#The Hills Dyed in Rose Madder

[lachatalovematcha]

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚🐙🌭☘️🎒🌈˚⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝘼𝙞 𝙣𝙤 𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙖𝙣🎨🎒🥬🎀

⭐🌸🌈君のハート射止めたい のに⭐🌸🌈⭐

˚∘˙˚⊹‧₊˚‧ (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) ⭐️🚎🌈 ♡︎ ︎ ♡︎★＜ ‼️⭐ (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)⁠｡ ⁠｡ ⁠｡🍗⭐️🐛🌈

＜‼️⭐ (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠) ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝⸝ 🌰🌈愛のミステリー ✧ . ° 　+ 　

[imiteeshon]

[stesierra]

How would you like to see the book I can't publish? It's a book about disability and societal injustice and gay teenagers and terrible diseases. I'm proud of it but I wrote it in a time before OwnVoices and I don't want to take money away from writers who actually are physically disabled. But maybe it's okay to share it for free. YA fantasy that would definitely be banned in Florida.

CAST OUT

CHAPTER ONE

The smell was like nothing I'd ever encountered. It filtered through the hood of my cloak and the silk mask over my nose and mouth, and it filled my lungs the way the sun fills your eyes when you stare at it.

On my shoulders, my parents' hands weighed heavy and warm. My father's trembled.

I was not trembling. I was sixteen today. Full-aged. Full-aged women walked with their heads held high and uncovered. They looked at the world around them, at anything they liked, without worrying they'd see something that would blight a growing mind.

It wasn't gawking to stare around at the gold-plated columns, the silk-draped ceiling, and the obsidian stairs. It was being adult.

We mounted the stairs, my parents a step ahead of me.

At the top, sentinels framed the ivory entrance. Straight whole tusks made up the door, each twice my height and lashed together with silver wire. As we reached the top landing, the sentinels seized silver handles and pulled. They moved like mirrors.

The doors swung wide. A fire smoldered in the entryway, set in a grate lined with silver fish. We walked around it, onto a tiled platform that stretched into the heart of a triangular chamber. Down below, twelve robed men and women sat cross-legged on the floor. White triangles of linen capped their heads.

The Justry.

I took a deep breath. The smell was stronger here. It was a mineral scent, but sweet, almost cloying. I felt a little dizzy.

My parents' hands squeezed my shoulders. Then Father pulled my cloak away. Mother stripped off my mask. For the first time outside of my home, I stood exposed in nothing but my linen camise and baggy calsounds, which belled out all the way down to my slippers. My scalp felt the kiss of fresh air, even with my black hair braided and bound tight to my head. I stood proudly. I wore my best clothes, dyed red with madder and embroidered by Father's hand. I'd even scraped the paint from under my nails.

When my parents returned to my side, smoke choked the air, and the cloak and mask were gone. I would never wear them again. I wanted to skip and jump, but the eyes of the Justry were on me.

The youngest of the Justry rose, a woman no more than seventeen. The justa's skin was the same brown as the powdered cuttlefish ink Mother bought me. A touch lighter than my own.

The woman spoke, but I fixed my eyes on the crimson pillow she held. On the pillow sat a little golden jar.

Mother nudged me. I looked up.

The justa's mouth moved with ritual words Mother had already taught me. "As I have seen revelations, dear one, and been made pure, so will you. The first revelations are always the strongest." She smiled, revealing teeth a shade brighter than her white lip salve. "Are you ready?"

I nodded.

The justa reached down with white-nailed hands and lifted the golden lid. I caught a glimpse of a little cone, which sent up tendrils of glowing green like the essence of life itself. Oracle ore.

Then the smell caught me.

It swept me out of my body and up to the ceiling and through it, like I was no more substantial than a soul. It sparkled and churned and danced in my lungs, and I danced and churned and sparkled in the air above the city, a leaf on the wind. A grain of sand being melted to glass.

I felt as though I could shatter.

Lights burst behind my eyes like lost stars, and they showed me wonders that flashed by so fast I missed half of them. Underground caverns and winding tunnels that burned with their own greenish light. Gold-fronted mansions that lined the curve of a manicured hill. Huge automas, in shapes of animal and human and nothing living, with joints that moved smooth as oil. Their intricate, glowing guts.

A pale-faced woman with a jutting chin and stub nose, her low cheeks framed by mousy brown hair. Her eyes were the green of malachite pigment and old copper and the little cone evanescing on the pillow in front of me.

I fell into them.

I fell into myself.

I knelt between my parents on the platform. I had not moved except to fall. The justas still surrounded us, and the woman with white lip salve had replaced the lid on the golden jar.

Her smile at me was tender. I was too dazed to read her lips, but I could envision in signs what she said; Mother had drilled it into me. "Well? Child, tell us of what you have seen, and be welcome to adulthood."

I let my parents haul me to my feet. My knees felt like pudding. I closed my eyes, and Mother and Father steadied me with their hands.

"It was amazing," I said to the justa. And I laughed. "It was beautiful. More beautiful than anything I've ever seen. And the taste– it was like waterfalls in the mountains, or the way a diamond must taste. I've never seen either, but I've read–"

Mother's hand clamped down on my shoulder. Father's had fallen away. Something was happening. Something was wrong. I opened my eyes.

The justa's mouth was moving. I'd missed the first part of the sentence. But I read the last of it on her lips and guessed the rest. "–She will be cast out."

My hands clenched in dismay. "What? No, you can't! I saw the revelations! I saw!" I needed to taste it again. I needed the justa to lift the cover over that little glowing cone and let me suck its magic into my lungs.

The justa shrouded the golden case with a sleeve and stared at me with narrowed eyes. "Silence your child, perfectas. Her voice saddens this body."

Mother pulled me close. She spoke – her chest reverberated against my back – but I couldn't see, even without my hood. My eyes had frozen on the justa's mouth. I caught every twitch of her lips, as though I had known and read her face for years.

