"Finish The Story" Collaboration - Asha Seth's Prompt

This story for the "Finish The Story" Collaboration is based on a prompt from Asha Seth (https://bookinton.wordpress.com/)

Prompt: “As soon as Alicia stepped on to the second landing, the lights went out and a hand grapped her into the all-consuming darkness.”

Alicia turned the key in the massive front door. This was the first time she had been here since her grandmother’s funeral. She could still feel her grandmother everywhere – some vacant houses felt void of all energy. This house vibrated with her grandmother’s will and determination, with her joy in life, with her artist’s eye.

Putting her purse and keys on the table in the foyer, Alicia moved towards the stairs. Her grandmother had been coming to her in her dreams, pulling her towards the locked room. She knew that the room contained something from her grandmother’s history, something that she shared with no one. She knew that she had to visit that room. She had the key to the room with her – her grandmother had given it to her several months ago.

Alicia walked slowly up the stairs, taking in the ambiance of the house. As she came to the second landing, the lights suddenly went out, and she felt herself being grabbed. Those hands were real, not ghostly. She pulled back, ready to protect herself. The hands suddenly let her go, and raced down the stairs in the darkness. The front door opened, then closed. Alicia grabbed the rail, and followed the stairs up to the next floor. She felt for the light switch, and turned it on.

She knew what she had to do. She walked purposefully towards the locked room. Slight scratches on the lock indicated that someone had been trying to open the door. Someone who knew the house well, and was able to run down the stairs in the dark. Alicia took her key out of her pocket, and opened the door. This is where her answers were to be found.

Clearly the room had been her grandfather’s study. His law books lined the walls, his desk and chair faced the windows. His favorite paintings were hung on the walls. The room was in pristine condition. Following her grandmothers verbal instructions, Alicia walked over to the fireplace, and pushed inward on one of the bricks. The wall paneling slid back, revealing locked cabinets, and a safe. She would study the contents of the cabinets later. She knew that what she needed was to be found in the safe. She opened it carefully, having memorized the combination to the lock.

Alicia pulled out three envelopes – two were addressed to her, one from her grandmother, the other from her grandfather. The third envelope was the proof – proof that she needed to exonerate her grandfather, and bring her uncle to justice. He had used the war years to profit, and blackmailed her grandfather to keep the secret.

She closed the safe, and put the envelopes in the briefcase that sat atop her grandfather’s desk. She mentally said a prayer of protection, and started down the stairs. She had no fear. She was mentally and physically strong. She had also left instructions on what to do were she not to return from the house.  

It was over.

The "Finish The Story" collaboration was organized by Tanmay Jain (Tanmay_Jain@Bookinton).

© November 2018 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

  

"Finish The Story" Collaboration - This story is based on a prompt from Nidheesh Samant.

This story for the "Finish The Story" Collaboration is based on a prompt from Nidheesh Samant (https://thedarknetizen.wordpress.com/). 

Prompt: “The Emperor had summoned his Knights..and they had answered his summons. They knew that it was a matter of great importance. They waited patiently as their Emperor began to address them.”

Messengers had been sent out, riding hard. All across the land the Knights received their Emperor’s summons. To call them all in, this had to be a matter of extreme importance. The last Knight had arrived in the dark hours of the previous night. They were now seated around the round table, a table designed specifically for them, as it showed allegiance to their Emperor, while giving each of them equal status.

The Emperor was announced, and they all stood in respect. The room was beyond quiet. He looked out over his Knights, then took his seat. He began to speak.

“This is a very blessed day for us all. I want to thank each of you for responding to my summons. As you all know, our land has known peace for over a decade – in large part to your efforts. Not only are you great fighters, but you are great thinkers and strategists. You keep the needs of the people in mind at all times.”

“I brought you together to celebrate a new treaty, one with our neighbors to the north. Some of you have been with me on peace missions to them. You have given me input that has enabled me to make the decisions that will make this, our final border, safe for all. I thank you for this.”

“Each of you has a document in front of you. Over the next few days I will meet with each of you individually, to discuss what is in your document. You will all have expanded rights, and will be taking on added responsibilities. You will also be receiving a greater percentage of compensation.”

