Hecate’s Rising

First partial draft

Hecate sat on her throne in the underworld looking positively bored. It was the same thing day in and day out. A few requests for love and money, nothing worth her time or effort. Mortals had no depth these days, and no values either. Easily willing to sell their soul for a roll in the sack with their favorite celebrity. It was disgustingly boring. Hecate missed the old days dearly, the blood and war, the passion, and the powers that everyone possessed and flaunted freely. No one had imagination these days or, so she thought.

Tilla sat in the lotus position in the middle of her bedroom encircled with tall white pillar candles that were all burning brightly. She could feel it this time, she could feel the Goddess listening to her, feeling herself connect with Hecate for real this time. Tilla had been practicing Wicca for over ten years now and this was a big breakthrough. Although she loved her religious practices, no matter the fact that she lived in a world where they were looked down on, she always hoped for something more. She hoped that powers really existed out there somewhere, powers that were something beyond even the most advanced science could explain. She dreamed of being able to float objects with just a swipe of her hand and will things to happen using just her mind. She wanted to mix potions that really cured things and more than anything she wanted to be powerful. Sitting with Hecate she let all these thoughts and wishes flow through her mind and put every ounce of energy a mere mortal could possess behind those wishes. Then the power pouring over her, pushing in on every cell in her body she could no longer take it and passed out as all the candles extinguished at once.

Hecate, upon hearing the child’s unique wishes, was intrigued. The world that she so longed for, that she envisioned all these years, was the exact visions rolling through this mortal’s mind. All at once a plan started to form. Perhaps she found this wish worthy of granting because she couldn’t help but think that this girl could be the key to getting back the would she so missed.

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My take on the story: Free Spirits

“Free Spirits: A Legacy of Wildness” is the story of a young woman from the hills of Kentucky. Her community was full of self-sufficient people that did not rely on a lot of modern accommodations. As she puts it, ” All backwoods folks were poor by material standards; they knew how to make do” (Hooks, 2008, p.1). They accomplished this by growing their own produce and raising their own chickens and cows for food. They literally lived off the land in the most organic way. When she was of age she went off to college on the west coast, it was her first time experiencing the hustle and bustle of the city life. It was also the first time she was asked questions about her backwoods heritage. I think this made her reflect on her upbringing and in turn, made her miss the quite wildness of it versus the busy city life. The part of the SQ3R process that helped me the most with the summarizing section of the assignment is the reading part. It includes critically reading the text and tracking key points by highlighting or taking notes. This is a step I would normally skip over because I felt like I got all the information I needed by skimming the text.  I like to take notes on a separate piece of paper, so I have only one sheet to look over when I reach the review part. I also like taking notes better because I can organize the key points in my preferred method of bullet points.  

  Another aspect of the story is the beautiful lack of segregation within the community, the blacks and whites were all of the meager means, and all lived and were treated the same way. The folks within the community, the Appalachians, felt that they were above the law in the sense that their laws were more important than the laws provided by the government. The author states ” They saw themselves as renegades and rebels, folks who did not want to be hemmed in by rules and laws, folks that wanted to remain independent” (Hooks,2008, p.2). They basically lived with the notion of ‘If you don’t mess with us, we won’t mess with you’, when it came to their lifestyle choices. The part of the SQ3R that helped me with this section of the assignment is the questioning part. Making up questions to answer throughout the text gave me something to care about reading the text for, it gave me an interest in the contents. Questioning what I was reading helped me learn more about what the author’s main point of the text was as opposed to just reciting the words and memorizing the key points.  

I learned a lot from reading this particular story. I can find strong similarities between myself and the author. I too come from a poor community, though not as poor as hers, but still poverty-stricken in its own small-town way to some people’s standards. I have always dreamed of moving to a big city like New York City or Las Angeles and never looking back. This story really made me think about all the small-town things I would miss if I were to leave, things you really don’t think about until you don’t have them anymore. I would miss things in nature such as the smell of the fresh air and being able to see the stars through the clear night’s sky. You can always fly your family out to see you, but you can’t fly out nature and the sense of community and belonging that resides in a small-town.  

Flawed Reflection

Flawed Reflection

 

He made her do it. That’s what she would tell the police anyway. He’d hit her, she was just defending herself. Yeah, the cops always go for that damsel in distress shit. Or better yet she would just get rid of the body and claim she hadn’t seen him since they parted ways earlier that evening. The fact that he is in about five different heaps on her floor might be a problem in the self-defense case after all.

As Heather gathered up his severed limbs and tossed them into the bathtub carelessly, she thought about the elaborate story she would tell them, the act she would put on. The police attention would be a bitch to get past if they got involved, but she could do it, she had done it before. It was her own fault anyway, she got too close again. She let him fall in love and he was an idiot for following her here. That was the first rule, he could never go back to her place. He should have listened, he shouldn’t have followed her here. Now, look at him, in five different bloody lumps in her bathroom.

