’m Brenda. I have a cake here that my mom made. It’s decorated with strawberries and blueberries to resemble the flag. We could share.” I held it out.

She smiled as I walked in and nodded on her way to the kitchen. She brought back plates, forks, and a knife. “You have been asking questions.”

How did she know? “Yeah.”

“You have more.”


“Or you would not be here with a peace offering. You still do not know how it is you came to be here in a world you believe is your own. Some things are not making sense, however, so you came here hoping to find more answers.”

“How …”

“I had a hunch that would happen. That storm formed a bridge between your world and this. You entered the storm and went through the portal. While that may sound simple, a lot of consideration came with that decision. However, the alternative to that choice meant certain demise. You were held in suspended animation until the decision had been made five years later.”

None of that made any sense. “Aberdeen, I’m a teacher. I like to believe in things that can be proven by books, internet information, or an expert. So no, I don’t believe in anything based on faith.”

“We had a feeling that would come up as an issue.” She stood from her chair and walked down the hallway. She returned with a book in her hand. “This book may have the rest of the answers you are in search of.” She put it on the table and pushed it toward me.

That Oxford dictionary-sized book did look old. Faded cover, worn edges, and that old-book smell. I opened it out of curiosity and flipped through the pages. I stopped when I saw my name at the top of the page. It had everything about me on it.

“What exactly is this? Destiny is made, not decided.”

She looked at me and leaned over the table. “I would rather us discuss than debate, as there are many arguments to that statement. As for what you see, this lexicon is forever changing, being forever rewritten until the time of death. Then, and only then, will it continue to the next person. So no, nothing has been decided for you.”

I pushed away Mom’s cake. I couldn’t eat because my head kept spinning. Nothing made any sense. I hit the table and left her place. I slammed my door shut and dropped on my bed. I only wanted to know what happened.

I must’ve fallen asleep. My face felt smooshed when I looked up. I sat up and decided to forget about my quest for answers. Instead, go on with life. Forget about making sense of them. I worked as an elementary school teacher, single, and lived an unadventurous life. How it is and how it should be.

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Please visit Calliope Njo’s blog at

D. A. Ratliff – The Boat

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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The Boat

By D. A. Ratliff

“Boys, come help me.”

Olivia Carter raised the hatch on her SUV and began to collect the bags of groceries from the back. Her sons, Micah and Elias, popped out of the kitchen door into the garage. Eli lowered the garage door to block the driving rain spilling out of the first strong feeder band from Hurricane Anna.

Grabbing the bags from her, Micah grinned. “Geez, Mom, did you leave any food for anyone else?”

“No one else has kids like you two that eat so much. Luckily, the store still had lots of food and water left.”

He nodded. “I guess since the storm is only going to pass by just off the coast, no one panicked except us.”

“Funny boy. It’s the beginning of hurricane season, might as well stock up now.”

She and Eli followed Micah into the kitchen with the other bags. As she put the food into the storage bins to keep it dry, the boys brought in the water she had bought.

“Mom, there’s enough food and water here for the neighborhood.” Eli grimaced as he and his brother carried two cases of water each into the kitchen. “There are eight more cases out there.”

“That’s the idea. Your dad knows a lot of people don’t realize how long power could be off. He wants to be sure we can help them. Even the fire station might need water.”

Micah ripped open a box of granola bars and took a couple out. “We got all the shutters closed, and all the outside stuff in the shed, and the grill is on the lanai. Drained a few feet of water from the pool and shut off the pump. The generators are full of gas, and we moved them out on the pad with the covers still on, and the cords are ready. Dad called while you were gone. Said it looks like the storm is staying offshore, but he wants Eli and me to go check on the boat.”

“Did he say when the main feeder bands were going to get here?”

“Not until about four p.m. when the winds began to kick up.” He yelled for Eli. “So we’re going to go now.”

“That is only three hours. You come right back.”

“We will.” Eli pointed to the back yard. “Pete’s outside on the lanai, thought he’d like to stay out as long as he can.” Both boys kissed her on the cheek and took off.

She wanted all the clothes in the house clean in case they lost power and had just put the last load of clothes in the dryer when Micah called. “Mom, Jose at the dock asked us to help him. He’s got a boat stranded about a half-mile offshore, and he needs it towed in. Won’t take us long and then we’ll be straight home.”

“Micah, I really wish you would come straight home.”

“Mom, it’s okay. There’s a family on board, engine died. They’ve been out there for a while. Just a quick trip out and back.”