The justa replied, "She is an imperfecta. The law has no leeway." Her eyes turned towards Father. He must have said something. "Take comfort. There are always miracles. Perhaps the Great Unknowns will hear your prayers and cure her."

I set my jaw. "I don't need to be cured. There's nothing wrong with me."

The justa ignored me. "You may have one night with her before she is escorted from the city. With our blessings."

A drop splashed the back of my neck. Mother was crying.

The justa lifted a hand. "Walk in perfection."

My parents led me away.

#

They didn't speak to me until we were home, inside our own entry chamber, which I'd painted myself a year ago. I stopped just over the threshold, brushed by the draft of the door swinging shut behind me. My hands swept the air, agitated, too fast. "They aren't really going to make me leave, are they?"

My parents turned towards me. Tears glistened in the cracks of wrinkles that hadn't been there that morning. "Zisha," Mother said, her hands cupping my face. Was this the last time I'd see my name on her lips?

"They can't throw me out," I signed. "Not just because I talk strangely."

Father and Mother exchanged mournful glances. Father signed, "Little bird, they knew it wasn't only your voice."

"Just because I'm deaf? Because I can't hear?"

Mother stepped back, freeing her hands. Her fingers twitched a subdued answer. "Yes, dear one."

My face felt hot and sticky. Tears ran down my cheeks. "All those years you spent coaching me on how to talk properly, how to read lips. They were for nothing?"

Father signed, "We hoped your training would fool them. But–"

"It didn't."

"You have a beautiful voice, dear one," Mother signed.

"The Justry didn't think so."

Mother bit her lip. "They are all fools."

I signed, "Tell them I'll stay inside. I won't take revelations again. No one needs to see me–"

"They know you are here now," Father signed. "They won't let you hide."

I swallowed. Sniffed. "It isn't fair."

Father shook his head. "I will pack a bag for you, little bird. Go pick your favorite books from the library." He strode away, his back as stiff as the benches lining the entry hall.

I sank into one and signed weakly, "He's thinking of books? Now?"

"You will want them," Mother signed. "You will not find any outside the Plenary Cities. They cannot read, out there."

"Can they even paint?"

"Not like you, love."

I hugged my knees to my chest, pressed my face against them. Tried my voice. "I don't want to go there."

Her hand brushed my back, but I did not look to see her reply. I didn't want to see it.

I wanted to stay.

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@Hyba

@da-na-hae

@macabremoons

[bonmotx]

□□□ Record

In his travels, one of the most horrific sights was labelled beautiful. The skies were filled with little pieces of bone and blood, fluttering about like a butterfly's wings. Delicate, almost tangible.

Perhaps it would be easier to dismiss as a memory if they did not slow his steps as real as anything.

The brush against his cheek shows it is truly there. How horrifyingly familiar.

People sit on picnic blankets as blue as the rose petals, tucked into his joints to disguise the creaking sound. It is almost a whimper that pierces the air. Soft fabric persists even as he walks forward. 

Footsteps are gentle. Gentle. Like the fabric. Like the fingers that grab at his cloak. Pin it to his  armor. Guide and steady him forward.

(They used to be so much larger than him. A palm that could blind him in one handful. Now, they feel so small. Even two clasped hands could not fully cover his eyes.)

They still grab and pull. Now, they pull at petals like a game of forget-me-love-me-nots. 

(Were they so? Perhaps love was made in knotted threads, instead, like spoken here. Then was he loved by what bound him? Did it love him as it strangled him?)

The iron stings at his skin. Still, he hammers the nails in. Otherwise, it might fall off. Further. Another step. His boot sinks past the petals that are pierced as easily as the flesh beneath the roots, as the nail buries into the shoulder to keep the armor on.

When did he take it in hand? That's a silly question. The color of blood and of these reminders are the very same. 

The flowers smother the lips they are pressed into. There is no need to cry for help when you cannot be heard. A tree that falls to time's axe has no need to make a noise as it dies.

(It was nothing so cruel. A hand can sting as much as a cut. Always so gentle. Always so.)

He tries to breathe. They're petals. Yet petals are still organs and skin. This understanding stains the retina in the color of the sky above. The ground is covered in what cannot be imagined. Death persists and coats the surface in all this. 

The hill is covered in death.

An itchy memory scratches at his eyes, feels even more irritated as his eyelashes flutter and tease salt into where the skin is raw and scratched. The pain is as uncountable as the bodies on the hill. Something as cold as the sky strangles and swells as the buds on the trees and a broken limb. 

All will be unable to be reached with the final nail. The iron holds him together, together, even as it creaks louder and louder. Hands try to pry out that which holds him together. Try to rip everything away. Naive, thinking that putting a stopper to the pain would heal when it is only the pain that pushes him forward and keeps him whole at all.

A deserved punishment. A balm to the senses.

(If he died, would she not patch his wounds so gently still?)

It aches. One final swing, final step, and his feet escape the hill’s grasp.

The fingers finally stop pulling. Something breaks free. The petal that lands before him is soaked through in blue. All sways with the color of the sky.

That's how the world has shaped him. It all fades to a dye of blue. Woad leaves are boiled to slaughter for a pretty cloak. How fitting to the fate of all. 

Madder and indigo are not so different so.

(If he tried to-)

No matter the original color, it all becomes blue in the end. Blue as death, as lips, as freezing fingers, as a kingly glance, as the eyes in his head, unpluckable, unlike the petals so surrounding, unlike skin.

How ill-fitting. He wishes he could carve baby-blue out, yet the sky carries with him even in his gaze.

He breathes- yet finds he cannot. Her hands are finally clasped tight around something adjacent to the shoulders, leading up to the brain and depriving of oxygen, blue, blue, blue. 

He cannot find himself to be surprised.

(It always hurts. He is ever out of breath, ever unable to blink himself awake.)

