#WEP 2022 All You Need Is Love #wepff

*Trigger warning / spoiler alert from the 1590's: Teen suicide

https://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/2022/01/wep-2022-introduces-year-of-music.html

Julie Ette

by J Lenni Dorner

Julie Ette on her balcony watches the sunset noting the colors. Especially the red lighting the V on the bulwark. Capsule takers live on her side of the protective barrier. Mutagens occupy the other side, their violence loud enough to carry to her ears. How could she ever marry someone who expects her to bring children into this dangerous and divided world?

Yet, at the dinner party this night, her father insists she dines with a man who has such expectations. A handsome fellow with enough wealth to still travel safely. Julie has not seen the world beyond the bulwark since she was knee-high to her father. That was when the variant became known. Most people vaccinated before and needed only one booster capsule to be safe from the variant. For those who had not, it was too late. This strain attacked the prefrontal cortex. Once infected, man became like a violent beast, spreading both virus and violence. Mutagens, any people who had not been inoculated and thus were ineligible for a capsule, were forced out of town.

"Julie?"

"Hmm?" She looks to her cousin Ty, who bolted over holding two cats.

"Do you see Rose? She's over there, in the a-line dress."

Julie nods. "Yes, I see her. Where are my manners? Have you met my suitor from France?"

Ty sets his cats on the table. One scampers off. The other sniffs Julie's plate. "Do you know those three guys? One eyes Rose like a cat does a mouse."

Julie says she does not know the guys. Her parents come over. In hushed whispers, Ty suggests the three might be Mutagens. Julie vaguely hears a discussion about not making a scene, but all words are just background now. A cat rubs his head against her chest and purrs. Yes, that affection, the pleasant purr, that is what she feels inside. Not for the Parisian, but for one of the guys Ty pointed out. Her gaze meets his, her heart soars as he smiles at her. And then he is gone, hauled away by yellow-biohazard-suited security. 

She stares at the V in the bulwark that night. What if her family had not been lucky enough to receive vaccines before the new variant? There were fools who refused the protection, but also those to whom it was not made available. Her heart aches for people who had been outcasts long before the bulwark and the virus. She cries, remembering the bulldozers hauling away the bodies of the destitute. Her volunteer days ended. The last soup kitchen closed, the V on the bulwark marking the path she once took to get there. Youth did not blind her to the reality that her family owns the company that made the vaccines and capsules. She knew that, yes, her father's brilliance saved lives, but it also elevated their family to wealth beyond measure. Julie felt a duty to help the poorest of the poor, to give back any way she could. What if that guy she saw tonight had not been given a choice? If only she could ask him.

"A rose does not make the choice to be a rose. Roses are planted and thrive or die based on proper care. Perhaps he was offered no fertilizer, no love from society, no chance to fight to survive."

Knocks at her bedroom door pull Julie from her philosophical debate. Her nurse comes in, takes her temperature and blood pressure, then goes over the rest of the nightly symptom checklist.

"My heart is beating faster. I saw a guy tonight. Not the one my father brought, one that Ty pointed out. I must get to know him."

"You're gonna tie the bedsheets into a rope and go over the balcony, aren't you?" The nurse shakes her head. "And I'll end up patching your broken ankle. I think not. Was it one of the boys the biohazard team removed?"

Julie dances and claps her hands. "Yes! You know of him?"

"Of course I do. Do you think some other medical professional came on-site at night for blood draws? Had to verify they lack vaccination. No sign of the variant in them yet, so they'll get breakfast before being shipped beyond the bulwark. I can sneak you to the kitchen before sunrise."

Never before has bacon, potatoes, and eggs smelled so wonderful to Julie. The fry cook greets her and offers to make anything she'd like. 

"Two onion rings, please. Small ones."

He laughs as he preps them. "Ladies watching their weight. I could spin this bacon into an edible rose, you know?"

"But would it be as sweet as this beauty," a voice asks from behind Julie. She turns to see the guy.