Unease crept into her thoughts, but she pushed it aside. Her sons were smart, and they had been boating since they were small. They could handle themselves.

Olivia busied herself getting the last of the laundry folded, then reviewed the checklist her husband had made for them when they moved to the Gulf Coast of Florida from Buffalo. She always teased him about being a Boy Scout, but he had been a firefighter for so long that preparation was second nature to him. She and the boys had managed to accomplish everything they needed to do to prepare. She took the clean clothes and towels they might need and put them into a large plastic storage bin. If water came into the house, they would at least have dry clothes and clean towels.

She decided to bake oatmeal raisin cookies for the boys, all three of them. Entering the kitchen, she flipped on the TV before heading to the pantry. As she opened the door, one of the local weather forecaster’s words stopped her cold.

“We just received an emergency update from the National Hurricane Center. Aircraft flying through the storm report that the pressure is dropping more rapidly than expected. In fact, faster than we have ever seen. The storm was a low Cat 1 on the last fly-through. While the Hurricane Center hasn’t released the numbers yet, it appears this storm has strengthened to a possible strong Cat 3. Steering winds are changing and folks, this is beginning to look bad.”

The news anchor for the station responded. “We are expecting a message from the governor within a few minutes. Everyone, we suspect that this hurricane is going to come closer to shore and be at least a Cat 3. We cannot emphasize enough that this is now a highly dangerous storm that will impact us more than we expected. Please make your preparations now and get to a shelter if possible or to your home as quickly as you can.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when her phone rang. It was Dan, her husband.

“Baby, this storm is getting worse. I want you and the boys to stay put, too late to go to a shelter so …”

“Dan, stop. The boys … they’re out on the boat.”

“What? What are they doing on the water? They were supposed to check the moorings and come straight home. I told them not to stay there.”

“A family was stranded about a half-mile from the dock. They were the only ones with a boat able to get to them. Micah said they’d be home as soon as they got the family onshore.” Her voice trembled. “Dan …”

Her husband’s calm voice echoed in her ears. “Liv, they’ll be fine. Both are level-headed, they won’t take any chances.” He paused, and she knew he was trying to stay composed. “This storm is going out of control. I am going to notify the Coast Guard to look for the boat. I am sure they are back at the dock by now.” She heard someone yell his name. “I’ve got to go. Keep listening to the weather, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Don’t worry about the boys. They’ll be okay.”

Dan ended the call and tears spilled down her cheeks. She knew him too well. He was worried. So was she.

The howling wind was becoming stronger, the rain pelting against the metal hurricane shutters. She hurried to the lanai to let Pete inside, then pulled the metal shutters across the wide sliding glass door, secured them and locked the doors. The golden retriever brushed against her as if he knew she was upset. Olivia knelt and hugged Pete. “They’re going to be okay, Pete. I promise.”

She needed to keep busy. The boys would want cookies when they got home. Returning to the kitchen she started the cookie batter, the TV on and the laptop monitor tuned to the security camera on the front door. She wanted to know the minute when the boys arrived.

The storm predictions were becoming ominous. The pressure was dropping and the winds increasing. A storm which was supposed to be passing them by with a glancing blow was becoming a serious threat. Olivia packed the cookies into a plastic container and put it with the other food and cleaned up the kitchen. Coffee in hand, she and Pete curled up on the couch to watch the weather reports.

The storm had stalled just south of them, gaining strength. The weather experts at the Hurricane Center had no idea what was going to happen next. Her mother and Dan’s father called to check on them. The storm’s erratic behavior had everyone on edge. She tried to call Dan at the city emergency center, but the call went to voice mail.

Pete snuggled closer to her and whimpered. She scratched his head and sighed. “We’ll be okay. All of us.”

As rain once again plummeted the house, Olivia jumped when her phone rang. She answered without looking. “Micah? Eli?”

“No, baby, sorry.” The pain in her husband’s voice ripped through her heart.

“Dan, no …”

“I don’t know anything. The Coast Guard tried to locate them, but they couldn’t keep the helos in the air. The storm is far too strong. We know the boys. They’re smart. They would have seen how the weather was deteriorating and headed for shelter.”

“I’m scared.”

“I am too, but let’s have faith in them. Now listen, we received a warning from the hurricane center that the storm may turn toward shore. It’s stalled right now and continues to gain strength. If it hits here, you are six blocks inland and shouldn’t get caught in the storm surge if we have one. I need you to stay calm. Okay?”


“Baby, I love you.”

