Lost Petals
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Lost Petals
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Lost Petals
Copyright Š 2013 Storm DeVille All rights reserved. ISBN: 1481126784 ISBN-13: 978-1481126786
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When I decided to put together a collection of short stories and poetry, I was surprised at the number of people who asked if I could separate them. Some wanted only poetry, others wanted only the short stories. With this in mind, I rounded up my collection and divided it in to two separate collections for those who asked. Lost Petals are the stories that have drifted along with me throughout my life. They reflect the emotions as well as the darkness that visits each of us at some point in time. For my friends who do not care for poems, but love short stories, this collection is for you.
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RESCUE My blood sings at the knight's approach on silvered steed; I see him cresting the emerald rise from my balconied window. They thought to keep me here, sorceress, damned they say. But I knew he would come, sooner than later, that my heart crying out to his would bring him, my love, my rescue, my salvation, my knight. Armor glints, blinding, in the sun, as heralds try and warn the king. But the king is slow, and my knight is swift. Hooves pound up to meet the wall of the fortress, his beauty dazzling the guards before his swords lops off their confused heads. Now, before me, below, he awaits my descent. In a swath of midnight tresses and sheer white mist of gown I descend the rose covered bower with care, glancing fearfully at the orb of 7
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hot orange-gold at the horizon. A strong hand in metal gauntlet lifts up and I take it with ease, steadying myself as I ease down, down into his lap on the restless beast that shifts and snorts, awaiting our commands. I barely drop when he urges the beast into flight, one arm tight about me as the ground sweeps past, ribbons of dizzy color as we cover hill and dale, seeking freedom. Guards cry out. The sounds echo in our ears, almost gone, then the sting of red-burning pain! The wetness, tacky to my touch. I turn, seeking the feral green depths of my knight's gaze, see his own dimmed shock. Our lips touch, soft, tender, timeless. The sharp arrow peers out from bloodied white garments, now bleeding crimson and dropping onto the shiny saddle and startling white steed. It made his way through the knight's side as he fled with love in his arms, piercing them both. The old king was not so slow.... Sanctuary comes miles away, unseen by mortal eyes, as the hidden brook emerges from verdant forest. The wearied steed pauses to drink greedily, while the slumped lovers list. As they slip, unknowingly, still locked in their macabre embrace, the pale doves rise from their 8
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forms, one startling white the other soft pewter gray. They dip and sway, dancing ever upward into the quiet twilight.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Storm DeVille lives in the mid-west with her boyfriend, their menagerie of rescued animals, tons of books, movies and video games.
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