This is fine. All is fine. Another place will be found. What has been dyed a deeper hue cannot go back to what it used to be. A corpse still breathing cannot be set to a grave.

So: it is fine. It must be. It will be. There is no other choice. There is no other path.

The world aches. Skin falls. How much something so simple must ache, despite its life. Doomed to die over and over, if it wishes to remain the same. In another place, the lamb sleeps naïve as it is appraised for the worth of its tender sweet meat. Similarly blooming, the flower, unthinking, hopes not. Lost to it is something like living long.

The wanderer might have hoped upon a younger day he never sees that horrific, strangled tree again. Yet now, he knows it is useless to bother: useless as breath to a corpse hanging from the tree. It sways like the petals in the air, and both fade to dust in the time between a heartbeat and the next. Inescapable as fact.

That which is pink and full of life will always die under the weight of the blue sky. 

He knows, for he was once another color, a forgotten hue, once upon some lost day before the crown was set.

[frailesea]

          *     jubyphonic   translation   lyrics   sentence   starters   .

          each  may  be  adjusted  appropriately for  pronouns  or  really  anything,   including  character  speech  or  semantics.     use  it  however  you  like     !

not a sound out there, but i know they’re following me everywhere.

butterflies sigh and flutter by.

goodbye to a spell and the night coming to an end.

‘right, knew all along’ sounds like such a lie.

coffee stains covered my life.

i don’t know how i can move again.

we never saw a thing until it came for you and me.

they’re imitating and debating me and never making any sound.

deny my heart or deny the mess i made?

words so tender, but that’s not what you were really like.

or be afraid, and here you’ll always stay.

i would laugh at myself, fallen down behind.

but i don’t know a thing, love or losing, see?

i threw to the side any human in me.

if i live a lie of shallow words and empty replies, then what am i?

play it out like a scene, posing every lead.

run to front stage. you’re all actors anyway.

no one to watch, you’re all part of a play.

there no one inside me.

there’s no one that’s hiding.

always been me, empty, a body but nobody here to see.

hurry up and bite down whoever you found.

and here i wait for something to twist the plot dramatically again.

we’re pulling at the boundary unseen.

those eyes are watching.

head shot, we took it too far, but if you aim, go for the heart.

broke it all with a touch, if i do recall.

we were young, never bound with a single sin.

before we could see, we were monsters in skin.

i was alone way before i knew, blocking every little thought that i couldn’t sit through.

all they want is safety from what’s around, waiting for help but never knowing how.

maybe this time i’ll be there with a flag high, outmatched but easygoing.

never gonna need a script with me.

swear that you’ll see me again.

one chance is all i have now, so i better make it count.

the world that i locked out is nowhere to find.

the people who mocked me are gone from my sight.

the tears that had fallen were not my to weep.

kindness and warmth, i can’t feel them at all.

the hole dug inside me can’t hold any love.

you looked like you were laughing at the pain they were in.

i’m itching from all the shame inside.

i’m alive, but i can’t say there’s much to discuss.

nothing means a thing.

they’re clinging to a fading sos now.

come have a taste. you deserve it.

it’s love i want to cut from my life.

how i wish those words were mine.

i had this dream you were fine without me.

i hope there’s love for me too, ah but from who?

saliva coats the lies we tell.

how boring a way to end  the night.

running on ahead, you seemed to escape, every step never touching down.

i couldn’t do a thing but stare without a sound.

you walk to a train while i’m standing left behind.

don’t be upset, but my heart really wants to cry.

every night is the same old thing.

breaking through it all, you were bright, standing tall. how could i only see this now?

it drags me along with its feet buried in the ground.

road going home is dark and alone, but i’ll make it out alive somehow.

my long shadow left behind, i’m on my own, aren’t it?

they’ll just bore a hole in me.

all you ask ends up in the trash.

look at ‘needing’ and ‘wanting’, same seven letters.

all  of the people truly think that love is a think we take.

no one sees that we haven’t seen it all.

you know we think the same ‘cause changing is a pain.

no brainer, the danger is in your head.

all of the people break and buy new love that’ll never last.

we all know egos are taking up the space.

why not cry until i’m fine.o

i don’t want to touch you. please, just keep away from me.

no way to take a breather if you can’t swim.

tried to write a letter full of things i never really thought about in words before.

maybe one day it’ll reach the door.

now i’m stuck with all these funny feelings.

i wonder how it feels to hear the havens laughing at you.

betting it all, my heart, upon this resistance.

by the end, we’d find out that nobody wins.

a brand new day to show we can fight back.

nobody really talks about that, you know?

even stupid people wouldn’t dream of that.

if i’m standing on a crumbling hill, would you forgive?

by the end, we’re fighting ourselves.

even if you’re broken up inside, you gotta stand and fight ‘cause it’s the only heart you’ve got.

you might’ve forgotten that a life shines brightly, that’s what makes it life!

if you’re tearing at the seams or falling to your knees, just remember that it shows you’re trying to move ahead.

over night, the city seems to mirror back.

i’ve got a tendency to hurt from little things.

from the day the monster spoke inside of me.

‘keep on lying,’ said the monster anyway.

i’ve lied, and i’ve been tricking ever since.

no, not a single person out there can see what sits behind.

just a monster by now, can’t deny that it fits.

don’t get mad. you know i’m just a liar in the end.

again today, i’ll smile at all the little pieces in the game.

but i already knew that long, long ago.

no way i’m gonna live on my own with nobody else.

hear all the greed, the forgery, the only reality!

what a surprise, no one to blame.

i can no longer be saved.

hidden just beneath are memories grown ups never see.

i’m a monster deep inside.

it’s okay, no need to be afraid anymore.

i was a big sister and tried my best.

dye it in madder of roses, so we can begin.

just because we play heroes, it doesn’t mean nothing.

i hope they’re happy and laughing at every new day.

now listen close, hear this secret for you.

the adult world we knew was changing, too.

the people that i love keep crying out.

no one seems to notice, but it’s all dying into black.

i couldn’t tell a single soul how i felt.

it’s all gone wrong somehow, i knew deep down.

please don’t destroy what i’d found.

in came a world where our happiness died and flew out.

madder red, no, i beg you. i can take no more.

why can’t you stop breaking futures, so they’ll be tomorrow.

could i be their one and only hero who saves their futures?

on this mission, i must go alone.

i wonder what the brigade is doing now.

i hope they’re smiling all the time and getting along with each other.

they probably hate me now, but maybe just hurt. i just wonder...

will you remember the word i loved with every bit inside me?

that ‘happiness’, ah how strange it is.

anybody out there, anybody don’t care?

what’s out there for me?