"Hey. I'm Julie. Shouldn't you have an escort?"

"Slipped the guards. I like to roam, you know, unimpeded. Easier to find you."

"Wow. That's amazing. I want to roam with you. Marry me?" Julie holds out the onion rings. 

He slips one on his finger and one on hers.

"By the power of the fryer, I pronounce you married," the fry cook says. 

"Meet me at the mausoleum by the V later, we'll roam from there," Julie's roamer whispers before being hauled away.

Julie goes to pack. Her father comes. 

"Ah good, you shared my thought. You'll marry tonight and head to France."

"What? Daddy, no. This suitcase is to donate to the needy. Ty has to take those guys back, figured he could drop it off."

"Ty was killed while slaying one of them. I banished that roamer. Pack for yourself, you'll marry and move to safety."

Julie takes a coma capsule. Security, thinking she's another virus casualty, transports her to the mausoleum. Her roamer comes but doesn't realize she faked her death. He takes the suicide pill many Mutagens carry. Julie awakens and finds him dead.

"Maybe he did refuse vaccination. Suicidal fool." Julie eats her onion ring. Survival-fortitude and love are what she needs from a spouse.

---

What Are They?  ... Characters borrowed from a tragic play set in Verona. 

There are those who consider that play to be a great romance. 

Proof that "all you need is love" is what the two teens decide when marrying despite their warring families. It's what the famous "rose by any other name would smell as sweet" eluded to, that love is all you need. 

Well, my story has a bit of a twist on it at the end.

Is it a modern-day retelling? Is it a prediction of something that could happen? A political commentary? 

Why didn't the messenger (Friar John) make it to Romeo in the original play....  😮 The bubonic plague- black death- didn't have variants or spread via people. 

Meh... this is flash fiction. It's just a story. And a Friar doesn't really work in a kitchen frying food (not as the main job description, anyway). 

Tagline: Shakespearian inspiration for love being all you need, with a viral twist.

1000 words, FCA

Under the Trees #atozchallenge #story

My theme this year is blogging about my author brand. Fridays are a story told in parts. This story fluctuates between modern times and centuries ago.



LUMBER OF THE KUWEAKUNKS  - part 4

The lieutenant governor leaned against the fence that marked the dividing line between civilization and the territory of the Kuweakunks. Jonathan stood beside him, a bandage covering the lump on his head and a cane helping his balance.

"Look at them. Lazy!" The lieutenant governor gnawed on a raw carrot. "Just lounging about under the trees. Have you ever seen one of them put in a day of work?"

"No, Sir," Jonathan held up a paper. "This one also needs your signature."

"Talk, talk, talk. What could they possibly have to say? You have heard them speak. Barely manage to string together a sentence."

Jonathan motioned with the paper. "A most ineloquent vocabulary. No command of our language whatsoever. If this could be signed, I can have the noon rider take it to the docks."

"Yes, yes! The docks. She will be here soon. Arriving on our first ship." The lieutenant governor spit bits of carrot as he spoke. "The King himself sanctioned our marriage. Did you know that? Sending her along with a proper priest to be sure it is all in order." He rubbed his stomach. "I am certainly good enough for her now. What say you, Jonathan?"

"There can be no question." He tried again to get the paper in his hand noticed. "More than good enough by now. Your rank and station are above her father."

