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1
Week 3 posts / Re: Welcome Home - CP1 Draft
« on: November 24, 2019, 02:53:30 AM »
I love so many little things that have been added in here - the fact that the fleet was off-course and may not have found them without her flare and the wind trying to stop her were my favorite additions.
I agree with Rebecca - I use italics for interior monologue and only in third-person POV. So imagine if the character started mumbling to themselves out loud, would it make sense? If so, go for italics. If not, leave it regular and we will pick up that it's more of a thought. This is easy with 3rd POV in past tense, because dialogue happens in first person present (unless your character is one of THOSE people who speak in 3rd person, then it's a little harder). So "Who were they?" would be in regular text (it happens in past tense) but "Who are they?" would be in italics (happening in the present).
In 1st POV I never use italics because it's ALL monologuing.
I agree with Rebecca - I use italics for interior monologue and only in third-person POV. So imagine if the character started mumbling to themselves out loud, would it make sense? If so, go for italics. If not, leave it regular and we will pick up that it's more of a thought. This is easy with 3rd POV in past tense, because dialogue happens in first person present (unless your character is one of THOSE people who speak in 3rd person, then it's a little harder). So "Who were they?" would be in regular text (it happens in past tense) but "Who are they?" would be in italics (happening in the present).
In 1st POV I never use italics because it's ALL monologuing.
2
Week 3 posts / Re: Beacon
« on: November 24, 2019, 02:35:36 AM »I read this every week and hope this week I am ready. This week there will not be tears. Again this week was not that week. This is so good.
Wow, thank you so much!
3
Week 3 posts / Re: Beacon
« on: November 24, 2019, 02:33:41 AM »I wish I could like this more, but BUGS! <Runs off screaming for the bunker>
I swear these are carnivorous grasshoppers.
I'm so sorry! If it makes you feel better - I imagined them more like giant, flying stag beetles???
4
Week 3 posts / Re: Waiting To Jump: CP Round
« on: November 23, 2019, 03:30:04 PM »
Random super powers, corporate espionage, love in watercolours. This has me so hard
5
Week 3 posts / Re: Draft 3: The Crow on a Birch
« on: November 23, 2019, 03:08:28 PM »
My pleasure
6
Week 3 posts / Beacon
« on: November 23, 2019, 03:00:59 PM »
I cheated a little this week and wrote a post about the process of providing a critique. Next week I'll be sharing all of the edits I made from both rounds of CP edits.
So the blog post is here https://arianascribbles.wixsite.com/arianascribbles/home/constructive-feedback-wim-week-3
But the changes I actually made as per Morgan and Natalie's amazing feedback are below. Some of them added too many words, so I held back for now. I will probably go crazy and break this word count rule on my final pass through and take advantage of even more of these suggestions, but we'll see. I always have enjoyed the challenge of certain constraints like word counts. We'll see.
Here's the story where it currently stands:
Beacon
It?s hard to find settlements in the dark these days. The swarm is nocturnal now, descending like a demonic hoard on any scrap of light that shines from dusk until dawn. It?s forbidden to so much as light a candle in the evenings. One of those laws that?s easy to keep because the punishment for breaking it is death, and far as I know there?s no judicial system set up with the bugs to beg for mercy.
I?m rushing to boil water. The sun is dancing below the horizon, and I?ll need to put out the fire soon, even though we?ll want for the heat. The twins are coughing and these long, cold nights don?t help. They need a doctor, but we?re still a half-day?s walk from the nearest village hunkered inside a rusted out Volkswagen Beetle. The irony of this does not elude me.
We?ve been walking over a week since our village was decimated by a single careless man who?d fallen asleep smoking a cigarette. The fire spread from house to house, attracting a full swarm. We barely made it to a bunker ? steel sheds strong enough to ward off mandibles the size of hands, but not strong enough to block out the sound of them clicking and scraping along the length of it.