She gripped the phone so hard her hand began to cramp. “I love you. Stay safe there.”

“I will. And the boys … I feel it in my soul. They’re okay.”

The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed five times, and her heart fluttered. Her sons had been gone since one p.m. with no word. As the minutes ticked away, she stared mindlessly at the TV barely comprehending what the cable weather team was saying. She switched the TV to the local station, which was broadcasting from the city emergency center, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dan. His job during a storm emergency was to coordinate damage reports and plan deployment of all fire rescue teams so they could begin search-and-recovery operations once the storm passed. When the emergency weather broadcast alert blared from the set, she and Pete jumped. Her heart thumping in her chest, she wrapped her arms around the dog as she listened.

The National Hurricane Center has issued a hurricane warning for the southwest coast of Florida. As of five forty-seven pm, Hurricane Anna is now a Category-3 storm with sustained winds of 121 mph and pressure at 956 millibars. Storm is eight miles offshore, moving rapidly at 12 mph and beginning to track to the east-northeast and is expected to turn due east and reach landfall somewhere between Siesta Key and Venice around eight pm this evening.

Her blood turned to ice as the emergency broadcast ended. All she could think of was her sons somewhere in the middle of a hurricane. Dan had to be right, the boys had to be safe. Micah and Eli had learned to drive a boat by spending a lot of time on Lake Erie with Dan and his father. That they knew what to do wasn’t a concern. The power of the storm was, and she was scared.

For the next hour, she sat curled on the couch with Pete watching the endless loop of radar as the storm began to turn. Rain beat against the metal hurricane shutters covering all the windows and doors of the house, incessant drumming sounding the same pinging thud. Wind gusts were stronger with each feeder band that came through.

The intense rain let up for a bit, but the wind was relentless. The howling wind was becoming more persistent. Sitting inside her closed-up house, she could sense the barometric pressure dropping, or was it the fear growing within her that weighed so heavily on her chest. She didn’t fear the storm but what her sons were facing. She prayed Dan was right and they had found shelter.

As the torrential rain returned, another weather alert sounded. The storm had turned due east. They were going to take a direct hit. Seconds after the alert ended, the power went off. Using her phone’s flashlight to light the way, she grabbed her laptop from the couch.

“Come on, Pete. Time to go hide.”

When they bought the house, Dan was more excited about the large interior walk-in closet nestled at the end of the hallway than any other feature. He thought it was perfect as a place to keep his family safe. She opened the door and turned on the camping lantern sitting on a shelf. The floor was padded with cot mattresses and pillows, the boxes of food and clothes to get them through the storm stacked in the corner. An audible sob spilled from her, and she sank to her knees. Her sons were supposed to be there, and they weren’t. The closet was too empty.

Pete pawed at her arm, and she rubbed the dog’s head. “No worries, big guy, I will keep you safe.”

She closed and locked the door and opened the vent in the ceiling that Dan had installed to keep fresh air circulating in the closet. Settling on the floor, back against a pillow and Pete snuggled beside her, they began to wait.

A constant stream of storm updates floated from the battery radio but as the eye of the hurricane grew near, the wind was howling so loudly Olivia could barely hear the voices. A constant roar filled the room, coupled with the torrential rains pounding against the house. The bad side of the storm with the winds at their peak was wreaking havoc. The house creaked and moaned as it withstood the wrath of Anna.

Olivia felt as though she was being compressed. Pressure was building in her sinuses, and she felt dizzy. Pete whimpered. No doubt he was feeling the same effects that she was. She slid down to lay next to him, wrapping her arms around him. The emotions she had tried to keep in check couldn’t be contained. Sobs racked her body as the pain of not knowing where Micah and Eli were overwhelmed her.

The boat. That damn boat. Dan had spent months looking for a seaworthy boat that they could afford. He knew how much the boys loved being on the water, but he had wanted them to be safe. Her heart felt like lead, each heartbeat a struggle. They shouldn’t have bought the boat. Now her sons were missing, and it was their fault. She pounded the floor with her fist, crying uncontrollably. They shouldn’t have bought the boat.

Sensing her fear, Pete pushed against her, placing his head on her lap. She hugged him tightly. “They have to be okay, Pete. They have to be.”

The storm raged for another hour violently. Over the roar of the wind and rain, occasionally she heard a loud crack, certain one of the tall palms in the neighborhood had fallen. She wondered if Eli’s car, parked as close to the house was damaged. Throughout the night, the winds calmed, and about three am she fell asleep.