[clans-of-the-sea]

Forget-Me-Not

(Here’s my writing entry! I got Elf Owl’s help for writing the parts about Night and I thought this was the perfect moment to show!)

The beautiful, quiet woods sat peacefully in the springtime, with flowers blooming everywhere under the shining sun, turning the fields to a rainbow of beautiful bobbing colors and bright splashes. Heavenly scents trailed through the air, and so did butterflies and bees. Birds and squirrels filled the trees with song and life, and the day was perfectly peaceful.

Except for a small stubby figure far out by the farmlands, racing along as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. The reason she was flying along became quickly clear as a huge, snarling, snapping dog bounded into view as well.

“HEEEEELP! HELP! OH HEEEEEELP!” The dilute calico munchkin dashed through the grass, screaming like a seagull while she crashed along. She blasted past dandelions and sent their fluff flying through the air and trampled right over the clover flowers she loved so much.

The dog got closer and closer, starting to really gain on her. Eager excitement flashed in its dark eyes and it gave a wicked grin of bared fangs as it lunged forward to try to snap at her tail!

“AHHHH!” shrieked Snail. She jumped high in the air and landed right on the dog’s head! Panicked she clung on with claws and howled as the dog ran in circles, trying to shake her off. She bit its ear hard, trying to hold on better since she was scared of falling and being trampled.

But this just made the dog madder than ever! It snarled and roared and shook her right off!

Snail flew over a fence and landed in a pond! The giant splash made the ducks there quack and flap off. Whimpering, Snail struggled to the shallows only to see the dog bounding towards her! She tried to take off, but found out one of her paws was stuck on a root! Sobbing in fear, she clawed and scrabbled, still screaming for help.

Then a terrible snarl ripped out of the reeds ahead! A huge black shape leaped out and charged at the dog, snarling and hissing!

The dog yelped as claws sliced its nose and the angry black cat jumped on its face and attacked it!

Hiccupping and sniffling, Snail watched with wide eyes as the big black cat fiercely chased the dog off, sending it running away when it decided this new prey was too mean and the game was no fun anymore!

Panting, the black cat turned back and stalked over to Snail.

“Night!” she squeaked in relief recognizing her and realizing she’d been holding her breath in fright. She felt a little dizzy and flopped down. “You saved me!”

Night didn’t smile though. She just poked Snail. “How’s your paw?” she demanded.

“Stuck!” Snail took a shaky breath. “Is that dog going to come back?”

“No,” said Night. She carefully tugged Snail’s paw and helped her work it free.

Snail stood on wobbly paws and then squeaked. The one that had gotten stuck really hurt to stand on! She held it up, big eyes watery again. “It hurts!”

Night’s stiff expression didn’t change. The intimidating cat sniffed her paw and poked it. “Sprained.”

Snail stared at her in horror, puffed up and not sure exactly what that terrible pronouncement meant. “Will I ever walk again?”

“Of course.” Was Night rolling her eyes at her?

She frowned. “But I can’t walk right now.”

“You have three other paws.” Night beckoned to her and started to prowl off. She looked very grim, and Snail’s heart sank a little bit. Was Night mad at her? She drooped. She didn’t want the cool cat to be mad at her!

“Where are you going?” Snail hobbled after the black cat.

“Back. Camp. You should too.”

“But I can’t!” She plopped on her bottom and put on the saddest, most pleading face she could. “Night, I can’t. I’m on a mission!”

The black cat didn’t even turn around, she just looked around. “What mission?”

“I’ve got to find Fairyrings!” she explained.

“Who?” deadpanned Night.

“My sister! My other sister…” Snail’s whiskers drooped. “Why my housefolk lost me, I had two sisters, Ferret and Fairyrings. We all lived with the Storm Clouds because they gave us a place to stay, but then Fairyrings got scared when you new cats came—not to be rude, she just was worried, but I don’t mind you at all!” Snail hurriedly hobbled over to rub against Night, who just stared at her like she had squirrels in her brain. “But then Ferret died…” She looked up at Night, tears welling again. It broke her heart every time she thought of her sister dying, and then not knowing where her other sister was!

Night stared at her.

“I tried to find her,” wailed Snail, “but I can’t find anything and she’s gone forever! I came out here thinking maybe she went really, really far or tried to go home to our housefolk, but there’s nothing!”

“Then she’s gone,” Night said bluntly.

Snail’s whiskers drooped. She stared at the ground, starting to sniffle again. “I looked everywhere,” she whispered. “Everywhere!”

Night awkwardly nuzzled Snail. The big black cat then curled up around her and sat there frowning.

Snail sobbed into her fur, thinking of all the horrible things that could have happened. What if she was killed by dogs or had fallen in a river or got sick or got too hungry or got hurt or bitten by a snake or snatched by a hawk or attacked by a mean cat?!

Eventually though Snail ran out of tears. She sadly snuggled against Night, having hiccups from all her crying. She stared miserably at the black cat with her cheek pressed against her soft fur. “Night?” she quavered.

Night grunted.

“Will you help me do something?” she pleaded. “Something really, really important?”

“What?’ asked Night flatly.