There were only so many rations to go around after that, and people grew feral in their competition for goods, so we left. Nights on the road are miserable and dangerous. There?s the odd chance that a swam will happen upon us, even in the dark, but if we?re quiet and we?re careful we should make it.
Bubbles form around the edges of the pot, and I pull it from the fire, stamping hard on the coals to ensure no stray spark remains. My eldest, Rebecca, walks up clutching a handful of dirty flowers. ?I found some marshmallow by the river.?
?Are the roots intact?? I take the plants from her, eyeing their thick, gnarled bottoms which taper into a thin filament. Perfectly preserved. Her brothers will need every inch of it to soothe their throats.
?Yes, mama.?
?Excellent work.?
Her face glows with pride. She?s grown beautiful, an unfortunate curse these days. There?s no rich men seeking pretty young things to bear them fat children in exchange for a comfortable life. Only men with appetites that exceed their honor.
We soak the roots while darkness gathers around us, the twins? coughing the only sound in the night. A shiver crawls along my spine. I?m old enough to remember crickets and nightingales and the lonely cry of distant wolves. My children know no such sounds.
The twins slurp thin tea and pass along a collection of greens Rebecca gathered earlier. We ran out of food yesterday. I rummage through the car for supplies without much hope. Most houses and cars were cleaned out long ago, but there?s an emergency kit tucked under the passenger seat. Astounded by my luck, I rip into it. That?s when I remember there?s no such thing as luck these days. There?s nothing inside. No band-aids, no polysporin, just a good-for-nothing emergency flare.
I sigh and settle into the seat, pulling the boys into my lap and stroking the dingy curls that cling to their heads while they rock me with their hacking.
Just one more day.
I?m fighting sleep. There?s only nightmares on the other side: scores of bugs pulsing through the air, crawling along my skin, rending it with their fangs. Worse still, watching my children buried beneath the swarm, the sounds they make as they?re eaten alive. It?s not a leap of imagination. I heard other children make the same sounds, abandoned by parents who were too afraid to open the bunker doors.
So I close my eyes, but some back corner of my mind shocks me awake every time I start to drift. I swear I can hear the thrum of wings drawing near. The third time I jar awake, I shake my head to dislodge the sound, but it refuses to dissipate.
They?re coming.
I scramble up, dumping the twins onto the ground. Simon begins to cry, but Sebastian just gives a weak cough and lies there. Rebecca rushes to him.
?Fever,? she says.
Our eyes meet. The swarm will be here soon and there?s nowhere to hide. The car doors won?t close, and even if we run it will take two hours to reach the village.
?Mama?? Rebecca?s lips tremble, but her voice holds steady. She?s waiting for instructions.
I cast my eyes down in shame and see the flare. Grabbing it, I turn to the children. ?Simon, you have to run, ok? As far and fast as you can. Rebecca, carry Sebastian. If Simon tires, place him on your back. Do not stop until you reach the village.?
Rebecca?s eyes falter. ?What are you going to do??
I grip her chin and force her to look at me. ?You?re a strong girl. You can do this. Now run!?
Rebecca begins to cry, but she scoops Sebastian into her arms and grabs Simon?s hand, pulling him to the road.
There was a large hill off the road earlier, and I run toward it. I find the place and begin to climb, feeling the distance between myself and my children growing, straining. At the top I straighten, flare in hand, and hesitate. The insects are droning far below me, making my heart race, but somewhere along that silvery, moonlit road are my children. I yank off the end cap and strike the flare.
The light blinds me, and I shield my face. The outline of a black cloud reforms, shifting and racing toward me.
Soon they?ll arrive. Those legs, those teeth ? every horror that kept me awake at night. Except the worst one. There will be no childish screams tonight. I will not close the door on my children.
I hold the flare high into the night and close my eyes.
So the blog post is here https://arianascribbles.wixsite.com/arianascribbles/home/constructive-feedback-wim-week-3
But the changes I actually made as per Morgan and Natalie's amazing feedback are below. Some of them added too many words, so I held back for now. I will probably go crazy and break this word count rule on my final pass through and take advantage of even more of these suggestions, but we'll see. I always have enjoyed the challenge of certain constraints like word counts. We'll see.