“Each of our borders has different needs. You may be called to a border that is distant from you, if the need arises. At this time our borders are peaceful, in large part due to you and your men. I thank you for your service.”

“I look forward to speaking with each of you privately. There are some minor issues to iron out, but I feel that we have a strong ethic in this land of ours, and that we can maintain our stability and our honor.”

Goblets of wine appeared at the elbow of the Emperor and every Knight. They were filled with fine wine. Each Knight raised his glass to the Emperor, who raised his glass to each of his Knights.

All borders were peaceful for many years to come, and the land prospered. What was never voiced, but had a seat at the table, was that several of the Knights had been restless before they were summoned by the Emperor. He talked to each Knight, restated his expectations, and they all reaffirmed their allegiance. Mutual respect goes a long way to preventing war.     

The "Finish The Story" collaboration was organized by Tanmay Jain (Tanmay_Jain@Bookinton).

© November 2018 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

  

"Finish The Story" Collaboration - This story is based on a prompt from Suchita Agarwal.

This story, from the "Finish The Story" collaboration, is based on a prompt from Suchita Agarwal (https://talesofsuchita.wordpress.com/). 

Prompt: “What would you see if you looked into the Mirror of Erised?”

In the dream, Alyssa was seated in front of an ornate mirror in her bedroom. She was brushing her hair in the soft light, humming to herself. Things were finally starting to turn around – she was contemplating a move to a new city, and a new job. Concord had been a safe place for her, but it was a place that she had outgrown. She needed a new life, and new experiences.

The rhythm of the brush was hypnotic – Alyssa’s mind was in a place betwixt and between. She started to see scenes from her past in the mirror – scenes that reminded her of the joy and peace that there was in life. She saw family dinners, with all of the family present, enjoying good food and good conversation. She saw the “kids table” – the card table that was set up at the end of the regular table, so that everyone could have a seat. Over the years, that morphed into a regular table, with kids and adults seated wherever they wanted to be. Then it morphed into one long table, with the card table set up to hold all of the platters and dishes of food.

She remembered summers spent at the lake, swimming whenever they wanted to (but they did have to wait one hour after they ate – that was her mother’s rule), going out in the boat fishing, and just enjoying life.

She saw her graduation from high school, and remembered how excited she was to be going out into the world. She saw herself taking the oath as she entered the Army. She remembered the years that she had spent in the service, and all of the people she had met. It was amazing how much of the country she got to see, and how happy she had been, even when she was not exactly stationed where she wanted to be.

She remembered living in Hawaii, and learning new customs there. Life was good. All of the memories that were showing up in the mirror made her happy – they reflected times of joy, peace, and a belief in herself.

The images faded, and the mirror was smokey for a moment. Then her grandmother, her father’s mother, appeared, her father standing by her side. Her grandmother brought with her a sense of peace, stability, caring and love.

“Alyssa, you have been allowed to see things from your past, things that brought you joy and peace. All of these things are good, and were meant to be. But now it is time for you to move on. You must release the past, and live in the present. You will create the future by living your best present. Do not be afraid to move on to a new job, a new city, and new people. This is where your joy, peace, and happiness lie. Know that I am with you at all times.”

With that, the mirror cleared.

The "Finish The Story" collaboration was organized by Tanmay Jain

(Tanmay_Jain@Bookinton ).

© November 2018 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction is prohibited without written permission from the author.

"Finish The Story" Collaboration - Prompt From Sitharaam Jayakumar.

This story for the "Finish The Story" Collaboration is based on a prompt from Sitharaam Jayakumar (http://www.jaispoetryblog.com/).

Prompt: “I woke up with a severe hangover. I made my way to the bathroom lazily. I glanced at the mirror wondering if I looked as terrible as I felt. I stood staring in horror at the grotesque skull grinning at me…”

 “Good morning, David.” The voice spoke shrilly inside his head.

“Good morning, self.” David replied into his bathroom mirror. Last night was a haze of bar hopping – his mind was still foggy. He was getting scared – his reflection in the mirror had morphed into a skull several weeks ago, and was getting more grotesque by the day.

“Quite the night you had. You do realize that you keep feeding me energy, don’t you? What you see in the mirror is what you have created.”