“I want to make a mem-more-ree-um, for Fairyrings,” she said, sitting up with a sniffle.

Night cleared her throat and stared at her with pinned ears. She looked awkward and uncomfortable and pained like she’d been dragged backwards through a thornbush.

Snail guiltily nudged her wondering if now she was thinking about losing Shade.

“What’s that?’ demanded Night.

She stared up at Night. “You don’t know about mem-more-ree-ums?”

“No,” said Night.

Eyes tearful she said, “It’s a big nice thing you make to remember someone by and you make a big pretty thing and it means you won’t forget what you miss.”

“Oh,” said Night. She looked puzzled.

Snail pressed against her for comfort. “What do you do to remember cats?” she asked.

“We tell stories,” said Night. “About what they did. And we wrestle and yowl.” She looked away. “Death happens all the time. Once they’re dead they’re dead.”

Snail didn’t think that sounded very happy. It sounded very sad. She nuzzled Night. “Do you miss Cicero?” she asked. “He was your daddy wasn’t he?”

“Something like that,” said Night.

“We could make a mem-mor-ee-um for him too,” she said.

Night grunted.

“Can you help me?” she whispered hopeful. “We have to gather nice things.”

“Fine,” muttered Night.

The big black cat carried the small munchkin on her back. They wandered all over the hills, picking flowers and collecting feathers and berries and pretty rocks. Snail also found some nice soft sheep wool and some interesting shells.

“Is there anything you want to get Cicero?” she asked licking Night’s ear. She was balancing on top of her and carrying all the supplies.

Night grunted and didn’t say anything but when Snail finished collecting some more feathers she came back and found Night have some prey bones piled up.

“I made a thing,” she said flatly and pointed to it.

“That’s nice,” said Snail her voice still a bit thick. “But we have to put it somewhere special. I know the perfect place.”

Night carried her and she gave directions. She had a pretty good memory for things and they soon arrived in a pretty clearing with bright sun and soft green clover and grass everywhere. A big ring of mushrooms, which Snail called fairies, was there.

“What’s special about this?’ asked Night.

“It’s a ring of fairies,” said Snail. She nuzzled a fairy. It was pale brown and reminded her of the cream on her sister’s pelt. She gulped back a new wave of tears. “We just put everything in here,” she said, and started to arrange all the pretty things inside the ring.

She put shells, daises, roses, hyacinths, honeysuckles, butterfly wings, pinecones, stones, petals, acorns, fur, and feathers in. She also added moss and then lots of forget-me-nots everywhere, until the ring was filled with color and beauty, the perfect memorial for lost kin.

Night dumped her bones in the ring and then eventually added some tufts of her fur. “Now what?” she said. Snail was sure she looked kind of misty-eyed, and Night even added some white flowers on top of her pile, and a talon she’d found.

“We have to say words,” said Snail.

“What words?”

Snail didn’t know. She stared at the heap of gifts for a long while, sniffling and quivering while she tried to hold herself to together. Eventually she said, “I’ll always remember you, Fairyrings. And you too, Ferret. You’re the best sisters ever and I love you very, very much. I miss you lots, and I hope you come home soon Fairyrings.” If she heard Night’s snort behind her she didn’t notice. “I hope you find this and know I’m still looking for you.”

When Night came to stand beside her the munchkin pressed against her and smiled sadly, hiccupping. “You’ve got to tell some stories about Cicero when we get back,” she mumbled.

“Who says we have to go back?” muttered Night.

“What do you mean?” she pulled away and stared up at her.

“We can take some time…” Night’s claws sank into the ground and she was staring really hard.

Snail quietly pressed against her, purring softly and wanting to comfort her, sure that Night was trying not to cry. “Would you like me to say words for Cicero?” she whispered, eyes glistening.

Night grunted, which Snail hoped meant yes.

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath and said, “Cicero I know Night and Shade love you lots and I’m sorry you died, and I hope you and Ferret can have fun together wherever you are now.” She gave a big sniff and then sad down hard and started to cry again. “I’ll always remember you!” she promised. And she did. When she and Night had kits, she named the one that looked like her sister Fairy, after the strange little plants in her lost sister’s name: Fairykit.

[ramajmedia]

Every Upcoming Stephen King Movie In Development | Screen Rant

There are a lot of Stephen King movies in development, which isn't surprising considering he's an author who has almost supernaturally mastered the balance of quantity and quality. Starting with IT in 2017, there has been an unofficial Stephen Kingaissance, where adaptations of his novels and short stories aren't nearly as polarizing as they had been in the past.

In the past few years alone, his adaptations have been treated with a deserving level of respect, and to call the results promising is an understatement. Recent adaptations like Gerald's Game, 11.22.63, and the aforementioned IT have found success in theatrical releases, streaming services, and as TV shows, and the well of Stephen King stories is hardly at risk of running dry. Over the next couple of years, there is a long list of movies currently in development based on his work.

Related: Who Is The Better Pennywise: Tim Curry Or Bill Skarsgard?

So, given the high volume of projects that fans of King's work will have to look forward to, it helps to have a digestible understanding of what's coming. Here is a breakdown of every Stephen King movie currently in development.

In the Tall Grass - October 4, 2019

Though Stephen King has written a considerable amount of stories on his own, quite a few of them are the result of collaborations with other writers. And, in 2012, he and his son Joe Hill penned a novella titled In the Tall Grass. Set at an abandoned rest stop, a brother and sister attempt to help a young boy crying from inside a field of tall grass, only to find themselves lost and unable to escape. Directed by Vincenzo Natali (Cube, Splice), In the Tall Grass stars Patrick Wilson, Rachel Wilson, Laysla De Oliveira, and Harrison Gilbertson, and will be released exclusively on Netflix.

