Skip to content
Inklings Fiction
  • Home
  • About Us
  • Writers
  • Story Prompts
  • Kindle Vella
  • Bookstore

The New Falklands Breeze

New Falkland Islands, Islas de Ligera

Santiago Pueblo wrinkles his nose trying to dissuade what his tired mind thinks is some unseen fly from landing. He continues doing so for several moments before he finally opens his eyes to see what is going on. As he does so, he realizes that a stray blade of grass had been picked up in the early morning breeze and had been fluttering in his face.

Shaking his head, Santiago chuckles and he looks out over the ocean that is spread out before him like a vast holiday meal.

It was all his for as far as he could see.

Or at least that’s what he had been told when he joined the first expedition to Islas de Ligera to colonize the planet. Only time would tell if the Dawn royals would make good on their promises to the first colonists. Such generous tracts of land and sea seemed like something they could easily take away, especially when they were the ones financing so much of the endeavors.

Maybe a hundred meters from the coastline of Santiago’s little island, a few large fish leap from the water. A cloud of trumpet fish seem to skip across the gentle waves like well thrown stones.

Santiago shakes his head once more as he considers how much care went into transporting these fish, and so many other species of fish, wildlife, and plants all this way. The cost of shipping all of his worldly belongings just a couple of lightyears took two years of saving, to think that the Dawns could send such massive colony ships the 2.6 or so million lightyears all the way to Islas de Ligera seemed impossible.

And yet they managed to do it.

And they allowed whoever wanted a free ticket to come along for the ride.

Sure, there were plenty of rules and stipulations, but it was still a generous offer when they were the ones paying for it all.

‘Keep an eye out for anything,’ was the ominous warning that was repeated to colonists time and time again on the voyage over here.

Looking out to the horizon, Santiago smiles and lets out a lighthearted chuckle, “Keep ‘n eye ou’ for what? There ain’t ‘nythin’ out ‘ere!”

Shaking his head, Santiago walks over to a nearby tree, and he drops back to the ground so he can watch the deep red sun rise over the horizon. There were warnings about this particular star being on its last leg, but the experts assured Santiago and all the other colonists who settled this system that there were still at least ten thousand years left to the star’s lifespan, and probably a lot more. Regardless of how much time was left, Santiago and the other colonists who settled this system were promised one hundred years of more or less unfettered rights to their claims. After that, it all depended on how the red sun looked to the scientists. If they thought it would last longer, then Santiago knew that his family would be allowed to remain for much more time. And, if the sun looked like it would give out, then the Dawn royals assured him that another location would be provided far from here.

The thoughts about his family make Santiago smile, and he looks over his shoulder at the home that he had picked out back on Gethsemane, the Dawn clan’s seat of power. This particular home was built on stilts, and Santiago felt like any building built near any body of water belonged on stilts. Having grown up on a swampy planet, he learned just how destructive water could be and how much tides could rise and fall. With that, and the knowledge of the planet that he was heading to in mind, Santiago made his decision, and he can’t help but feel proud of it to this day.

Sure, there had yet to be any flooding, but Santiago knew that he’d be ready should it ever come.

Stilling looking toward his home, Santiago looks to the window of his own bedroom, where he had left his wife, Grace, the night before. Smirking, he shakes his head yet again as he thinks about how territorial the woman got of the bed every time that she was a few months from giving birth. Rather than fight it, Santiago simply surrendered his spot and slept outside. He enjoyed the warm, salty breeze from the ocean. The semi-sweet scent that the early morning winds brought in from far away always energized him and made him feel like a new man.

Taking a deep breath, Santiago savors the smell of the breeze. He had chosen this particular island to be his own for many reasons; the main reason was that it was on the windward side of the New Falkland Archipelago. Having grown up downwind of a swamp, Santiago felt like he needed to be guaranteed fresh air for the rest of his days. Thus far, this planet had more than provided that.

Santiago’s eyes drop from where his wife sleeps to the window below, where his three-year-old son, Quin, and six-year-old daughter, Sariah, shared a room. Ever since Quin had been born, Sariah hadn’t let him out of her sight. Smiling, Santiago reminds himself that Quin was in very good hands should anything ever happen to him.