The lieutenant governor let out a robust laugh. His fat mitt clapped Jonathan on the back, causing him to drop his cane. "It will stay that way. My next shipment will elevate my name. High value, Jonathan, high value indeed."

~~~***~~~

The former sheriff relied heavily on his cane as he approached. "I heard a child went missing from the school again."

"We have the situation handled, Mr. Long. You did not need to have someone bring you down here." The current sheriff said through gritted teeth.

"That so? Did you even glance at the old case file?" He pulled it from his sweater. The smell of his vintage orange and cinnamon musk wafted off the folder. Clorinda stormed over, demanding to know why the retired sheriff was at the scene.

"Mr. Long wants me to examine a thirty-year-old case." The sheriff grinned and turned away, leaving the old man to the rhinoceros. He watched a tree full of birds empty. The winged creatures fled the shouts. Lilia Turner, on the other hand, ran toward the noise.

"Is there word about my boy?" Her face was covered in tears.

"No, ma’am. You should sit and have some water. I’ve seen ships come in from hurricanes that looked in better shape."

Lilia waved the sheriff off. She moved closer to the argument.

"And where was the child thirty years ago? You do at least know that, don’t you? So we can look there. I daresay you didn’t come down just to waste time and be in the way."

The former sheriff shook his head. "Lilia Lion. I always loved how your name rolls off the tongue." He extended his hand.

"It’s Turner now. Has been for a long time." She shook the man’s hand.

"Ahh, but it was Lion." He pointed to the folder Clorinda had snatched away.

The two women were wide-eyed as they flipped it open.

"You were a missing person?" Clorinda rubbed Lilia’s arm. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Was it," she bit her lip, "was it very terrible?" Tears spilled out.

Lilia rubbed the bridge of her nose. "No. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t remember any of this." She gagged and choked as Clorinda’s hands tightened around her neck, the rare moment of kindness dissolved.

"Where is my daughter?" She shoved Lilia against Mr. Long, knocking him over. "You know! Tell me what happened to you. Tell me where you were thirty years ago."

Have you figured out what happened to the children?

The rest of the story is the ebook version on Smashwords!
Set your own price!
(Including free.)

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1015003

Opportunity #atozchallenge #Story

My theme this year is blogging about my author brand. Fridays are a story told in parts. This story fluctuates between modern times and centuries ago.



LUMBER OF THE KUWEAKUNKS - part 3

Lights and camera flashes blinded Lilia as she exited the ambulance.

"Ms. Turner, does your missing child have to do with the election?"

"Is it true your son is responsible for the disappearance of the Flizwatter girl?"

"Why was your son taken out of his previous school?"

Lilia hugged the gray, scratchy blanket against her chest. She wanted her child, not newshounds. The press truly was not on her side today.

"That is a good question," Clorinda shuffled over, wedging herself between Lilia and the reporters. "The policy about education access needs to be updated. I will bring it to a vote again, when I’m reelected. The Tuck Academy was forced to take in a child that the public school no longer accepted."

Lilia shook her head as she muttered about misinterpreted facts.

"My husband and I pay good money for our sweet May to attend this school. We pay to maintain the fence around it, the cameras at the doors, the guard at the station— and what good is it? Security on the outside was not enough to fight the threat permitted inside!"

"You cannot be serious." Lilia threw the blanket down. "My son is not a threat. He’s missing, the same as your daughter."

"May belongs in this school. Nothing like this ever happened before his kind were admitted. Tuck Academy had standards."

Lilia rubbed her temples. The reporters' bright lights were giving her a migraine. "His kind? Which group are you insulting today, Councilwoman?"

A sneer grew across the heavy, round face of Clorinda Flizwatter. "It is not right that other people have to pay your way."

"That’s not how it works."

"A grown woman still bagging groceries part-time. You dare think your child is entitled to the same schooling as mine? That you have the right to run for my council seat?"

"I own the entire chain. Haven’t been a cashier in years, though it is a decent job and my stores pay an honest wage. And yes, every child is entitled to an equal education opportunity. I do have the right, yes, to run in the election."

"Maybe your son ran back to the reservation and took my daughter as a hostage to use along the way."

