Sleepless Beauty (1)

The royal parents were standing at the head of the bassinet, beaming proudly at the line of well wishers who were coming up to coo at, chuck the chin of, and generally welcome their new princess.
In addition, the twelve finely dressed (though, one must admit, oddly-mannered) people at the end of the line were fairies and it was traditional for such invitees to give special gifts to babies at naming days. And this baby was a royal princess; surely the gifts would be extra special! At least this was Queen Blanche’s secret hope. When the first of the fairies, a dapper gentleman in a gray silk suit reached the bassinet, she smiled at him especially. He smiled back and bent to peer at the princess. In a clear tenor he announced, “ I will grant Princess Rosebud a nice complexion.” The Queen felt the slight tingle and heard the ringing undertones that heralded a magic working but she blurted out “Nice? Just nice?” The fairy wasn’t offended. “Certainly. You don’t want her to be odd, do you?”
The Queen grew more distraught as the fairies proceeded, one by one, to give her daughter – the princess! – ordinary gifts: a beaming, bunchy-cheeked, matronly-looking woman in rose chiffon gave her the ability to be quick with sums, a youngish-looking lad granted her a good digestive system, and a very done up young lady gave her a good sense of humor, saying, in a joking sort of way, that with a name like Rosebud, she’d certainly need it. The Queen hardly had time to be annoyed about this before a hiccoughing fairy gave her good balance, another 20-20 eyesight, yet another strong nails, and an elderly looking gentleman, evidently thinking he was being funny, granted the princess the ability to chew gum and walk at the same time. This drew a polite laugh from the other fairies and a barely suppressed screech of outrage from the Queen. As if a royal princess would ever be so vulgar as to chew gum! The King was looking on, amused, and failed to see Blanche’s indignation.
A crinkle-eyed woman granted the princess healthy lungs, missing the Queen’s wince at the thought of what healthy lungs would mean with a potentially fussy baby. A fairish fellow with a buttercup yellow cravat gave Princess Rosebud natural-looking ringlets that would last the day whenever she curled her hair. A man with a slight potbelly and a receding hairline let loose with a hearty laugh as the princess blurbled up at him and granted her minty-smelling breath.

[Cont'd...]

Prologue - The Beast

The newly-transformed Beast howled in despair. The sorcerer stepped back to admire his work, grinning maliciously.

"Sorry now, are you? Perhaps you want to change your mind, beg for forgiveness?" His eyes were bright and gleeful, shining demonically.

The Beast could not master its tongue, could not twist it to form human speech, but its bellow was answer enough. The sorcerer's expression darkened.

"Then you will stay this way, until you find someone brave enough or blind enough to love you, as you are now!" He calmed himself and smiled again, but there was still a hard gleam to his eyes.

"If you still have any sense left, you will come to me, to apologize, to grovel," he seemed to relish this idea. "But, if you wait too long ... Well, perhaps your condition will no longer interest me." His face a picture of evil pleasure, he bid the Beast farewell and disappeared in a cloud of smoke that stank of brimstone.

The Beast dropped its huge head into its clawed, misshapen paws and wept.

A Ghost's Story: Prologue

Prologue:
The world has become a different place.
In the olden days, (here we speak of the age before ‘modern’ scientific thinking took the fore) when some one said they saw a ghost, they were taken at their word. Then ghosts became an outmoded idea, associated with superstition and ignorance; a ‘logical’ explanation could always be found.
But ghosts are real again.
No one knows how or why, but ghosts have made a comeback. In the past decade or so, there have been increased and increasingly reliable reports of – to be quite frank – supernatural activity; ghosts are manifesting. These are not just the ghosts of pseudo-psychic fame, nor are they, strangely enough, the ghosts of long ago. Nor do all people who die, even by violence, return (or, rather, remain) as ghosts. The criteria for who will and who will not become a ghost is agonizingly difficult to ascertain. Old men have passed away, peacefully, in their sleep, with no regrets, and have remained in ethereal form. Young people have been struck down by tragedy and malicious intent and have gone on to whatever comes next without lingering.
Various factions have responded with equally diverse reactions. At the extreme right of this spectrum are the leftover rationalist, scientists of the old order. They refuse to acknowledge the existence of ‘spectral citizens’, scoffing at any who claim to have seen, spoken to, or even be such a being. At the other extreme are the spiritual supremacist. These people believe that ghost-hood is the final state of evolution. Often non-mainstream religious fanatics as well, the spiritual supremacist are Zen-like (in a perverted sort of way) in their advocacy of transcendence – often to the point of committing homicide and suicide. Then there are the in-betweens…
Governments have developed departments to deal with supernatural phenomena – or, as the more p.c. would say, ‘post-vital or non-corporal persons’ – and political figures have been forced to take stances on the topic of ghosts. Currently, they may hold no public office, may own property only at their next of kin’s sufferance, and are generally considered the latest in second-class citizens. On the other hand, ghosts are not held accountable for any crimes they may commit and, at the same time, may stand as witnesses in cases surrounding their own deaths.

What This Is

...is a blog of half-writ things.
Poems may (or may not) be complete. Stories are almost definitely works in progress. Comments are welcome, ganking my writing is not. If you want to use a piece of my prose, please ask first, yeah? Thanks.