Life is good, Santiago continues smiling as he turns back to the waves that are moving a lot like the seas of tall grasses in the fields that stood between the home he grew up in and the swamps.

Santiago had always enjoyed watching the grasses sway in the early morning breeze back then, even though the breeze brought the smell of rot in from the swamps. His mother had always scolded him for leaving windows and doors open and letting the stink in as he watched, but he couldn’t help it. Every sunrise deserved to be watched. Every aspect of the earl morning held a beauty that few others ever got to see.

Looking to the horizon once more, Santiago can see the reddish-brown bruises and golden ribbons that paint the sky in the final moments before the sun finally broke over the horizon. Something Santiago always enjoyed was the suddenness of the sun rising. It just seemed so impossible that the sun, which seemed to take hours and hours to come close to the horizon could then pop up and be fully exposed in the span of ten minutes. Its teasing light would wake Santiago up at least an hour before most every sunrise as it illuminated the world below and chased away the stars that teased of a world anywhere other than here.

“Home,” Santiago whispers to himself, echoing the very first word that came to his mind when he first arrived on this island.

He knew that he had never been here before. He knew that the odds were against any living creature every touching the orangish-white sands of his beaches since the dawn of time. There was nothing about this place that could have possibly seemed like home to anyone else.

And yet, it called to Santiago.

Even in the arial photos called to him. Those photos were taken by unmanned drones from the spreadships that the Dawn royals had sent out ahead of the colonists to terraform planets. The photos themselves had no soul behind them to direct the cameras to things that would speak to people, as pictures taken by living and breathing photographers would, and yet, the pictures of this island spoke to Santiago’s soul.

The sun suddenly begins peeking out from the deep, deep blue ocean on the horizon. The sight of such a dark sun rising over such a dark sea always made Santiago shudder.

Behind him, the island’s sole bird begins chirping as the sun awakens it. It wasn’t often that the bird slept in this long, and Santiago can’t help but feel even more blessed that he was the only living creature here who had been able to watch the sun’s first moments in this new day.

“New days, new discoveries,” Santiago whispers to himself as he rises alongside the sun. Today, he would explore the undersea caves that he had stumbled upon yesterday with his underwater drone. New planets held plenty of secrets, and the Dawn royals paid handsomely for the best of these discoveries.

0
Rated 0 out of 5
0 out of 5 stars (based on 0 reviews)

There are no reviews yet. Be the first one to write one.

Caleb Fast

Check out his Author Bio!

SPRING FOREVER

Romance, Short Story, Uplifting, Literary

Thin, wrinkled fingers turned the faded pages of her well-loved book with a strength that hadn’t failed for over sixty years. Frowning slightly, Rose glared toward the whirring machines in the room that would not stop their infernal beeping. At least the steady rhythm assured her worrywart niece that everything but her blasted leg was in top shape.

Sighing, Rose tried again to focus on the story set in her beloved Paris. Pushing a stray lock of silver hair behind her ear, she squinted. Her strength may not have deserted her all this time, but her eyesight was a different matter altogether. Adjusting her reading glasses with a sharp tweak, the blurred words cleared just in time to be obscured by a large orange rose that suddenly covered half the page.

Jerking her head up, Rose wondered who would be here at this hour. Her niece had gone to get dinner only twenty minutes ago. Her green eyes collided with a pair so dark and full of passion that a long-forgotten feeling, like a tornado of butterflies trying to escape her stomach, rose.

The angular face of her memories had softened with age, now framed by wavy grey hair. His long fingers clenched the fragrant bouquet of orange roses in his hands.

“Mon amour,” he breathed, more than said, the words.

“John,” Rose sighed and reached for the roses with hands sun-kissed by a Paris spring, no longer blue-veined and pale with a protruding IV line.

The accelerated beeping of the heart rate monitor melted away along with the whitewashed walls and disinfectant smells. They were replaced by the aroma of street vendors mixed with roses. Sunlight broke through the trees to glint on the river Seine.

Memories continued to swirl around the long-lost couple: glances stolen across pieces of art in the Louvre; passionate kisses in the shade of Notre Dame; mouthwatering picnics under an endless spring sky; early morning tea and coffee at their favorite cafes.