Here's the story where it currently stands:
Beacon
It?s hard to find settlements in the dark these days. The swarm is nocturnal now, descending like a demonic hoard on any scrap of light that shines from dusk until dawn. It?s forbidden to so much as light a candle in the evenings. One of those laws that?s easy to keep because the punishment for breaking it is death, and far as I know there?s no judicial system set up with the bugs to beg for mercy.
I?m rushing to boil water. The sun is dancing below the horizon, and I?ll need to put out the fire soon, even though we?ll want for the heat. The twins are coughing and these long, cold nights don?t help. They need a doctor, but we?re still a half-day?s walk from the nearest village hunkered inside a rusted out Volkswagen Beetle. The irony of this does not elude me.
We?ve been walking over a week since our village was decimated by a single careless man who?d fallen asleep smoking a cigarette. The fire spread from house to house, attracting a full swarm. We barely made it to a bunker ? steel sheds strong enough to ward off mandibles the size of hands, but not strong enough to block out the sound of them clicking and scraping along the length of it.
There were only so many rations to go around after that, and people grew feral in their competition for goods, so we left. Nights on the road are miserable and dangerous. There?s the odd chance that a swam will happen upon us, even in the dark, but if we?re quiet and we?re careful we should make it.
Bubbles form around the edges of the pot, and I pull it from the fire, stamping hard on the coals to ensure no stray spark remains. My eldest, Rebecca, walks up clutching a handful of dirty flowers. ?I found some marshmallow by the river.?
?Are the roots intact?? I take the plants from her, eyeing their thick, gnarled bottoms which taper into a thin filament. Perfectly preserved. Her brothers will need every inch of it to soothe their throats.
?Yes, mama.?
?Excellent work.?
Her face glows with pride. She?s grown beautiful, an unfortunate curse these days. There?s no rich men seeking pretty young things to bear them fat children in exchange for a comfortable life. Only men with appetites that exceed their honor.
We soak the roots while darkness gathers around us, the twins? coughing the only sound in the night. A shiver crawls along my spine. I?m old enough to remember crickets and nightingales and the lonely cry of distant wolves. My children know no such sounds.
The twins slurp thin tea and pass along a collection of greens Rebecca gathered earlier. We ran out of food yesterday. I rummage through the car for supplies without much hope. Most houses and cars were cleaned out long ago, but there?s an emergency kit tucked under the passenger seat. Astounded by my luck, I rip into it. That?s when I remember there?s no such thing as luck these days. There?s nothing inside. No band-aids, no polysporin, just a good-for-nothing emergency flare.
I sigh and settle into the seat, pulling the boys into my lap and stroking the dingy curls that cling to their heads while they rock me with their hacking.
Just one more day.
I?m fighting sleep. There?s only nightmares on the other side: scores of bugs pulsing through the air, crawling along my skin, rending it with their fangs. Worse still, watching my children buried beneath the swarm, the sounds they make as they?re eaten alive. It?s not a leap of imagination. I heard other children make the same sounds, abandoned by parents who were too afraid to open the bunker doors.
So I close my eyes, but some back corner of my mind shocks me awake every time I start to drift. I swear I can hear the thrum of wings drawing near. The third time I jar awake, I shake my head to dislodge the sound, but it refuses to dissipate.
They?re coming.
I scramble up, dumping the twins onto the ground. Simon begins to cry, but Sebastian just gives a weak cough and lies there. Rebecca rushes to him.
?Fever,? she says.
Our eyes meet. The swarm will be here soon and there?s nowhere to hide. The car doors won?t close, and even if we run it will take two hours to reach the village.
?Mama?? Rebecca?s lips tremble, but her voice holds steady. She?s waiting for instructions.
I cast my eyes down in shame and see the flare. Grabbing it, I turn to the children. ?Simon, you have to run, ok? As far and fast as you can. Rebecca, carry Sebastian. If Simon tires, place him on your back. Do not stop until you reach the village.?