Doctor Sleep - November 8, 2019

In 1977, Stephen King wrote what has become easily one of his most beloved novels, The Shining. It eventually spawned an adaptation from Stanley Kubrick, which King ultimately wasn't a fan of, and it then took King 36 years to follow up the isolated tale of Jack, Wendy, and Danny Torrance at the haunted Overlook Hotel with its sequel, Doctor Sleep. Now, in the midst of the Kingaissance, Doctor Sleep is getting its own adaptation from director Mike Flanagan (who also directed an adaptation of King's novel Gerald's Game), which stars Ewan McGregor and Rebecca Ferguson.

In Doctor Sleep, Danny Torrance is now an adult who isn't just dealing with alcoholism (like his late father), but with the supernatural traumas he suffered through as a child; and after coming across a tribe of psychic vampires, he finds a purpose in protecting a young girl who shares his psychic ability.

The Tommyknockers - TBA

Stephen King's stories are just as much rooted in horror as they are science fiction. And, in The Tommyknockers, the science fiction elements are front and center. This 1987 novel takes place in the fictional town of Haven, Maine, in which the locals become bewitched by a mysterious extraterrestrial artifact that's been unearthed in the woods. In 1993, The Tommyknockers was adapted as a TV miniseries, and now, a feature length adaptation is currently in the works, with James Wan (The Conjuring, Aquaman) attached to produce.

The Talisman - TBA

In 1984, Stephen King teamed up with author Peter Straub to write The Talisman, a fantasy novel about a young boy who travels into a parallel world in order to find a magical talisman that might save his dying mother. There is currently an adaptation in the works, courtesy of Steven Spielberg (he's owned the rights to the book since its release, and though he's not directing the movie, his company is producing), but it's been a slow journey getting it made to say the least. Josh Boone (writer/director of both New Mutants and The Fault in Our Stars) was announced to write The Talisman's screenplay in 2017, but Buried's Chris Sparling is now penning a new version. The Handmaid's Tale's Mike Barker will direct the film.

Revival - TBA

Stephen King's stories often revolve around horror and religion, and his 2014 novel Revival is no exception. In fact, one of the two main characters is a priest who not only battles with his faith, but ends up opening a portal to another world. There are very few details surrounding production, aside from the fact that Josh Boone (who was attached to direct not only The Talisman, but King's Lisey's Story and a miniseries adaptation of King's The Stand) will direct, according to Deadline.

Suffer the Little Children - TBA

A short story in Stephen King's Nightmares & Dreamscapes, Suffer the Little Children revolves around an elementary school teacher who grows increasingly more suspicious of the children in her class. However, as she attempts to piece together the mystery, people in town begin suffering unexplainable deaths. According to Deadline, newcomer Sean Carter (Keep Watching) will pen the screenplay and direct, though very few other details have been released.

Hearts - TBA

Hearts is a coming-of-age story that revolves around a group of college students in 1966 who are personally affected by the Vietnam War. Johannes Roberts (47 Meters Down, The Strangers: Prey at Night) has been attached to direct since 2016, but there have been few details concerning the project since.

Rose Madder - TBA

Even though Stephen King's vast collection of work is a well from which most film studios would happily draw, some adaptations struggle getting off the ground. Case in point: Rose Madder. Based on King's novel of the same name, this fantasy thriller dealing with the real-life horror of domestic violence has been in development for years, with screenwriter Naomi Sheridan (In America) once attached to pen the screenplay in 2011. At the moment, however, it resides in Development Hell.

Drunken Fireworks - TBA

From Stephen King's collection of short stories titled The Bazaar of Bad Dreams is a short story titled Drunken Fireworks. It revolves around the theme of new money and old money, in which a fireworks competition results in some unexpectedly heavy consequences. James Franco is attached to star in the adaptation, according to Variety, and will also double as a producer. The screenplay is being penned by Matt Rager, who also wrote As I Lay Dying, The Sound and the Fury, and In Dubious Battle, in which Franco also starred and directed. There is currently no release date set for the movie.

Firestarter - TBA

In 1984, a very young Drew Barrymore starred in an adaptation of Stephen King's sci-fi horror novel Firestarter. She played a young girl named Charlie who is born with a unique gift allowing her to start fires with her mind, which ultimately prompts a government organization known as The Shop to hunt her down. Now, Blumhouse Productions and Universal Pictures are moving forward with an updated take on the story, and though it's still in the very early stages of pre-production, The Edge of Heaven's Fatih Akin is attached to direct, while Scott Teems (Narcos: Mexico) will pen the screenplay.

The Jaunt - TBA

Another Stephen King adaptation currently in development is based on the short story titled The Jaunt. First published back in 1981 in The Twilight Zone Magazine, The Jaunt later become an entry in King's collection of short stories, Skeleton Crew, telling a futuristic story about people who can teleport, and the potential horrors that come with it. In 2015, it was announced that Andy Muschietti, who has since gone on to direct both IT and IT: Chapter Two, would direct, but that doesn't appear to be the case anymore.

'Salem's Lot - TBA

Salem's Lot is one of Stephen King's most iconic stories, and it's finally being adapted for the big screen, after previously being adapted twice as a TV series in 1979 and 2004. Annabelle and The Conjuring producers and directors James Wan and Gary Dauberman are producing the film. Dauberman wrote the scripts for both IT and IT Chapter Two, so he's at least familiar with King's style and has been able to turn those stories into blockbuster successes.

Lisey's Story - TV Series

Lisey's Story is a 2006 horror-romance novel from Stephen King centers around the titular Lisey who's dealing with the death of her husband. However, in dealing with her husband's death, she ends up entering a dark world in which her husband frequented when he was still alive. Although originally envisioned as a movie, Lisey's Story is now being adapted for television. Stephen King himself is writing the scripts for all eight episodes, which will be produced by J.J. Abrams' Bad Robot for Apple TV+, starring Julianne Moore as the eponymous Lisey.