A scratching noise woke her. Pete was standing at the door, looking back at her. She glanced at her phone, a little after six am. Should be light outside.

She stood up and scratched Pete behind the ears. “Bet you need to go out … I will let you in the garage if there is one.”

Walking through the house, she decided to see if she could call Dan since she had a couple of bars. Despite being frightened about what she might learn if she talked to him, she needed to hear his voice.

His phone rang, and as he answered, Pete ran toward the front door. “Liv, you okay?”

“I’m fine … the boys?”

“Open the door, I’m outside.”

Her hands trembled as she unlocked the door. When she opened it she stepped back seeing Dan in the doorway, a huge grin on his face. “You know these two, baby?”

He stepped out of the way and her knees buckled as Micah and Eli entered the house.

Eli grabbed her. “Mom, we were worried about you.”

Through tears, she replied. “Worried about me? I was so scared for you guys.”

Micah hugged her. “Yeah, Mom, we hated leaving you here alone. Glad you are okay.”

“I am glad you are okay. What happened? Where were you?”

Her oldest son smiled. “Winds and the waves were getting rough. That family was on vacation, had rented the boat for the morning. Eli checked the motor … no oil, so the engine seized. We tried to tie a rope to it, but the waves were too high. So, we got the family aboard and left that piece of junk there. But the waves were getting wicked and the rain and wind horrible. Got the family in the cabin and since we were up the coast a bit, we decided to head directly to shore.”

Eli interrupted. “When we got to the shore, I realized where we were. Remember where I was a lifeguard last summer?” Olivia nodded, and Eli continued. “The county has a main water pump station there, a big one. I’d been in it when the water company dudes were there working. Sturdy concrete building — door facing away from the water. I figured we’d be safe there. Lucky for us, the door wasn’t locked. When the storm let up, Micah left and found a police officer. She said they were looking for us and took us to Dad and the family to their hotel.”

Micah laughed. “For once, little brother was right. And Mom, the boat … we drove it up on shore and tied it to some palms. Came through like a trooper and in all that weather, she got us to safety.

Looking toward her husband, she saw tears in his eyes, mimicking hers. Their boys were safe. Not a bad boat after all.

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Sarah Anne Steckel – Anthem of Man’s Dying Day

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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Anthem of Man’s Dying Day

By Sarah Anne Steckel

The divine and otherworldly being hovered far up above the bustling seaside metropolitan city, completely unseen to the human eye, as he watched the ant-sized men and women as they scurried to and fro in their menial daily lives. His obsidian wings gently flapped to call forth the twilight and blanket the sky, causing the city lights to rage and burn like fire against its radiant darkness. Clutched firmly in between his hands was a leather-bound tomb, and in his free hand was a quill pen with a single vulture feather; for he wasn’t an ordinary ethereal man but an angel of death, and it was his job to write down the death of man.

Off in the distance there was the low rumbling of thunder, and from his high vantage point he was able to witness the turbulent storm as it rolled in across the eerily calm ocean front. The ocean air grew thick and heavy, as waves that only grew larger and larger began to crash angrily against the somber sandy beach. The maleficent gray clouds masked by the darkness of the night, plump and heavy with rain, opened up their mouths and spewed hail and flooding rain on the civilians down below. Chaos erupted within the streets as individual blocks of power began to experience mass power outages at a single time.

The omnipotent being began writing on the pages of his book, his keen and wary eye on the tsunami that had formed in the center of the ocean, its epic size continuing to rapidly grow as it traveled further inland. The sounds of sirens caused his attention to shift to the humans below him as they screamed and wailed, their city streets already flooding with a mixture of rainwater and sewage. What remained of the city lights flickered and died, leaving the metropolitan metropolis lifeless and dark; the city went eerily silent, the literal calm before the storm.

The tidal wave arched high above the tallest building, casting a shade even in the darkness of night across the entire island. The celestial man gracefully flapped his wings a second time, pausing briefly in his writings to watch the exact moment that the water crested over and descended down on the silent city. A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky with its bright, electrifying blue-hued brilliance, capturing the wave as it struck the tallest skyscraper, the water’s weight toppling the iron-rod building as if it were made of straw.

The humans below screamed and bellowed as the water swallowed entire buildings and blocks whole, dragging them along with their occupants helplessly into the hungry sea. Whatever had remained after the first wave was quickly demolished by the second tidal wave that bludgeoned the already welted and deliberated streets; there was less of a human rebuttal now, their cries and pleas only a murmur in his ear. He made a few more scores in his epic tomb, listening as the rumbling of thunder began to roll north.

