Writing Explorations: Week 75, Ellisian Rearing

[The Mood is Write]

My Writing Explorations series of exercises are a chance for users to explore new concepts and practice the art of raising two fingers to Writer's Block while screaming obscenities to fickle muses: to rebel against the idea that a person requires a mythical force inside them to make new and amazing things.

No. Listen well, users: there is no being inside you waiting to be let out. You are the writer, and in this exercise, you are given a place to push not only against Writer's Block, but also against the forces of stagnation. Feel trapped in your genre? Explore a new one! Stuck with a singular archetype? Do something else! In this thread, you will not be critiqued unless you request it. Should you wish it, I will happily offer my thoughts on how it might be improved, but I will not comb looking for fixes: this isn't the place: this place is for safely trying new things and indulging a love of writing.

Shake the bars of your cell block and roar, writers!

[fieldbox=How do I take part?]You can write to one or more (or none) of the prompts, the theme in the thread title, the bonuses—hell, you can even cast aside all of what I offer if you get a different idea.

The whole point is "get writing!"[/fieldbox]

Prompts:

1. Life was weird when your Saturday mornings consisted of helping your mother untangle your father's hair from the branches that grew from his skull.
2. A young boy kidnaps a girl and uses magic on her in secret until his parents discover what he has done to his victim.
3. His mother just stood there, staring at him as if she'd never seen him before—as if he were a stranger. A terrifying stranger, or a memory best forgotten.
4. The child never knew his true parents, or the truth of who or what he might be, but he imagined there was a reason he was raised by a woman incapable of death and a man bred to fight monsters.

Bonus Rounds:

• Write in a random genre.
• And she cried for him—my god, did she cry for him—the boy who never existed at all.
• "If you don't apologize, I'm gonna tell your mom."
  "Oh, please. I'm an adult! I can do what I want."
  "Ok... Honey!"
  "No, wait! I'm sorry! I'll go tell the neighbors I'm sorry, too!"
• He struggled so badly with talking to the first girl he'd met since his hormones awakened, he decided to seduce her by text.
• "So, what we heard from the bathroom last night—language lessons, huh?"
• A flash of knowledge beyond his age invaded his mind, accompanied by memories of his hands offering weapons to people and creatures he'd never met. The hands were his, but did not look like his.
• "Dad! Mom died again!"

 

[ArgentAconit]

They twisted in beautiful curls and stretched out to the sky to tickle the air with their leaves. They also had a fondness for tangling his dad's hair and looping the waved locks over dainty branches, as though they wanted to whisper, "Look, look! Isn't this thing fabulous? It flows like spider silk and ripples like the water's surface, yet it's as black as the moonless night's sky!" Often times his family would laugh at the older man's bedhead and he'd groom himself while muttering about sentient crowns and the blooming seasons for dryads.

Yes, dryads. Tree spirits like nymphs, only stronger and able to live outside of their forests in this day and age. Kohl was just like his dad as well, both born with genes made to mimic the gorgeous white birches. Only, Kohl had his mother's brilliant red hair to crown him much like the vibrant crimson leaves that would decorate the pale gold branches that swept across her head. They had planted two seeds when they wished for him, as an equal chance for either to blossom, yet by some sheer amount of luck, the roots had tangled and the trunks held one another in a spiraling embrace- fusing to give them their hybrid son.

"Careful!" His dad hissed as the maple crowned lady weaved inky strands past red leaves and across white twiggy branches. She tsked at him and smoothed her hand over his cheek. Today was Saturday. Saturday was bonding time for his family. Bonding time usually meant a lot of grooming, and then going to nurture their small grove of trees that had grown in anticipation in their backyard.

Kohl brushed his own red hair back from his face and continued to weave in simple braids on his side of his father's head. They connected to each other in a latticework of beautiful crosses, ready to be joined with the braids that would soon work their way through the other side of his head. Braids were common for their kind- as well as long hair and a fondness for nudity even in a public setting. Even now they were just modestly covered by robes and nothing else since they were waiting for their company to arrive.

"Myla, you're so rough with them," His father complained again, earning a tinkling laugh from his wife as she finally finished freeing his hair from the branches. Her warm-toned skin was a shock of color against the pale of her husband's face. Two gorgeous creatures deeply in love- that's how people normally referred to his parents. He had to agree with them.

"Will you go make some tea for us? I'll finish dad's braids so you can tend to your own too," Kohl looked at the bed mused hair that rested in straight lengths around his mother's shoulders and she flushed prettily at the reminder. She squeezed his forearm while his dad twisted around to give him access to the other side. The males were left alone in the wide open sunroom, and Khol quickly went to work again.

"She's wilting again," He murmured once he heard the water running in the kitchen.

His father sighed and closed his eyes as he was told something he had already taken note of earlier that month, "Her tree is still recovering from the blight that tried to take it. She's likely to wilt often for the next few years until it's healed again."

Kohl remained quiet for a few moments, pale green eyes looking out to the massive maple that leaned affectionately toward the hybrid tree and the tall, towering white birch that grew close to it. "Do you think I could help somehow? I could..... I could graft some of my branches-"

"Don't even suggest something like that Kohl," The angry whisper cut through his words before he could even finish and the same pale green eyes he had, stared back at him sternly. "She would refuse it as soon as she realized what you intended to do. Myla will be fine, give her time to heal her wounds, let her enjoy the peace of being home with her tree after having suffered in the city for so long."