The Stand - TV Series 2019

One of the most significant upcoming adaptations of Stephen King's work won't be a movie at all, but a TV limited series. The Stand, which was adapted into a miniseries in 1994, will get the TV treatment yet again, courtesy of CBS All Access. The Stand is an epic story centering around certain individuals who survive a superflu that wipes out most of the population, and Josh Boone - who already has his hands full with other Stephen King projects - is attached to direct. The Stand has reportedly cast James Marsden (Stu Redman), Amber Heard (Nadine Cross), Whoopi Goldberg (Mother Abigail), Greg Kinnear (Glen Bateman), Odessa Young (Frannie Goldsmith), Henry Zaga (Nick Andros), and Marilyn Manson in the lead roles, with King himself writing a new, canon ending for the 10-hour series.

Next: Stephen King Stories Set In Derry (Besides IT)

source https://screenrant.com/stephen-king-movies-upcoming-development/

[theyearoftheking]

Book Sixty-Three: 11/22/63

I’m going to pull back the curtain a bit here... I am losing my steam. Not my enthusiasm for Steve, just my steam for cranking out these blog posts and reading nothing but Steve. Not sure if my seasonal depression arrived, if I’m just busy doing all the things... I don’t know. But I’ve had 11/22/63 and all the notes sitting on my desk for 2 weeks now, and haven’t done anything with them. My apologies. 

My reluctance is in no way correlated to my feelings about this book. This is THE book. What do I mean by that? This is THE book you recommend to people who turn their nose up at Steve. This is THE book Constant Readers love because of the entire section dedicated to Derry. This is THE book that has you thinking about it long after it’s done. It’s a great selection for reading groups, because the conversations could be endless. What would the world look like if Kennedy had never been assassinated? What about other world leaders? If you found a wormhole to the past, would you use it for good or evil? Would you use it at all? So. Many. Questions. 

This was my second time reading 11/22/63, and I enjoyed it even more because of the references I missed the first time. There’s a whole section dedicated to Bev and Richie learning a dance for a talent show, which I know I didn’t make that connection the first time I read it... Derry and all it’s characters are still fresh in my old-lady brain. Wonder what Derry was like between It’s killing sprees? “I realized that the canal I’d seen must run directly beneath this peculiar sunken downtown, and I was standing on top of it. I could feel hidden water in my feet, thrumming the sidewalk. It was a vaguely unpleasant feeling, as if this little piece of the world had gone soft.” 

Sounds like a great place to raise a family, right? Here’s a complete list of all the Steve universe references:

Not one, but two chambray work shirt mentions

The Takuro Spirit

Castle Rock

Derry (murders in the Barrens, Georgie being found dead, Richie and Beverly’s dance lessons)

Haven

The Turtle

Juniper Hill

Jake Epping is a high school English teacher in Lisbon Falls, Maine (originally from Milwaukee, thanks Steve!); and he learns about a time-traveling portal in the back of his friend Al’s diner. Al has been using the portal to travel back in time and get deals on the meat he uses for his burgers (come to find out, the prices at the diner are so low because of the cheap meat Al buys... NOT cats, like so many whisper). Al has been using the portal to buy cheap meat, and to spy on Lee Harvey Oswald. Al is convinced the current world would be a different and better place if someone was able to stop Oswald from assassinating JFK. But here’s the rub: due to all the time traveling, Al is sick and dying from cancer, so he convinces Jake to take one for the team. 

Armed with some cash, sports betting books (a man’s got to make cash somehow!), and Al’s notes on Oswald, Jake goes into the past. His first stop is Derry, Maine, where he feels compelled to right a wrong. One of Jake’s GED students, Harry Dunning, the high school janitor, wrote an essay about his father killing his mother, and his siblings on Halloween night. Jake sees the potential in Harry, and wonders how his life could have been different had he not witnessed the brutal murders. So, Jake kills Harry’s dad (twice, actually); and heads to Texas to start tracking Oswald. 

He first moves to Jodie, Texas, where he takes a job teaching English and directing plays for the drama department under the pseudonym George Amberson. He’s introduced to the new school librarian, Sadie Dunhill; and they fall in love. Sadie is tall, clumsy, and dealing with the fall-out from her brief but loveless marriage. All of this is dangerous for a time traveler, and a guy determined to kill Oswald. But, George makes it work. He and Sadie quickly become the darlings of Jodie; and their dancing becomes the stuff of Jodie legend. 

But, Jake/George has secrets. He rents an apartment in Dallas, and starts following Oswald and his Russian wife, Marina. Then, Sadie is brutally attacked by her ex-husband, and her face is left deformed. Jake/George learns it’s really hard to commit yourself to committing a crime, while at the same time being a teacher, boyfriend, friend and citizen of Jodie. He’s got a lot going on. Ultimately, he tells Sadie what’s up, and she agrees to help him stop the assassination. 

Ultimately, Jake/George is successful in stopping Oswald, but Sadie is killed in the process. Jackie Kennedy calls him to thank him for his service, the CIA interrogates him, but ultimately lets him go, and Jake/George returns to modern times. 

Or, Armageddon. 

He returns, and finds the world in a nightmarish state. Come to find out, stopping Kennedy’s assassination wasn’t the best decision. So, Jake goes back in time with the intention of going back to Jodie and living happily ever after with Sadie. He’s stopped by the Yellow Card Man, who is kind of like the keeper of the portal, and he explains to Jake that he needs to go back where he belongs. Jake being in Jodie would forever cause unsettling ripples in the universe. Jake knows he’s right. So, he goes back through the portal for the last time. 