The archangelic man smoothly flapped his obsidian wings a final time and closed his book; observing how the once lively and bustling city and all of its scurrying and busy creatures quickly perished. He could feel their restless souls as they still continued to cry on, unwilling to accept the truth that they all had died. He felt no remorse for them, this was a job that he was sent to do, and dutifully he obliged. In silence he placed his vulture quill pen behind his ear and took flight. Just like he arrived, Azrael, the angel of Death, departed the human world unnoticed but sure that he would be called back once again to dutifully record the anthem of man’s dying day.

©Sarah Anne Steckel

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Kenneth Lawson – Any Port in a Storm

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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Any Port in a Storm

By Kenneth Lawson

Two more palm trees came crashing down on the beach as the computer finished final preparations for automatic shutdown. The automated weather station had triggered a shutdown when the rains and winds had hit certain marks.

The solar panels and a small wind turbine, that generated power that ran the inverters and batteries that ran the station, began to shake on their foundations as the winds and rains picked up.

Meanwhile, deep inside the stone and concrete building, an automated computer had been monitoring communications on the tiny island of Leetown, a private island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The waves began to crash against the outside of the building. Within minutes the tiny island was covered in twenty feet of water which crashed over and through everything. While most of the smaller less well-built buildings lay flat in a matter of minutes, the old stone-and-block building didn’t completely submit to the water. It remained standing.

However, the ancient mortar-and-cement casing did partially give way to the intense weight and pressure of the water as it swept across the small island. Water found its way into every little nook and cranny that had an opening at all, forcing blocks and stones to shift and let in more water. When it was done, three feet of water made itself home throughout the tiny building. Computers and electronics were waterlogged and fried.

Several weeks later, Cole Webber made his way back to the tiny island.

In the weeks following the storm, he had made a financial killing off the data siphoned off the internet and private networks he had been tapping into for several months. The cost to set up the substation had been high. But the need for secrecy was higher. This particular island had been chosen because of its location to the main backbone of the internet running under the ocean and to the nearest land-based server center—thus allowing him direct access to the main trunk traffic of the internet and the ability to piggyback on others who were spying on the internet. Also because it was so far out in the middle of nowhere, it would never occur to them that anyone would set up a hardware system to tap into the servers.

The usefulness of the substation was now past. He had what he needed from it, and with the storm destroying everything, he thought it was time to come in and rip everything out.

As he expected, the island was a total washout. By now most of the water had subsided and found its way back to the ocean. However, there were still pockets where several feet of water sat and the bugs were making themselves at home.

The solar panels and inverters and all of the external hardware that had run the small computer station were in ruins outside the building.

Pushing the door open, he was greeted with water up to his knees. The water came gushing out of the door around his legs. Using his flashlight he looked around inside the small building.

There on the far wall, mounted high, was a single monitor, its cords dangling against the wall. To his surprise, a single light was flashing. The screen had a small blinking oblong dot in the upper left corner. Cole recognized it instantly as a DOS prompt.

Stepping into the room, now covered with slime and mud, he saw computer components lying all over the tables and floor. He approached the one screen still working.

And the built-in speaker spoke to him.

“Hello, Cole, we’ve been waiting for you.”

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Enzo Stephens – Boxer Briefs

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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Boxer Briefs

By Enzo Stephens

Everyone knew a real crap-storm was imminent, but the real question in the mind of Greedy O’Shamlin was when.

Because when mattered to Greedy.

Greedy played the odds, always, and since he was a perpetual betting man, he was betting that the raw unbridled fury of nature would take its sweet time making landfall, thereby screwing up all sorts of stuff with limitless tons of dirty water. Whether the water fell from the sky or washed up from the sea, well, it was still dirty, and Greedy really had no affinity for dirty water.

But still …

Because while Greedy loved playing against the Fates, he hated filth more. It’s why he lived alone and it’s why he was quite happy living alone. Simply put, people were filthy.

And so Greedy reveled in the steaming pellets of clean water that pummeled his skin, and yet, a tiny niggle of doubt squirmed around in the reptilian part of his calculating brain.

That doubt had a little but persistent voice that kept repeating stuff like, ‘you need to get outta here, dumb-ass,’ and ‘it’s a freaking Category-5 hurricane, dumb-ass.’

Greedy decided to respond to that small, annoying seed of doubt by lathering his long, blond hair in a wonderful, enriching, lavender shampoo. Tea-tree oils evoked a tingle on his scalp that was quite pleasant.