Rebecca?s eyes falter. ?What are you going to do??
I grip her chin and force her to look at me. ?You?re a strong girl. You can do this. Now run!?
Rebecca begins to cry, but she scoops Sebastian into her arms and grabs Simon?s hand, pulling him to the road.
There was a large hill off the road earlier, and I run toward it. I find the place and begin to climb, feeling the distance between myself and my children growing, straining. At the top I straighten, flare in hand, and hesitate. The insects are droning far below me, making my heart race, but somewhere along that silvery, moonlit road are my children. I yank off the end cap and strike the flare.
The light blinds me, and I shield my face. The outline of a black cloud reforms, shifting and racing toward me.
Soon they?ll arrive. Those legs, those teeth ? every horror that kept me awake at night. Except the worst one. There will be no childish screams tonight. I will not close the door on my children.
I hold the flare high into the night and close my eyes.
7
Week 2 posts / Beacon Round 2 - Self Edits
« on: November 23, 2019, 02:55:23 PM »
Forgot to post this last week - whoops!! Here's the link 
https://arianascribbles.wixsite.com/arianascribbles/home/short-story-surgery-wim-week-2
https://arianascribbles.wixsite.com/arianascribbles/home/short-story-surgery-wim-week-2
8
Week 1 posts / Re: Untitled First Draft
« on: November 13, 2019, 02:51:18 PM »
I love the hopeful tone of this piece, and as someone else said, the courageous nature of the MC. Amazing first draft!
9
Week 1 posts / Re: First Draft: La Capitaine
« on: November 13, 2019, 01:45:05 AM »
I am also a plantser and I also do weird outline/first draft hybrids!!
I love this. I?m really jonesing for some pirates right now so this hit the spot. Can?t wait to see it take its full form!
I love this. I?m really jonesing for some pirates right now so this hit the spot. Can?t wait to see it take its full form!
10
Week 1 posts / Re: Writer In Motion Raffle Short Story Draft 1
« on: November 12, 2019, 08:04:27 AM »
Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh am I reading this right?? SUPERPOWERS?? Give me more, I am ravenous for it!!
11
Week 1 posts / Re: Draft 1 - A Day on the Water
« on: November 12, 2019, 07:58:45 AM »
Excellent use of the prompt! You incorporated all of the visual elements of the photo into your story in such a perfectly believable way
12
Week 1 posts / Re: Draft 1
« on: November 12, 2019, 07:49:57 AM »
I love the emotional depth in the first part of the story when she is welcoming her father home. Her excitement and love are really clear on the page, which makes the ending drive home that much more.
13
Week 1 posts / Beacon - Adult Post-Apocalyptic
« on: November 12, 2019, 03:23:02 AM »
It was hard to find settlements in the dark these days. The bugs had become nocturnal, descending like a demonic hoarde on any scrap of light that shone from dusk until dawn the next day, so it was forbidden to light a candle in the evenings. One of those laws that wasn?t hard for anyone to keep because the punishment for breaking it was death and as far as Rachel knew there was no judicial system set up wth the bugs to beg for mercy.
The little ones were coughing again, twins through to the end, even in sickness they had to mimic one another. Rachel rushed to finish boiling water as the sun began its dance back down behind the horizon. She?d need to put out the fire as soon as possible, and she wanted to ensure there was enough hot water for tea to soothe their throats. The long, cold nights didn?t help. They needed a doctor, but they were still a half-days walk from the nearest village. They?d found a rusted out Volkswagen Beetle off the side of the road. The irony did not elude her as they hunkered down to sleep among the springs and tattered seat cushions.
They?d been walking for over a week. Their last village decimated by a single careless man who?d fallen asleep smoking a cigarette. The house fire had attracted thousands of the creatures that prowled the woods and they?d feasted on anyone within a mile radius who?d had the misfortune to be too far from a bunker; the steel, life-saving underground boxes that had proved too strong for the overgrown bug?s mandibles but not strong enough to block out the sounds of them clicking and scraping along the length of it.