The book ends with Jake going to Jodie to celebrate Sadie being named the Citizen of the Century. And they dance. It’s a charming end to a dense, thought-provoking book. If you’re not interested in reading this chonk of a book, I recommend watching the series on Hulu. It’s an excellent adaptation, and stays pretty true to the book. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 42

Total Dark Tower References: 61

Book Grade: A+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

11/22/63: A+

Under the Dome: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Full Dark, No Stars: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

Stephen King Goes to the Movies: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Duma Key: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

The Dark Tower: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

Wolves of the Calla: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Song of Susannah: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

The Colorado Kid: B-

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Cell: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Faithful: D

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Lisey’s Story: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers: D

Next up is The Wind Through the Keyhole, which is short, but I’m in the front seat of the struggle bus. I gave this book rave reviews when I first read it, and now I’m just bored. I think I was starved for Dark Tower content the first time around, and now I’m just kind of counting down until this project is over. 

Until next time, Long Days and Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

[theyearoftheking]

Book Thirty-Seven: Insomnia

“There is a gulf fixed between those who can sleep and those who cannot. It is one of the great divisions of the human race.” Iris Murdoch- Nuns and Soldiers

My father-in-law tends to review most Stephen King books the same way: “Good. But they could have cut out two hundred or so pages...” As someone who loves a good, chonky book, I usually disagree. But then, Insomnia happened. Had I not taken the Constant Reader pledge to leave no page unturned, I would have given up on this beast. It was so boring, and dragged on, and on, and on... And instead of giving me insomniac vibes, it usually put me to sleep. Guys, it was the worst. Well, not as bad as Christine or The Tommyknockers, but not a book I will ever pick up again. 

The one thing that saved Insomnia from being a total shit-show was the number of Constant Reader universe (especially Dark Tower) references. It was the ultimate Constant Reader Easter egg hunt. In no particular order, we’ve got:

The setting of the book is Derry, Maine

Mike Hanlon from It makes a cameo as the town librarian

The Crimson King from such works as The Dark Tower

A reference to the murder of Adrian Mellon (also It)

Juniper Hill... where all King baddies spend at least a few years of their lives

Ka... alllll the ka and ka-tet quotes

The town of Haven was casually mentioned (The Tommyknockers)

“To other worlds than these...” 

“On the Beam”

“...a woman who had been struck by a falling brick while walking down Main Street...” 

“The sneaker of a little boy named Gage Creed, run down by a speeding tanker- truck on Route 15 in Ludlow.”

“...a battered saxophone on a frayed strap with the word JAKE printed on it...”

Question... did Jake Chambers play the saxophone? None of the fan pages mention it... 

“...a tower of dark, soot-colored stone rose into a blue sky dotted with fat white clouds. Surrounding it was a field of roses so red they almost seemed to clamor aloud. Standing off to one side was a man dressed in faded bluejeans. A pair of gunbelts crossed his flat middle; a holster hung below each hip...” 

Patrick Danville (Dark Tower)

And maybe the best line of the whole book, “The ring rolled down the gutter and disappeared into a sewer grate, and there it remained for a long, long time. But not forever. In Derry, things that disappear into the sewer system have a way- an often unpleasant one- of turning up.” 

In addition to these strings to the Constant Reader universe, I feel like a few ideas were teased out here, and turned into future novels. 

There is mention of a battered women’s shelter, and I wonder if this germinated into Rose Madder. 

Lots of discussion about a tragic event happening at the civic center, and needing to prevent this event from happening. It reminded me of the Mister Mercedes trilogy. 

Y’all... that was exhausting to keep track of. Anddd now you should know exactly what Insomnia is all about, right? 

Right. 

Or not. 

Ready for the world’s quickest summary?

After the death of his wife, Ralph Roberts becomes an insomniac. Every night he loses a few minutes of sleep, until he’s barely sleeping at all. And then, he starts seeing auras around people. The color of their aura indicates how healthy the person is. 

One night when he can’t sleep, Ralph sees two “small doctors”- who by the way, I imagined as Oompa Loompas- break into his elderly neighbor’s house, and kill her. 

Ralph is tired, frustrated and scared; so he tells his lady friend Lois all about the auras and the little doctors. Surprise! She’s dealing with the same issue! What are the odds??

While Ralph and Lois compare notes, the town of Derry is dealing with a pro-choice civil war. Pro-choice advocate Susan Day (no relation) is coming to town to hold a rally. 

The town is divided on their right to life/pro choice beliefs, and it’s getting ugly. Caught in the middle is Helen Deepneau, and her daughter Natalie. A few months back, Helen’s husband, Ed, beat the shit out of her, and she and Natalie have been hiding out at a battered women’s shelter ever since. The women at the shelter are big Susan Day fans. Ralph feels some fatherly affection for both Helen and Natalie, because they spent a lot of time with his wife, Carolyn, before she died. Oh, and he beat the snot out of Ed, after he beat Helen. Following me so far? 

So, you’ve got the two little doctors, who seem menacing but are actually chill. They explain to Ralph and Lois that they just cut the aura balloon over the top of a dying person’s head when it’s their time to go. It doesn’t hurt, they’re not bad dudes, they’re just serving The Beam and ka. But there’s one bad little doctor out there, who steals items from people he wants to kill. And the bad little doctor is on Ralph’s shit list, because he stole some earrings from Lois. Dun-dun-dun!! 

So, Ralph and Lois (harmlessly) suck energy from some town’s people, and prevent Ed from flying a plane full of explosives into the civic center. The two good little doctors explain there’s a little boy inside the civic center who must live... Patrick Danville. He comes back later in the Dark Tower series. Stay tuned for more of his (mis)adventures. 

And they all live happily ever after. Well, until it comes time to pay the little doctors for their kindness; and Ralph jumps in front of a moving truck to save Natalie’s life. 

Sorry, this summary is garbage. Towards the end I was reading as fast as I could so I could retire this book, and move onto Rose Madder, which is hands down one of my most favorite Steve books of all time. It’s been years since I picked it up, and I’m more than ready for a re-read. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 26

*Writers note. In my last post, I mentioned a Dahmer reference. I was mistaken, the Dahmer reference is in this book. 

Total Dark Tower References: 36

Book Grade: C-

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Needful Things: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

The Tommyknockers: D-