Earlier that night Max had taken her to a secluded part of the beach and she fucked his brains out. That was the first place she went wrong. While sex to her was pure pleasure, much like killing, to pussies like Max it was an emotional experience. That’s when he fell in love, that’s where he fucked up and decided to follow her. She had a feeling this was going to happen, that he was going to go crazy with insecurities and need to pry further into her life. If he got past her house he may learn her secret.  She should have killed him on the beach though, it would have saved on having to change apartments again and losing another security deposit.

With all his dismembered parts safely in the bathtub, she poured in the whole jug of acid and smiled as she watched it immediately started burning his flesh. When it finally started to reach the bone, she took to cleaning up the rest of the bathroom. She looked around taking in the beautifully bloody scene, it was amazing that so much red life-force could come out of one puny man. Starting with the ceiling she poured bleach everywhere. She knew the cops had lights that could see right through this ruse, but the landlord wouldn’t. She planned to play her part so well with the cops that they wouldn’t even need to investigate further. She even had a text from Max from earlier in the evening when he got home telling her that he had a great time and he couldn’t wait to see her again soon. Too bad he decided not to listen and follow her here, to the one place she said he couldn’t be.

She looked in the bathroom mirror and sighed heavily. Such a flawed reflection compared to what she was used to. While she embraced her wolf side and would never want to be a mortal again, the shock of seeing the glowing yellow eyes where her normal vibrant green eyes lie would never subside. Unfortunately for some other poor saps, her bloodlust would never subside either.

Getting back to work on the bathroom mess, she decided the next kill would be on her terms though, and not in her residence.

The soupy mess of what used to be Max slid down the drain like red wine poured in the sink after a binge. She rinsed the tub out and gave the bathroom one final look over. At least she had coaxed him in here before she’d ripped him limb from limb, no carpet in the bathroom. Satisfied with the clean-up, Heather goes to pack her bag. All her prized possessions fit in one little brown duffle bag, it was sad. Actually, she thought, retracting her previous statement, it wasn’t sad, it was the way of the wolf. Feeling confident she let the door hanging open behind her as she walked down the only road out of town.

The tattoo

Prompt: You are showering one morning when you notice a tattoo on your body that you’re quite sure you don’t remember getting. What is it, how did you get it, and what does it mean?

 

Amy let the hot water pour over her body, soothing her aching muscles. The gym must be working because she felt as if she had been rode hard and put up wet. While she was adorably petite for a twenty-nine-year-old, she was getting a little extra weight that she didn’t like. Last night at the gym her trainer had kept her a whole hour later than the rest of the class, per her request, that must be why she felt extra sore today. Finishing up her shower she blindly grabbed for her towel in the steamy bathroom. With the towel wrapped around her, she opened the door to let some steam out and noticed something in the mirror out of the corner of her eye. Something small and black on her upper right shoulder, where she was the sorest. She grabbed the towel from around her and hurriedly wiped the condensation off the mirror to get a better look. It would be just her luck to have some gigantic and cancerous mole growing on her. What she saw there shocked her. It wasn’t a mole or the beginning of skin cancer or anything like that, it was worse. Resting on her right shoulder was a tattoo she never got, well at least she didn’t remember getting it. Panic bubbled up inside her, not only does she have a tattoo that she doesn’t recall getting, but the tattoo itself is a symbol that scared her half to death. Even though the symbol was forbidden in her family, she knew it well. It was a symbol of power to most, but a sign of death to her. It was a five-pointed star with a circle around it, also known as a pentagram. Also known as the end of her nice and normal boring life because in her family that tattoo changes everything. That small star is what marks her with the gift, or curse, of magic.

Support

One of the greatest things in the world as a writer is having the support of your friends and family. I have always had the support of teachers and family, basically anyone whom I let read my writing. To have the support of your life partner, your soulmate, is a whole other ordeal. It feels so good to have someone by your side all the time making sure you wrote your quota for the day and caring about your writing in general.

If any of my wonderful readers have that in your life, don’t take it for granted.

A lot of writers eat crap for not having a normal nine-to-five job. We get questions such as, “What do you do all day?” “Wow how much does that pay?” Or my personal favorite, comments such as, “You have talent!”

First off, it’s not a talent, it’s a skill. Writing well doesn’t just happen, you have to work hard for it and preserve through rejections and loneliness. To find someone who whole heartedly believes in you and encourges you is a beautiful and wonderful thing. Don’t take it for granted and take the compliments you deserve even if they are biased.