“Did you have to come in as a skull? You are freaking me out!”

“The skull reflects who you are right now. You are a person who is losing control of his life. If you keep this up, you and I will be one. I don’t advise that – I come from the pits of hell!”

Shivers of fear went down David’s spine. He took a shower and got ready for work in a haze. As he parked his car and walked into his building, he felt himself changing. His mind was clearer, and he was more focused. This is the way it always was. He could focus on work, and do well, but when he left work all bets were off. He hit the bars, and was never home before the wee hours of the morning.

At noon, he went out for lunch. He stopped at the men’s room on his way to his office. He was suddenly very afraid … what if the skull personality was going to take over his office hours too! Forcing himself to look into the mirror, he breathed a sigh of relief. His hands were still shaking, but the face in the mirror was that of the competent lawyer that was his professional, day self. The eyes in the mirror met his, but there was a questioning look in them. This image might have a feeling that something was not right, but it didn’t really know about the skull.

David went back to his desk, returned two phone calls, and started reviewing the paperwork on his desk. It concerned a will that he was revising for a very important client. His client was in his late 60’s, and in good health, but he was at the point where he was fed up with his two sons, and he was cutting them out of his will. He had divorced his wife several years ago, so there was no concern about her.

David wondered if his career was changing him. He was a principle in his firm, and often had to make decisions both with and for his clients that drastically changed lives.

As he got into his car to drive home, he looked in the mirror. The skull was back.

The "Finish The Story" collaboration was organized by Tanmay Jain (Tanmay_Jain@Bookinton).

© November 2018 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

  

"Finish The Story" Collaboration - Tanmay Jain's Prompt

This story for the "Finish The Story" Collaboration is based on a prompt from Tanmay Jain (Tanmay_Jain@Bookinton), who is also the organizer of the collaboration.  

Prompt: “One day you’re sitting with your head in your mother’s lap and in the next you’re sitting in a holding cell waiting for the trial of her murder. What happened to me?”

The dream came again – the one where I was in jail, awaiting trial for my mother’s murder. It was damp, smelly, and noisy. I was soaking wet with sweat, and scared beyond belief! I could barely remember who I was, much less where I had been, or what I had done. My memory was a black hole – I remember nothing from the past six weeks. Nothing.

The guard was standing outside my cell, waiting to … waiting to do what? I shook my head, to clear the fog. He put handcuffs on me, and dragged me with him to the interview room. There was someone already in the room – with a too short haircut, a right-next-door to cheap suit, and a brand new briefcase. He says he is my lawyer. I didn’t ask for a lawyer. Okay, the court appointed him. Maybe I need to get one of my own? Can I afford it? He is talking about pleading guilty. Guilty of murdering my mother! Don’t you think I would remember that? I refuse to plead guilty – even though I remember nothing, so technically I could have killed her. I refuse to plead guilty. Okay, he is going to set a court date. The guard takes me back to my cell.

I smell the coffee, and I wake up. I am covered in sweat, and my heart is beating wildly. I get up, take a long, hot shower, and dress for the day. I take my vitamins, and fix some cereal. The phone rings – it is my mother, wanting to meet for lunch. We set a time, and agree to meet at her favorite restaurant. I call and make the reservations – yes, it is that kind of restaurant.

The morning flows well, and I leave for lunch at the appointed time. I am a bit edgy about having the dream again, but my mother knows nothing about that. How can I tell her that I dream about being in jail because I murdered her!

I arrive before my mother, and wait for her at our table. She is punctual, as always. She has someone with her – a dark haired man. She introduces him as someone she has just started dating. We shake hands, and I ask for another place setting.

Lunch goes well, except for the fact that my mother’s new friend makes me very uneasy. I had felt a cold come over me when we shook hands, and I still felt disconnected from my body, as if I was floating in space.

I look over at him, and his face changes into something very evil! I am shocked, and can barely breathe. I see him attacking my mother, in her living room. I didn’t kill my mother – he did! I am calm. I can stop this.

© November 2018 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

I Need To Perfect My Autograph?

Why in heavens name does an author need to "perfect" their autograph? Can't I just sign my name and be done with it? (After thanking the individual(s) for purchasing my book(s), of course!) Th darn thing is illegible anyway!