But there were only so many rations to go around after the bugs made their way through, and the people often grew feral in their competitions for goods. So Rachel had packed up the kids and what little they could carry without drawing too much attention to themselves and left. She knew if you kept to the roads you?d find something eventually, but the nights were chill and terrifying along the way. Still, better than having your skull dashed in by a hungry man with a shovel.
Bubbles formed around the edges of the pot, signs that the water was finally taking a boil. The sky had turned pink, so Rachel rushed to pull the small pot off the coals and bury them in dirt. She stamped and smooshed everything wth her feet, determined to ensure that no stray spark remained. She wouldn?t risk her chidren?s lives for a moment of carelessness.
Rebecca approached the fire, fingers covered in dirt and clutching a handful of dirty flowers.
?Here mama, I found some marshmallow by the river.?
?That?s a good girl. Did you keep the roots intact?? Rachel asked, taking the plants from her daughter and eyeing their thick, gnarled bottoms tapering into a thin filament. Perfectly preserved. The twins would need every inch of anyone was going to sleep tonight.
?Yes, mama.?
?I see that. Excellent work.?
Rebecca?s face lit up with the compliment. She was growing up beautiful, an unfortunate curse these days. There were no rich men seeking pretty young things to bear them fat children in exchange for a comfortable life, only men with appetites that exceeded their honour. It was a good thing the girl was filthy all the time. If you only glanced you didn?t notice the high cheekbones and smooth skin. There was nothing to be done with those clear, bright eyes, she supposed, except let her live long enough to see things that dulled the glimmer. It wasn?t what she wanted for the girl. Let her eyes shine, and let her mama take care of any man who took notice.
They soaked the roots in the almost-boiling water while darkness gathered around them, the sounds of the twins coughing the only music in the night.
Rachel shivered. She was old enough to remember crickets and nightingales and the lonely cry of distant wolves. Her children knew no such sounds, only the ominous thrum of thousands of thin wings.
The twins slurped down the thin tea and they passed along a collection of roots and greens Rebecca had been gathering all day as they walked. They had run out of food yesterday.
Rachel rummaged through the car without much hope. Most houses and cars along the road had been cleaned out long ago. She found an emergency kit tucked under the passenger seat and ripped into it. Her heart fell when a single emergency flare rolled out across the floor. No bandaids, no polysporin, nothing but a useless flare that would do nothing but bring down a cloud of death upon them.
She sighed and settled into the seat, allowing Sebastian to lay his head in her lap. Simon quickly followed suit and she stroked the dingy curls that clung to their heads while they rocked her with their hacking.
One more day. They just had to walk one more day and then pray that someone took mercy on them.
Her eyes slid closed, but she fought sleep. Sleep always brought the nightmares; scores of bugs pulsing through the air, reaching for her, crawling along her skin, rending it with their fangs. Worse still, watching her children buried beneath the swarm, the sounds they made as they were eaten alive. It wasn?t a leap of imagination. She?d heard other children make the same sounds, abandoned by their terrified parents, too afraid to open the bunker doors with the bugs so close at hand. She?d seen their faces shadowed and twisted by the dancing flames of the village as it burned.
So she closed her eyes but some back corner of her mind shocked her awake every time she began to drift, convinced she could hear the thrum if insect wings drawing nearer. The third time she jarred awake she shook her head, convinced she could still hear the beating, thick and deafening, surrounding them.
The sound didn?t dissipate. She could hear the beating.
She scrabbled up, dumping the twins onto the ground. Sebastian gave a weak cough, but Simon sat up and began to cry, his voice hoarse.
Rebecca was already awake, and she scooped Simon up into her arms, then bent to shake Sebastian awake. He groaned.
?Fever,? she said.
Our eyes met. The swarm would be here soon and there was nowhere to hide. The car doors wouldn?t close and even running it would take more than two hours to reach the village.