Alas, the hot-water tank had reached its limit and the streaming shower began to grow tepid in temperature, and so Greedy rinsed his tresses until they squeaked between his pressing fingers.

He tapped the shower control to OFF, slid the opaque glass door open soundlessly, and stepped onto heated marble flooring, eschewing a bath sheet in favor of air drying, and waited for the fog to clear from the vanity mirrors on two walls of his custom bathroom. He really hit a hard workout earlier in the morning with great focus on his triceps, shoulders and quads, and he wanted to see the fruits of his labor.

In the interim, Greedy decided to brush his teeth for the fourth time on this day—a bit excessive, but filth had a way of hanging on stubbornly between one’s teeth. It was when he shut down his sonic toothbrush that he heard a very jarring noise from the exterior of his home, one that certainly warranted further investigation.

He pulled a pair of boxer-briefs from a hook over the door, stepped first his right foot through and—

The jarring noise again! Sounded like parts were being ripped off the house itself, and there was some kind of outrageous roaring going on out there, and right at that second Greedy felt that it was time to stop playing the odds and maybe expedite matters to the point of a rapidly-ensuing personal evacuation.

The grubby cat can fend for itself.

He hoisted that left knee up to jam his left foot through the briefs and the big toe somehow got stuck and then Greedy wobbled, losing his balance, and he reached his hand out to halt his fall but missed the granite vanity completely and saw the unyielding vanity surface rushing up toward his view and then…


Wake up already!

“Huh?” Greedy opened his eyes with the memory of what he saw last vivid in his brain, and he completely expected to be in a hospital or something, or at the least, lying sprawled out on his bathroom floor, thankful for the warm tiled floor.

But that’s not what Greedy saw, not at all. What greeted Greedy’s view was … gray. Like everything was gray. He looked around—absently noting that he had full movement of his neck, which meant that his neck was not broken, and saw gray.

No floor, no ground, no walls, no outside or inside, no ceiling, no sun. Nothing. Just gray. What the—

So, you were doing something pretty stupid there.

“What? Who’s talking?”

Allow me to answer your question with a question. Do you know your name?

“What kind of stupid question is that? Am I paralyzed or something?”

Or something. Now, your name please.

“It’s Greedy O’Sh … wait a minute; hold on a sec.”

Take your time, I’ve got all the time you can imagine.

“Something’s off. I remember my name being ‘Greedy,’ but I remember something else too, something … older?”

Now you’re getting there. Keep working at it.

“Why the fu—”

Don’t allow yourself to get distracted by your circumstance. Your name? WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

“Okay, okay, don’t get your panties all in a bunch—”

When you figure out WHO you are, you’ll realize just how inappropriate that comment is, Child.

And yes, there! Just a tiny little thread right at the edge of Greedy’s memory, an old thing that he didn’t really understand (like quantum physics or women), but he found that little niggling thing and latched onto it tenaciously.

“It’s Jrgshddl.” He shook his head, or at least it felt like he shook his head. “Did I just say that?”

Welcome home, Jrgshddl.

“Wait. Am I … dead?”

Your physical shell is lifeless and will be returned to the earth by fire.

“Oh shi … er, crap! So what is this … place, and who the heck are you?”

You already know the answers to those questions, Jrgshddl.

“Are you … God?”

You know I am.

Greedy/Jrgshddl’s mind reeled. He struggled to absorb and understand everything that happened and that was now happening, but … so many questions! “Okay, God. So what is this place and what’s the plan for me now?”

You should remember that this is just a holding place for you. It’s a place for you to rest and reflect and to understand your place and remember your progression.

“So, like Purgatory.”

You would do well to not ascribe your silly Catholic rituals and fantasies to me, Child.

“Well, I’ve just had my pee-pee slapped by God Himself.”

You no longer have a pee-pee. In fact, you no longer have a physical body.

“I was being figurative, not literal.”

Yes, Jrgshddl, you’ve been like that since I gave you your first spark of life.

“So, um, God? Do you mind if I take some time here to try to get my head wrapped around all this?”

Listen to me now, Child. Your physical shell is gone. Dead. Reduced to ash. You have to let go and do so as soon as you can. Once you let go of your physical trappings, you’ll trigger the ancient memories you’re supposed to trigger, and then we can move on to the next phase for you.

Without a physical environment, Greedy was at a bit of a loss as to what exactly he should do. Pace? That seemed to work for him when he was … alive. Sit down? On what, and where? There’s nothing—

That’s correct, Jrgshddl, there’s nothing. I designed this place like that to make it easier to let go.