Lilia threw up her hands. "For the last time, we did not live on a reservation! We were living in Malibu until my husband, Ricky’s father, passed away. I came back here to be with my mother. The grant money, as you call it, is payment from an albinism study that Ricky takes part in." Lilia rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Our children are missing. I don’t care if it is election day, this is no time to campaign. Shove your smear tactics under your over-privileged fence."

Come back next Friday for another installment of this story.
Have you seen the ebook version on Smashwords?
Set your own price!

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1015003

Invaders Lie #atozchallenge #story

My theme this year is blogging about my author brand. Fridays are a story told in parts. This story fluctuates between modern times and centuries ago.



LUMBER OF THE KUWEAKUNKS - part 2

The lieutenant governor adjusted the flower arrangement on his desk for the third time. Everything had to be just right for when his lady love arrived.

"Lieutenant governor?" David West knocked on the door and was waved in. "I have the latest report on the progress of the school. The wood so generously set aside will nearly suit all our needs."

"Nearly?"

David shuffled the papers, several falling to the floor. "Whoops, I, sorry about that. Just a moment. I have it here."

Clearing his throat as he rose from his desk, the lieutenant governor felt his good mood in danger of slipping away. "David. David!" He took a pause to smile as the man jumped back. "What is it you need?"

"Desks, Sir. We need to be able to accommodate as many students as possible. There are so many settlements now, but so few opportunities for a proper education. The leaders of tomorrow, great men like yourself, must have access to decent schooling. With proper planning, the Tuck Academy will be the envy of the world." He handed over the paper listing the remaining needs to open the school.

"The world? I daresay my alma mater will always hold that title."

David nodded. "New World, that’s what I meant. There’s a great need for a proper boarding school. Not nearly enough governesses to go around."

"Yes, yes. You said all this when the King’s Ear was last on our ground. That is how you got the royal endowment, is it not?"

"Sir, indeed. And the budget would have come in." David shuffled through the papers again. "See here? We were doing very well with the royal gift. Until," David glanced to the door and then back at the lieutenant governor, "the raid by the Kuweakunks."

The lieutenant governor growled. His meaty fist pounded his desk, causing the flower arrangement to bounce. "Thorns in my side! Daggers in the back of progress!"

Another man knocked on the door, letting himself in without waiting for a reply. "Sir, I have word. Both good and bad." He shut the door behind him.

"Out with it, Jonathan" the lieutenant governor roared as he flexed his knuckles.

"The governor has sent his thanks for the furniture." Jonathan passed him the letter of praise. "We have several orders for more. Some very important clients want our lumber used in the making of their furniture."

David clapped. "We’ll be known as settlement producing that which lasts the longest: education and fine furniture."

"Yes, yes," the lieutenant governor flopped into his chair. He rubbed his great stomach, deciding that he’d put another notch in his belt tonight. "What was the other news?"

"Runhhan wishes a word."

"Does he now?" The lieutenant governor sat up. "Ole Run-and-hide. I could spend a great deal more time looking in on the other settlements if he and his Kuweakunks would honor our agreements. Let him wait. It is time for tea, is it not, Jonathan?"

The door burst open knocking Jonathan unconscious. A shadow extinguished all light from the entranceway. The whites of two eyes were all that could be seen as the darkness broke into the room. Runhhan scoffed at the gathered men. His form was in full view now, though hunched over to account for the ceiling. "Kuweakunks honor agreements. Invaders lie." He threw six blankets at the gathered men. "You keep. Our needs met by Hokus. Cut no more trees to south."

"Runhhan, that is not what we agreed. My lumber mill takes what it needs. That is how we have trade." The lieutenant governor pointed to the blankets. He was unfazed by the hulking native. David, on the other hand, cowered in a corner, gripping a coat rack as if it were a sword or his mother’s skirt.

"Trade bad." Runhhan pointed south. "Hokus sacred. Cut no more."

"We must have trade. There is no iron here. I will not go over this again. Remove yourself from my office." The lieutenant governor opened a window and shouted for the physician as Runhhan left. "Pull yourself together, David. Runs-away is gone."