?Mama?? Rebecca asked. The girl looked terrified, but her voice was full of faith. She was waiting for instructions.
I tore my eyes away, casting them down in shame. They landed on the emergency flare, abandoned on the floor of the car.
I grabbed it up and turned to the children. ?Simon, you have to run, ok? As far and fast as you can. Rebecca, carry Sebastian. If Simon is too weak, place him on your back. Do not stop until you reach the village.?
Rebecca?s eyes faltered. ?What are you going to do??
I gripped her chin and stared into those beautiful eyes one last time. ?You are strong and you are brilliant. You can do this.?
?Mama??
?Now run,? I shouted as the wing beats grew louder.
Rebecca began to cry but she nodded her head and scooped Sebastian up into her arms.
She grabbed Simon?s hand and pulled him forward onto the road.
I watched them for only a moment before I turned and ran in the opposite direction towards a crumbling stone outcropping I had seen earlier.
I raced forward, feeling the distance between myself and my children growing, straining. I found the place and began to climb. At the top I stood, flare in hand, hesitating. I had gained a lot of altitude and could hear the insects droning below me. Somewhere along that silvery, moonlit road were my children. I yanked off the end cap and struck the flare.
The light was blinding and I shielded my face with the opposite hand. From below I heard a roar of sound and could see the outline of a black cloud reforming, shifting, and racing toward me.
Soon they would be upon me. Those legs, those fangs, those thousands of eyes. It was every horror that kept me awake at night. Except the worst one. There would be no childish screams this night. I would not close the door on my children.
I held the flare high into the night and closed my eyes.
The little ones were coughing again, twins through to the end, even in sickness they had to mimic one another. Rachel rushed to finish boiling water as the sun began its dance back down behind the horizon. She?d need to put out the fire as soon as possible, and she wanted to ensure there was enough hot water for tea to soothe their throats. The long, cold nights didn?t help. They needed a doctor, but they were still a half-days walk from the nearest village. They?d found a rusted out Volkswagen Beetle off the side of the road. The irony did not elude her as they hunkered down to sleep among the springs and tattered seat cushions.
They?d been walking for over a week. Their last village decimated by a single careless man who?d fallen asleep smoking a cigarette. The house fire had attracted thousands of the creatures that prowled the woods and they?d feasted on anyone within a mile radius who?d had the misfortune to be too far from a bunker; the steel, life-saving underground boxes that had proved too strong for the overgrown bug?s mandibles but not strong enough to block out the sounds of them clicking and scraping along the length of it.
But there were only so many rations to go around after the bugs made their way through, and the people often grew feral in their competitions for goods. So Rachel had packed up the kids and what little they could carry without drawing too much attention to themselves and left. She knew if you kept to the roads you?d find something eventually, but the nights were chill and terrifying along the way. Still, better than having your skull dashed in by a hungry man with a shovel.
Bubbles formed around the edges of the pot, signs that the water was finally taking a boil. The sky had turned pink, so Rachel rushed to pull the small pot off the coals and bury them in dirt. She stamped and smooshed everything wth her feet, determined to ensure that no stray spark remained. She wouldn?t risk her chidren?s lives for a moment of carelessness.
Rebecca approached the fire, fingers covered in dirt and clutching a handful of dirty flowers.
?Here mama, I found some marshmallow by the river.?
?That?s a good girl. Did you keep the roots intact?? Rachel asked, taking the plants from her daughter and eyeing their thick, gnarled bottoms tapering into a thin filament. Perfectly preserved. The twins would need every inch of anyone was going to sleep tonight.
?Yes, mama.?
?I see that. Excellent work.?
Rebecca?s face lit up with the compliment. She was growing up beautiful, an unfortunate curse these days. There were no rich men seeking pretty young things to bear them fat children in exchange for a comfortable life, only men with appetites that exceeded their honour. It was a good thing the girl was filthy all the time. If you only glanced you didn?t notice the high cheekbones and smooth skin. There was nothing to be done with those clear, bright eyes, she supposed, except let her live long enough to see things that dulled the glimmer. It wasn?t what she wanted for the girl. Let her eyes shine, and let her mama take care of any man who took notice.