Kohl tied off the ends of the braids and looped them together into a figure eight at the back of his father's head before standing up and swaying toward the glass windows in front of them. The air was warm and bright, filtered in hues of reds and peaches as it glanced off of the leaves above them. It smelled sweet not only from the flowers snuggling into the roots of their trees but from the lingering rot in the branches of the maple planted in the center of the yard. There had been an improvement over the last few months in the health of the bark, and they had slowly gained hope because of it.

"We're almost out of oolong," Myla said as she carried a tray back out with her, teapot, leaves, cups, and spoons all placed neatly on its surface. People often thought that they would have problems with carrying wooden things around like this- but those people never considered that trees would willingly give up the wood for them. Kohl's family was in that kind of business as well. They would go ask older trees for their broken branches and send them to be used to make dryad friendly furnishings- every wooden item in their home had been made that way.

"I'll go buy some from the store then. Our guests will probably like some and I'd rather not disappoint them," Khol wanted the excuse to go outside and clear his mind of the worries that plagued him. He wanted to avoid looking at the way his mother's leaves had dulled the past few days. She perked up at the idea of him making a small grocery run for them and nodded her approval.

"Will you buy some more sugar and some snacks as well? We might as well make them feel comfortable and welcome. I doubt they'd want anything that I've made, humans these days think it tastes too bland." Kohl huffed an amused sound and refolded his robe to appear more organized and viewable for the public. It was an olive green affair with pale ivory patterns dancing over the shoulders and sleeves. he tightened the gold-colored sash around his waist and looked over to his father to see if he needed anything.

The man waved him off, and Kohl left the room. He stepped outside with a modern day wallet tucked into the open front of his robe and set off for the shop two blocks away. "Oolong, sugar, snacks," He told himself before quickly adding matcha to his growing list. Their company might prefer something more green, and he didn't mind the taste either- though to him it had a strong medicine taste. Maybe that was because he was a Dryad, he wasn't certain.

The wind played through his tall, antler-like branches- greeting the red leaves that stood out just as much- if not more than his hair. He smiled and took a deep breath, feeling the street trees breathe with him. He'd stay positive. Myla was getting better. She wouldn't die again.

 

[PoetLore]

Ben held a lock of his dad's hair while his mother snipped the branches off bit by bit. He was used to this, it was a Saturday morning ritual. He wasn't exactly sure what his mom did on the days he had to go to school, but on Saturday he helped her. he was beginning to wonder why they didn't just shave dad's head completely to avoid this hassle, but that wasn't something he was willing to offer up on his own.

The words that came out of his mother's mouth during this ritual trimming were comical to him, and the expression of horror and perpetual apology on his father's face made for quite the entertaining start to his day. That was, until this morning.

Right in the middle of the 'tree trimming' a loud bang came on the front door. His mother huffed, but went tot he door to answer it, only to be shoved aside as men in black suits barged into the house. She protested but they just ignored her and rushed into the livingroom where dad and I were still the way she'd left us.

The men pulled dad up and dragged him away, and one of them sat with me and started asking questions. "How old are you son?"

"Twelve."

"Right. So, how long has you father been growing branches out of his head?"

Now I had been told to never tell anyone that, ever, but this guy was scary. "My dad grows branches out of his head?" I asked at least TRYING to obey my parents.

"Son, I just SAW them, and you with your hands in his hair. So, let's try that again. How long has your father been growing branches out of his head?"

"Six months." I replied but then frowned, "Wait no...seven months."

"Really? And did something happen to cause this?"

He was really uncomfortable about this now. He did NOT want to tell but this guy was just staring at him with hard, cold eyes like eh already knew the answer anyway. "Well...see...Dad was losing his hair..and well..*cough*..he thought that this fertilizer could help grow it back...since it filled in the grass so well. And he figured grass..hair..pretty much the same thing. And well..his hair DID grow," he pointed out the door, "You saw it right? But the branches grew too..."

The man wrote down what he said and was nodding as he did so. "So , have any of this fertilizer left in the house?"

"Maybe in the shed, for the grass. Mom doesn't allow it in the house."

He pointed to another man and he took off out the back door. He could hear his mother screaming from the next room and he was sorry for whoever had to talk to her. She was probably really mad about now. "You might want to tell whoever is talking to Mom that she throws things when she gets mad." But before he finished that he heard a crash and scrunched his face, "Too late.."

The other guy came back in from the yard with the bottle in his hand Then men left the house then without a word, leaving my mom and I stunned. Dad didn't come back for about a month. We heard nothing, and Mom cried every night. But finally he was back and he looked a bit strange. His hair was gone again, and his right cheek seemed a bit droopy.

"No more branches.." he said and it was then obvious that the right side of his face was not working like the left.

Mom hugged him and held him and said she missed him and didn't care if she had to cut branches.

"No more branches." he said again, and this time he pointed to the top of his head. When we looked we could see large scars where there were indentations in his skull. "Took a while but the roots are gone now."

Mom frowned, "What did they do to you?"

"Got rid of the branches..."

His mind wasn't what it was after that. He wasn't able to work or even carry on a normal conversation, but we got a check from the fertilizer company every month and we kept on going.