"He’s so," David shook his head, "I had heard stories, but I never believed." He wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Witchcraft," the lieutenant governor waved his hand. He took the coat rack from David and used it to push the blankets toward the fire. "I have no doubt of it. The Kuweakunks survive and grow to such a size only because of unholy magic. Reinforcements arrive soon, along with my lady. We will have peace. Check on Jonathan, will you? I need to burn these before we contract the pox."

Come back next Friday for another installment of this story.
How do you think this will tie into the opening with the missing children, which happens hundreds of years later?

Councilwoman Clorinda Flizwatter #atozchallenge #Story

My theme this year is blogging about my author brand. Fridays are a story told in parts. This story fluctuates between modern times and centuries ago.



LUMBER OF THE KUWEAKUNKS - part 1

Police arrived before parents did at Tuck Academy. Ricky Turner and May Flizwatter had gone missing in the middle of class.

"Excuse me," Lilia Turner pushed her way through the growing crowd. She squinted against the noonday sun, finally spotting the sheriff and the academy principal. "Where’s my son?"

"Ma’am, it’s going to be okay." The sheriff dropped his beefy hand on her shoulder. She winced, as this pulled her long, black hair. "We’ve got the school locked down and I have someone at every exit. The troopers have roadblocks up just in case."

"In case?" Lilia threw his hand away. "In case what?" She turned to the principal. "How did you lose an eight-year-old boy? He’s supposed to be safe at school." She pointed to the main entrance. "What good is all that security? The cameras, the buzzer, everything we paid thousands of dollars to have installed."

The principal opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a woman screeching his name.

"You!" Clorinda stomped past Lilia and the sheriff. The edge of her smartphone poked the principal’s chest. "What’s the meaning of this? How do you not know where my daughter is?" The sheriff told her to calm down. The resulting snarl made him take a step back.

"Councilwoman Flizwatter, please, let me explain."

"You better explain! I will have this academy shut down and you jailed for child endangerment. You hear me?" Clorinda spit as she spoke, the spray moistening the principal’s face.

Lilia snapped her pink silicone breast cancer awareness bracelet. She contemplated going head to head with the town rhino, or just letting this charge proceed. "Clorinda, let him talk. We both need to know what happened."

The beast turned, her eyes widened, and her teeth bared. "We? What business is it of yours? My daughter is missing! You plan to use that in your little campaign? How dare you call me thoughtless and ruthless and then have the gall to show up here and attack me when my child is nowhere to be found."

"My son is gone, too. Not everything is about the election."

Clorinda rounded on the principal again. "Two children? You lost two children?"

The sheriff had a brief conversation on his radio before interrupting Clorinda’s rant. "Ms. Miller is coming out to speak with you both."

Ms. Miller, the second-grade teacher, recounted the events. They were doing the history lesson. Students had been put into groups of four. May and Ricky were in a group with William and John. Everyone was working on their history projects. The doors and windows of the classroom were closed. No one had come in or gone out.

"Obviously, that isn’t true." Clorinda scoffed. "Our two children must have gotten past you."

"I was standing between them and the door." Tears streamed down Ms. Miller’s face. "They were there, and then they were gone."

"Children do not vanish. My daughter did not just disappear."

The teacher blew her nose. "They did, I swear it. Ricky had his hand up. I said I would be right over. I finished helping another student, it was less than a minute, and then," she cried harder, "they were gone."

"Did my son take his medicine before this happened?"

Ms. Miller shook her head. "It wasn’t lunchtime yet."

Lilia’s legs gave out. She crumpled to the ground, the sheriff missing as he tried to catch her. 

Come back next Friday for another installment of this story.
Where do you think these children are?

#AtoZchallenge 2020 Theme Reveal #AuthorBrand

On my previous blog, I posted about my author brand. It started after I read a book that included the subject. Every month I would do my goal check-in posts. And every month I'd notice that I didn't focus enough or evenly on what I feel is my author brand. So, for the April A to Z Challenge 2020, I'm going to focus on my author brand topics each week.

• Characters and Settings (Mondays)
• Speculative Fiction (Tuesdays -- includes a WEP Flash Fiction post)
• Reading and then writing book reviews (Wednesdays)
• About J Lenni Dorner (Thursdays)
• Legends, Myths, and Storytelling (Fridays) A continuous story told in parts!
• Lenni Lenape /Native American interests (Saturdays)