They soaked the roots in the almost-boiling water while darkness gathered around them, the sounds of the twins coughing the only music in the night.
Rachel shivered. She was old enough to remember crickets and nightingales and the lonely cry of distant wolves. Her children knew no such sounds, only the ominous thrum of thousands of thin wings.
The twins slurped down the thin tea and they passed along a collection of roots and greens Rebecca had been gathering all day as they walked. They had run out of food yesterday.
Rachel rummaged through the car without much hope. Most houses and cars along the road had been cleaned out long ago. She found an emergency kit tucked under the passenger seat and ripped into it. Her heart fell when a single emergency flare rolled out across the floor. No bandaids, no polysporin, nothing but a useless flare that would do nothing but bring down a cloud of death upon them.
She sighed and settled into the seat, allowing Sebastian to lay his head in her lap. Simon quickly followed suit and she stroked the dingy curls that clung to their heads while they rocked her with their hacking.
One more day. They just had to walk one more day and then pray that someone took mercy on them.
Her eyes slid closed, but she fought sleep. Sleep always brought the nightmares; scores of bugs pulsing through the air, reaching for her, crawling along her skin, rending it with their fangs. Worse still, watching her children buried beneath the swarm, the sounds they made as they were eaten alive. It wasn?t a leap of imagination. She?d heard other children make the same sounds, abandoned by their terrified parents, too afraid to open the bunker doors with the bugs so close at hand. She?d seen their faces shadowed and twisted by the dancing flames of the village as it burned.
So she closed her eyes but some back corner of her mind shocked her awake every time she began to drift, convinced she could hear the thrum if insect wings drawing nearer. The third time she jarred awake she shook her head, convinced she could still hear the beating, thick and deafening, surrounding them.
The sound didn?t dissipate. She could hear the beating.
She scrabbled up, dumping the twins onto the ground. Sebastian gave a weak cough, but Simon sat up and began to cry, his voice hoarse.
Rebecca was already awake, and she scooped Simon up into her arms, then bent to shake Sebastian awake. He groaned.
?Fever,? she said.
Our eyes met. The swarm would be here soon and there was nowhere to hide. The car doors wouldn?t close and even running it would take more than two hours to reach the village.
?Mama?? Rebecca asked. The girl looked terrified, but her voice was full of faith. She was waiting for instructions.
I tore my eyes away, casting them down in shame. They landed on the emergency flare, abandoned on the floor of the car.
I grabbed it up and turned to the children. ?Simon, you have to run, ok? As far and fast as you can. Rebecca, carry Sebastian. If Simon is too weak, place him on your back. Do not stop until you reach the village.?
Rebecca?s eyes faltered. ?What are you going to do??
I gripped her chin and stared into those beautiful eyes one last time. ?You are strong and you are brilliant. You can do this.?
?Mama??
?Now run,? I shouted as the wing beats grew louder.
Rebecca began to cry but she nodded her head and scooped Sebastian up into her arms.
She grabbed Simon?s hand and pulled him forward onto the road.
I watched them for only a moment before I turned and ran in the opposite direction towards a crumbling stone outcropping I had seen earlier.
I raced forward, feeling the distance between myself and my children growing, straining. I found the place and began to climb. At the top I stood, flare in hand, hesitating. I had gained a lot of altitude and could hear the insects droning below me. Somewhere along that silvery, moonlit road were my children. I yanked off the end cap and struck the flare.
The light was blinding and I shielded my face with the opposite hand. From below I heard a roar of sound and could see the outline of a black cloud reforming, shifting, and racing toward me.
Soon they would be upon me. Those legs, those fangs, those thousands of eyes. It was every horror that kept me awake at night. Except the worst one. There would be no childish screams this night. I would not close the door on my children.
I held the flare high into the night and closed my eyes.
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