“Well you certainly did a fine job.” No response. As Jrgshddl attempted to look around and be confronted by nothingness, he tried to push, or project his mind out from himself and into the nothingness.

Why not? There was nothing else to do. But the odd thing—as if any of this wasn’t odd anyway, was that as Jrgshddl tried to expand his consciousness, the memories of his life as Greedy O’Shamlin seemed to flit away. This was a gradual thing and it continued until Jrgshddl’s mind was soothed and integrated with the surroundings, the surroundings of nothingness.


“Yes, God.”

That’s much better, Jrgshddl. Now we can talk.

“I’m all ears, God.”

I always did enjoy your humor, Child. But now we must be serious. In your life as Greedy O’Shamlin, well, you left a bit to be desired.

“In my defense, nobody’s perfect. Well, nobody, except for you and Jesus.”

Child, there is no need to defend. I know all and I see all. I knew what was in your heart from its first throb until you rejoined me here. I’ve known it for ages, Jrgshddl, and I will know it when you finally pass to the next stage in your evolution.

“Which is what?”

Which is not for you to know yet. But I will say that I gave you an illustration of what’s next for Mankind in my Word, which you call the Bible.

“Riddles! Why not just come out and give up the deets?”

Because you are not yet ready and you have to return.

“Well, I don’t see the problem because I won’t remember all this anyway.”

No, Child, that’s not accurate at all. Allowing a slight bit of remembrance is what helps Mankind to elevate themselves to their next phase. So yes, you will remember just a bit more than last time, and you’ll be that much closer.

“This seems like a colossal time-suck to me. I mean, why all the back and forth, why all the life and then death? Why not just bump us up to that next stage without all this … stuff?”

Jrgshddl, in the world of the living, there is a metal that you pull from the earth. It is beautiful and pure and clean, and Mankind treasures it. It is called ‘silver.’

“Okay, sure. I’ve had some silver.”

Do you think it comes from the earth shiny and beautiful? It does not. To create the beautiful metal, the impurities have to be removed from the ore. That is done through fire, which is called ‘refiner’s fire.’

“Okay, so I’m not really getting all this yet—”

Truly refining that metal takes more than one pass through the refiner’s fire, Child. You, and all of Mankind, are like that ore that’s pulled from the earthfull of wonderful potential and beauty as well as impurities.

“So going back and forth like this will remove impurities?”

Absolutely. So if this ‘pass’ cleanses you of all your impurities, no further refining will be needed and you can move on.

God’s thoughts echoed in Jrgshddl’s mind with the impact of a gong on a distant mountain just as a blast of shockingly cold seawater engulfed him and he sank below the surface of an extremely angry sea.

He kicked his legs and feet frantically and finally broke free of the riotous surf and opened his eyes in shock and then wonder. A raging deluge of rain hammered the ocean, which protested by heaving gigantic surges and surf back at the sky, which responded with insanely powerful winds and jagged bolts of lightning.

And Jrgshddl was right in the middle of it.

He kicked himself in a circle, feeling like a microbe against the heaving vastness of the seas, amazed that he was able to keep his head above water, and spied a red lifeboat with lights flashing fore and aft, bouncing around on surf determined to crush the small craft.

It was durable though—built to withstand a hurricane! He struck out toward the boat, no more than one hundred feet from it and closing in, when he heard voices.

He looked toward the boat, seeing the door ajar; long hair whipping around, and a familiar face etched with frantic worry screaming his name, and he longed to go to her.

“Come on, Jordon, COME ON!”


He knifed through the pounding storm surge, fighting crisscrossing undercurrents that strove to yank him under as exhaustion began stealing over him and then …

Small hands snagged the collar of his shirt and pulled him toward the craft and he pushed and clawed and climbed to be free of the angry hands of the sea until he fell forward on top of the woman who held him violently, clinging with every ounce of desperate strength.

He gasped, shaking saltwater from his mouth that was causing his belly to rumble. “You saved me. You saved my life.”

She kissed him. Deeply with frantic passion. “No way was I letting you go, Jordy. It wasn’t your time, my love.”

Together the two kicked the hatch door shut and held each other as the Category-5 storm raged.