The thud of her book falling off the bed pulled them back to the present. John blinked unfocused eyes before time again stilled as he slowly lowered to one knee, pulling Rose’s hand to his lips.

“Mon amour,” he said again. “I finally found you.”

0
Rated 0 out of 5
0 out of 5 stars (based on 0 reviews)

There are no reviews yet. Be the first one to write one.

0
Rated 0 out of 5
0 out of 5 stars (based on 0 reviews)

There are no reviews yet. Be the first one to write one.

Erudessa Gentian

Check out her author bio!

The Best Drug

If you were to walk in on this gray, gloomy night you’ll probably carry yourself in with an expectancy.

Rows of better-than-you’s, noses turned up from the hymnal. Perfect lives and families. Made obvious by their four kids dressed in their best without squabbles that test the patience of their parents.

You hesitate between the doors. You’ve seen it before. Pretending to care, or maybe silently judging you in the back pew.

Too often, unfortunately, it’s true. We pretend, somehow, we’re better than the rest. Granted, our salvation comes from God of his love, not because we’re good enough.

But it’s okay, you can breathe. Come on in. Take a seat.

As you glance around you see people, wild and Free. Lining up for the best drug deal and all of history.

“Some say he’s our crutch, I say he better be our all!” Grins the pastor laying hands on the next young man.

Maybe you’re a bit confounded, seeing all the hoodies, sweats, and T’s.

You’re still questioning whether you should flee. You take one last moment to soak and see a thousand Angels fluttering gracefully healing that single Mom’s broken heart. Dancing with the man, who you probably assumed, never would dare to dance in public.

Then you see the fires that frame their faces. Some bigger, well others fight it. It ministers to them, almost lifting their feet off the ground.

One step, two steps, oh, you can’t. The atmosphere is warm and sweet. “But it wasn’t meant for you.” rings through your mind. So you turn to run.

But something holds you there, a tap on your shoulder. “Brother, me too!” His hoodie is torn and arms plastered in tattoos, but his smile is big and eyes bright with hope.

He gives you a bear hug, smiles and shrugs. “I hope to see you next week!” He calls.

And somehow today got a little less gray. Maybe the world’s a little brighter.

You found your home it isn’t easy but it’s where you belong.

Maybe you’ve been hurt in the past a little burned by the church. But we’re not all the same.

The true love of God is richer than anything in the whole world.

5
Rated 5 out of 5
5 out of 5 stars (based on 1 review)
Rated 5 out of 5
April 12, 2021

Wow, love this! So real. Unfortunately and fortunately.
Well done!

Melinda Poling

Annamarie Rose

Check out her author bio!

A Mother’s Privilege

Bleary-eyed, she turned the spigot to fill up the sink and squeezed a dollop of Dawn into the warm water. She glanced at the microwave. The orange digits on it read 2:26.

Her son, just over three weeks old, had settled into a contented milky coma a few minutes before she’d come downstairs. But now she wanted to pump, and there were no clean parts to attach to the medela.

She sighed, trying not to think about anything in particular, and just watched the suds inch up over the pump flanges and bottles. The less she thought, the easier it was to get back to sleep. Ha. Her strategy rarely worked. She would be awake, unable to settle her mind, for the next hour or two, until he woke again. Then the hormones released when she fed him for the nth time would relax and lull her into sleepiness again.

Normally she washed everything before she turned in for the night, but a toddler who refused to eat what was on her dinner plate had distracted her from her fledgling routine. But this was motherhood, wasn’t it? At least with young children. Long days, late nights, early mornings, with sleep broken up into short intervals. She smiled and turned off the water. Six hours of uninterrupted sleep was a thing of the past, her pre-pregnant and childless past.

But she wouldn’t go back.

Her days and nights were sacred. Every diaper change, plate of bite-sized pieces, every breastfeeding, every burp, spit up, and minutes rocking were holy. Every minute was eternal, even if she spent her days cleaning up the same toys over and over and struggled to teach obedience and guide little but unfiltered emotions. The first few years of motherhood had been a difficult transition, but by God’s grace and patience, she was learning to look for Him and serve Him in every moment.

