Red Canary Stories

So, I have some mildly disappointing news. The publish times between chapters may take a little a longer to roll out. For the last 2 years, I've been trying to move on from my current job position into something else. I went back to school last year and finished up in May, but I doubt Clinical Research may be the next step moving forward. I'm going to take some Environmental Health and Safety courses. It consists of 15 modules for a total of 47 contact hours. These modules, however, are about an 1 1/2 to 2 hours long of information/content. I'm going to stretch them out, but they will take up a majority of my personal time. It's hard to motivate myself to write when I'm unhappy with my job and barely making ends meet. I hope everyone who's been following my blog understands. What I can say is this: school/academics are huge motivators when it comes to me writing. I definitely won't be procrastinating while juggling to the two. Anyways, thanks for the support...

   Writing Prompt: Alone on a Deserted Island The Sailor awoke upon a hot, sandy beach with eyelids that had been sealed shut by crust. His body ached and was golden baked from the burning rays of the sun. His mouth was parched and his lips cracked from prolonged chapness. The confused Sailor wondered how long he had been out. "I must have been asleep for a long time?" He almost didn't recognize his voice due to the severity of hoarseness. "How on Mother Gaia did I even get here?" The Sailor was overcome with terror once he realized the grim gravity of his predicament. He was stranded on a deserted island.  The Sailor had no idea how he had arrived there. His hazy memories offered no answers either. The Sailor's boat or crew were nowhere to be seen. The squawking seagulls, the skittering crabs, and the dolphins were the only signs of life around. "This is a prank!" He said, straining to a stand. "This has got to be some cruel, sick prank....

  My paternal grandmother was always a superstitious woman, to the point where it was overbearing at moments. One thing she was very anal to us about was staying outside after the sun went down. "It's because wicked things always happen during those ungodly hours." That's what she told us often.   The night before my thirteenth birthday, my grandma suffered a terrible stroke. She was hospitalized for several weeks.  My younger sister, our cousin, and I were left to our own devices while dad and our Aunt Linda were at the hospital with grandma. Our mother was away on an important business trip during that time and was unable to return home. "Lauren, Maureen, Joshua, all three of you are old enough to stay home by yourselves now." Dad and Aunt Linda gave us a run down of their expectations. "You all need to be in before night fall. Are we clear?" They were very clear. "Call us before you three head to bed for the night." Dad and Aunt Linda...

  Beyond the birch tree woods, near the shores of a quiet lake, there is a cottage where a hermit lives. He loves the solitude and spends each day in his garden, by the window with watercolors or with a book. There is a cat, a canary, a donkey, and a turtle which keep him company during his self-exile.  "Oohhh!" The old Hermit stretches while he sits on the side of his cot. "It's that time of year again I see." He sighs heavily. It is that time of year for one day where the Hermit departs his humble abode and ventures into town. He has done it many times over the years since becoming a hermit. Even so, the anxiety he is experiencing only grows more crippling as the years go by. Toralei the calico-colored cat rubs against her owner's legs. She senses his stirring anxiety and tries her best to calm his nerves. It helps, but just a little. "It will be all right, my darling." He cradled Toralei in his arms and showers her with affection. The cat meows...

  They told Thalia she was too young, immature, and irresponsible to own a house. Despite their barrage of criticism, the determined young woman aspired to prove them wrong. And she did. Thalia bought her first house all on her own, silencing her naysayers. It was an older home, built in the Clapboard-style. The house sat at the end of a dead end street away from all the other homes in the neighborhood. Thalia’s house was not like the rest. Her was much older and its architectural style was simple. The other homes down the street were newer and more intricate in design. The original owner of Thalia’s house had it painted black while the other homes were colorfully vibrant. Its lack of charm made sense as to why it had stayed on the market for so long. Thalia's family and friends were turned off by her house. They didn't understand why she had taken a bizarre interest in it when there were better houses on the market. Thalia paid their opinions no mind. She didn’...

      Death & the Moon, Forever they push & pull. In their endless dance, They chase one another, But never able to catch the other.  Photo credit: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/bKr9Aa