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D. L. Tillery – “Lost To The Storm”

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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“Lost To The Storm”

By D. L. Tillery 

A single moment, a breath of life, I couldn’t blink, I couldn’t cry. Tingling all over, no sounds of wonder, I’m blinded by you and this inner thunder. Waves clash against me, inside me, as I fight the fall, as I fight your call. The day you emerged before me, was the day I lost my heart to thee. My soul ignites with the lightest touch, unknown to you, I fold as a palm tree under bended knee. What is this? What are we? Let me surrender, or let me flee.

The storm has come, just as the light fades, the winds rage … touch me, I beg. When you arrived I was lost at sea, the stings of water droplets awakened me. Take not away this unknown storm, uprooting, are we not the norm?

Your beauty has penetrated to the deepest core, hold my hand as we soar. Where we land is one and the same, in the center of our storm we’re lost … come what may.

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Official website of Author D.L Tillery Fiction Writer

Challenge Your Characters

Some writers love having horrible and hazardous things happen to their characters, while others prefer to keep their characters safe and happy. It can be difficult to cause our characters to hurt or suffer, because we care about them. Our characters become part of us.

However, just as we grow through our own challenges, so do your characters. Without difficulties through which to learn and grow, characters tend to be one-dimensional and fall flat.

One of the best things you can do in your stories is to confront the individuals with various hardships. Present them with adversity which brings out their frustrations, hurts, fears, and insecurities. Because those hard times are what show the growth and strength in your characters and help them evolve. So hit them with whatever helps develop them – don’t be too easy on them.

Challenging the people you write about helps your story in three important ways.


  1. It brings out your character’s inner qualities

Your character grows, evolves, and becomes more relatable to the reader through challenges. Facing fears, struggles, or danger helps show what they are made of. It gives them more depth and they become more real and tangible. It helps the reader understand them better, as they see the character’s courage and inner strength. Characters that face adversity are much more interesting than shallow, superficial characters who are never challenged.

This is true for children’s books as well. I have published ten children’s books, all animal stories – and even in those, the main characters face struggles. No matter what your target audience, it is important for your character to face and grow through challenges, even if it’s facing bullies, searching for a lost dog, or helping someone in danger.


  1. It keeps the story interesting

Characters who are challenged keep the story engaging for the reader. A story about only happy experiences would be a boring book. It would not be compelling to read about John walking down the street in the sunshine. However, it is a lot more gripping to read about John walking down the street holding divorce papers, while a car is hurtling at him at full speed as John’s knee gives out and he slips in a puddle. Not only do obstacles keep your characters intriguing, but they keep your entire story engaging as well.

It’s also a good idea to let the challenges build in intensity throughout the book. Let the predicaments be smaller at first, and then, through the progression of the story, the difficulties increase until he faces his biggest fear or dilemma. That is what is gripping about books – the build-up of intensity, fear, danger, and adversity. Will they overcome it? Will they succeed? How will they get out of this terrifying scenario? Those are often the most memorable books.


  1. It inspires your readers

Seeing how a character faces and overcomes adversity can be inspirational for a reader. We all face challenges in life, and seeing how a character deals with fear, danger, insecurities, setbacks, illness, or whatever it is, can inspire us to deal with similar challenges in our own lives. If your character found the strength to face that disaster, then so can I. It teaches us and helps us find the inner strength to face whatever comes our way.

So don’t be afraid to challenge your characters – you create better and more memorable characters, a more fascinating and gripping story, and you can inspire your readers to face the difficulties in their own lives. Don’t hold back – a challenged character is a captivating character that will make your story more powerful and memorable.

And as you create your stories, remember to embrace the challenges in your own writing as well – they help you become a better writer.

Copyright © 2018 Lynn Miclea. All Rights Reserved.

Image found on Google. Credit to unknown artist.

LYNN MICLEA grew up in New York and moved to California while in her twenties. A certified hypnotherapist and Reiki master practitioner with a bachelor’s degree in psychology, she spent many years working in the medical field and in various offices in an administrative capacity.

After retiring, Lynn discovered and developed a passion for writing, and she is now a successful author with many books published and more on the way. Her two memoirs, one of her family’s experience with ALS, and one of her own journey through open-heart surgery, have received numerous five-star reviews.

She also has published ten sweet, exciting, and fun children’s books, which are uplifting, loving, feel-good animal stories, filled with warm humor, and which are about kindness, compassion, helping others, seeing the best in others, and believing in yourself.

She hopes that through her writing, she can help empower others and add more joy and love to the world. She asks everyone to be kind to each other as we all share this journey through life together.

Lynn currently lives in the Los Angeles area with her husband and two dogs.

Learn more about Lynn at her amazon author page here.

And please visit her website at for more information on her books.