Right now, it was just her and God. Supposedly, the veil in-between the physical and spiritual was thinnest at 3am, and the most supernatural activity was purported to occur at this time. She smiled again. Holy Spirit certainly knew where to find her, she thought, scrubbing the inside of a bottle: in the middle of this very human and beautiful task of sustaining a life outside of the womb.

0
Rated 0 out of 5
0 out of 5 stars (based on 0 reviews)

There are no reviews yet. Be the first one to write one.

Katie Jo Jayne

Check out her author bio!

Mara, Jaded No More

Mara trembled in Thesius’s grasp, his fingers vice gripping her upper arm as he pushed her toward the Teacher. But she didn’t shiver with fear. Perhaps she should’ve been afraid. But she wasn’t. She was furious, livid at the injustice of it all.

What of the coward who stood at the fringes of the assembling crowd, watching her anxiously, unsure what was to come of her? He said he loved her, but there he stood, sweating like an unclean swine, awkwardly hiding his embarrassment beneath his cloak’s hood and feigning indifference concerning her.

Remembering his declarations of love just hours before now turned her stomach as if she’d caught wind of fresh human feces.

Why was he not next to her, cheeks red in shame? Why was he not stripped of his hastily-donned cloak to reveal his guilty state of undress? Why was his WIFE not brought as a witness against him?

She had blown her future on this fool, and she despised herself for trusting him.

Mara’s unkempt blonde hair fell into her face, mostly covering the glare aimed at Thesius, the Pharisee who’d dragged her here. How convenient that the law always faulted the woman and mentioned no consequence whatsoever to the man.

Thesius let her go, and she locked her jaws shut to avoid spitting on him. That would’ve gotten her stoned for sure.

Mara looked up at the man called Jesus, eyes narrowing in suspicion of the calmness he exuded. Probably another self-righteous wanna-be rabbi. In one glance, she noted his somber brown eyes, worn sandles, leather belt, and clean but unembellished tunic, and, surprisingly enough, his rough workers hands. Guess he hadn’t always been a rabbi in training.

“Teacher,” Thesius gestured to Him, “this woman was caught in the VERY act of committing adultery! In our Law, Moses commanded that such a woman must be stoned to death. Now, what do you say?”

Standing before the quieted crowd, Mara was familiar enough with the petty jealousy among Pharisees to hear the skepticism and borderline mockery in his query to Jesus. What had this Jesus done to unsettle him?

Jesus knelt down in front of her and began to write in the sand with his left pointer finger.

“Well, what do you say, Jesus of Nazareth??” One of Thesius’s companions prompted again, his impatience obvious. He tossed a stone: up, down. Up, down. Back and forth between both hands. Condemnation. Judgement.

Momentarily forgetting her anger and frustration, Mara watched as Jesus spelled out a name: Tirzah. And then another. Rivkah. And another. Lydia. Mara’s eyebrows rose and her mouth gaped in astonishment. She knew each one of those women…and of their relationships with the Pharisees in this very crowd.

The men closest to her–the ones who knew the women–shifted uncomfortably and stepped backward, the sudden tension and discomfort tangible.

This Jesus KNEW. He knew their hypocrisy. He knew of their unholy behavior and knew the names of the ones with whom they’d committed it with.

Surely he was more than just a teacher. A prophet. A seer.

“Whichever one of you has committed no sin may throw the first stone at her,” he said, rising again, wiping his hand on his tunic as he rose to his feet. He met her incredulous gaze for a moment before lifting his eyes to the crowd expectantly.

The Pharisees, three in particular, quickly dropped their stones and disappeared into the crowd. Within a full minute, a multitude of stones were all the remained of the circle of accusers.

“Woman, does no one condemn you?”

“No, my Lord,” Mara said quietly.

“Then neither do I condemn you. Go, and sin no more.”

5
Rated 5 out of 5
5 out of 5 stars (based on 1 review)
Rated 5 out of 5
April 21, 2021

I thoroughly enjoyed this well-known Bible story from the perspective of the woman. Stories like this help us remember that these were real people with real hopes, real dreams and real feelings. I loved the author’s idea of the words that Jesus wrote – very plausible! Thank you, Katie Jo Jane..

Emma

Katie Jo Jayne

Check out her author bio!