It seems that my signature is part of my brand. Who knew? (I do mainly e-books, but I do have a few print books out there, and more planned for the future.) The pen I can see as being part of my brand, but my signature? I am being advised to choose a nice pen. I choose my pens because I like them, not to impress others, so they will have to go with what I choose! So there! 

Common sense things to consider when purchasing said pen are: 

• Does it feel good in your hand? (Hopefully some day I will be having long lines of people waiting or me to sign their books, so I can go along with this.)
• Does the autograph look good? (i.e. There is no bleeding, the lines are clear, and the ink does not go through the paper onto the next page.)
• Can you write with the pen easily? (If I couldn't, I wouldn't be using the darn thing!)
• Am I going to be able to keep track of it (as in - not lose it)? Choose a nice style and color, so that you won't set it down and walk away.

Be consistent in how you sign your name. When I was younger, my signature was Bonnie L. Cehovet. Then it morphed into B. L. Cehovet. Now it's Bonnie Cehovet, and will stay that way.

I would also say be consistent in where you sign your name (unless asked by the individual you are signing the book for to sign it on a specific page) - this might be on the title page, or inside the front cover. 

Back to that pen - skip grocery store purchases. Put out the bucks for a really nice pen, and go to a store (in person, or on the Internet) that has nice pens. Here are a sampple of Internet sites for pens: Levenger, Fahrneys, Amazon, Pen Chalet.

Now, I want all of my writer friends to go purchase a pen (or pens) that means something to you, and practice signing your name!

(c) November 2018 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission of the author.

"Finish The Story" Collaboration - Bonnie's Prompt

This is my (prompt) contribution to the "Finish The Story" collaboration.

Prompt: “One never knew with Eleanor. Appearances could be deceiving – one moment she was very calm, the next … not so.”

One never knew with Eleanor. Appearances could be deceiving - one moment she was very calm, the next ...not so. I have known her for many years - ever since she married my best friend, Frederick Lancaster. He was away on business in Philadelphia for six months, and when he returned he brought Eleanor back with him, as his bride.

She was very beautiful, and always dressed in white. She seemed to become part of the household quickly. The household staff seemed to be a bit afraid of her. Frederick was very protective of her - although, looking back, was he protecting her from something, or protecting others from her.

On good days she would spend her time reading, taking walks in the garden, or simply gazing out the window. On bad days, she would spend all of her time playing the piano, lost in her music.

There was a lavish Christmas party the third year they were married. The house - a huge Victorian - was decorated with wreaths, bows, flowers, candles, and a six foot Christmas tree. I can still picture Eleanor coming down the stairs, in that vivid red dress. Eleanor always wore white. Nothing but white. The guests were astounded, but said nothing. One never knew what to expect from Eleanor.

There was a lovely seven course dinner, complete with several different wines. This was followed by music from a string quartet, and dancing until the wee hours. The last the staff saw of Eleanor and Frederick is when they went up the stairs to their respective rooms.

The next morning, when Frederick's valet went to wake him, he found him dead in his bed. No appearance of foul play. His physician was called, and an autopsy was performed. It was declared a natural death, even though Frederick had no known illnesses.

Upon learning of her husband's death, Eleanor grew very pale and agitated. Fredrick's physician, who was also her physician, gave her something to calm her. She never returned to a normal life. She ate little, talked to no one, and played the piano for hours on end, as if it was her only salvation. 

I was Frederick's lawyer, and the executor of his estate. I made sure that the house was maintained, that the staff were performing their duties, and that they were paid. I was to make sure that Eleanor had everything that she needed, and that she saw her physician regularly. That last part concerned me, but that is all Frederick said - make sure that she saw her physician regularly.

Eleanor essentially became a living ghost - pale, fragile, never leaving the house. She had a nurse with her at all times, at the request of her physician.

I never knew if Eleanor brought about Frederick's death in some way, or if he did so himself. Neither his physician nor I believed that it was a natural death, but there was nothing that we could prove. Eleanor could be very deceiving.

The "Finish The Story" collaboration was organized by Tanmay Jain

(Tanmay_Jain@Bookinton). 

(c) October 2018 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission of the author.