The Lost Scrolls

Her fingers trembled as soon as the old, old scroll passed into her hands. She couldn’t see him very well in the dank light of the lantern, but her grandfather’s eyes glinted like gold flecks in a Klondike stream. They’d found them!!! It had been two years of grueling 10-hour days and nothing to show for it. Until today.

For two years they had slept on the floor of the wind-hollowed cavern, awakened in the night by cougars and coyotes. For two years they’d eaten rice and fire-baked paratha with whatever wild game Mandy had been able to hunt. For two years they had bathed downstream in the lukewarm water of the desert creek, and for two whole years they’d potted and sanitized the water from upstream to drink. They were all over sun-burnt and sand-whipped, and had sand grit in every possible bodily crevice, but they smiled at each other like two teenagers in punch-drunk love.

They had found the lost scrolls of Christ.

“Go on,” he urged, wiping his sweaty hands on his worn khaki shorts.

Most scholars didn’t even believe they existed. But they had gone on a hardly anything but a hopeful whim.

Mandy sat on one of the cavern’s rock ledges and slowly lowered the scroll into her lap. Ever so slowly she unraveled it. And exhaled. “Grandfather, it’s in Hebrew.” Disappointment laced the twenty-year-old’s words. Sighing, she took her grandfather’s seventy-year-old hands and tucked the cherished scroll into them. “Please read it aloud.”

He pulled down the glasses that had been stored on his greying head and cleared his throat. “I have been commissioned to take out the enemies of my father who have usurped his kingdom and stolen from the ones he loves.” He blinked. “It’s a list, dear girl.” He glanced at his granddaughter, eyes wide. “It appears to be a…hit list…of a sort. Turn the lantern up higher, would you?”

Mandy scrambled to the lantern, tweaked the dial, and her grandfather continued in his steady, awe-stricken baritone.

“Sickness.

Unbelief.

Fear.

Envy.

Murder.

Theft.

Lust.

Abuse…”

The older man continued to read for a whole two minutes. And then he paused. “There’s one final listing.”
“What is it?”

He took the glasses off. “Death.”

Mandy’s eyes filled with tears. “And he did it.”

“Yes, he did.” Grandfather lowered the lenses once more and pushed them further down on his nose, squinting to read the final line. “For the fame of my father and the glory of his name, I will do this.”

0
Rated 0 out of 5
0 out of 5 stars (based on 0 reviews)

There are no reviews yet. Be the first one to write one.

Katie Jo Jayne

Check out her author bio!

Bad News

Alright, I have bad new. 🙁 If you’re seeing this, then there aren’t enough stories in the genre you want to check out! I know, it’s sad. But, there’s good news. What is it? YOU can write a story! Yes, you! Everyone has a story in them. No, we might not be the best at first, but we’re humans and we’re made to learn. Made to adapt. Made to create.

If I was able to convince you, then please be sure to check out the page Write With Us and start going through the stories you’ve already written! 😀

Search for Stories, Authors, and Genres

Search By Genre

  • Action
  • Adventure
  • Alternate History
  • Apocalypse
  • Bible Adaptations
  • Children’s
  • Classics
  • Comics
  • Coming of Age
  • Contemporary
  • Crime
  • Detectives
  • Drama
  • Dystopian
  • Espionage
  • Fairytale
  • Fantasy
  • Folklore
  • Historical Fiction
  • Horror
  • Humor
  • Literary
  • Middle Grade
  • Military
  • Mystery
  • New Adult
  • Pirates
  • Post-Apocalypse
  • Romance
  • Science Fantasy
  • Science Fiction
  • Short Story
  • Supernatural
  • Thriller
  • Uplifting
  • Urban
  • War Stories
  • Western
  • Young Adult

Recent Stories

  • Shrunk: Weekly Prompt 78 December 31, 2021
  • The Cambridge’s Final Voyage December 24, 2021
  • Smuggler’s Route December 24, 2021
  • Distant Prospects December 24, 2021
  • A Bootleg Christmas December 24, 2021

"Go Forth and Write." Isaiah 30:8

God's put a story in all of us. Write it with us.
Copyright 2021 by Inklings Fiction
Theme by Colorlib Powered by WordPress