Monday, 30 June 2014

The Last ONe!

This is my last plot bunny and first scene! I did it!


A house full of books. What more could a bookworm ask for? All alone in a strange new community, Liza discovers an old house full to the brim with books. Once inside, she finds herself in the midst of the biggest personal book collection in the world. But what happened to the owner? What is the mystery behind the staircase in the middle of the house? A twisting, gold-covered one, the grandest thing she had ever seen. But something is wrong. A crime has been committed inside these hushed walls, with only the books as witnesses. And they’re not revealing what they saw. Liza determines to uncover the secret of the old house, even if she has to remove each and every book from the shelf. But she only has so much time before the mayor of the town knocks down the old house, hiding the truth from view forever.


“She skipped hastily up the stairs, tripping on the rich red carpet rumpled up in a dusty corner. Pain sting her palms, but there was no time to waste; swiftly she recovered her footing and dashed towards the balcony protruding from the side of the old mansion. Lightning, like flashes of fire across the blood red sky, illuminated the scene before her. Antonio, his knife raised to plunge it into the heart of the villainous Roberto was outlined in a split second in a flash of lightning.
“With a scream, Anita flung herself between Roberto and the knife and pleaded for the evil one’s life. Antonio paused, held frozen by her piteous cries. Finally, though his heart still burned with anger towards the villain who had ruined his life, he spared the wicked man. However, as he sheathed his knife, Roberto, feeling no thanks within his poisonous heart, spat at her merciful hero.
“All the injustice and villainy came rushing back and with a shout, Antonio heaved Roberto to his feet and struck him a blow across the face. A fight ensued, raging back and forth in front of the terrified Anita, who stood trembling against the stone wall. Finally, the two broke away with a lurch and Roberto went plunging over the edge of the balcony to his death.”
A thump sounded in her ears, followed by a faint scream. Liza opened her eyes in surprise, half expecting to see the dead Roberto of her story lying at her feet. No such man was there, only an old, faded book. Picking it up, Liza looked around, the scream still echoing in her ears. Where had the book and scream come from?
She turned a full circle before she saw the house. Towering above her, a stately mansion of crumbling brick and stone rose. It was set back from the dirt path she was on, and almost covered from view by vines and trees. But there is was all the same. Chills ran up and down Liza’s spine as her eyes traveled up the side of the house and landed on a balcony. A balcony just like the one in her story.

Saturday, 28 June 2014


Second to last plot bunny and first scene!

A hurricane has just ripped through Haiti, leaving many villages desolate. As a rescue team makes its way through the crumbled remains of a little community, they find a single survivor. Tucked away in the shambles of a partially crushed hut, a tiny girl lies. No clue is found as to her identity, and Harrison, the head rescuer, can find nobody to take the helpless orphan. Nobody except his wife. She insists they take the two year old back to the United States with them. But things aren’t that easy.
Does this little survivor have a name? Is she really two? And why does she keep running off? Harrison is at his wit’s end trying to communicate with the child, having a limited knowledge of Haitian himself. Could this beautiful little girl’s strange habits have a secret meaning? Could it be that her parents are not dead after all?

I like using covers that I have made for story ideas! The title doesn't really fit anymore, though. I think this one is going to be called "Haiti's Orphan."

And now for the first scene.

“This whole village is in ruins, absolute ruins,” Harrison said grimly, shading his eyes from the terrific heat. “I doubt we’ll find a single survivor, or habitable hut in this whole place.”
“Let’s just keep looking,” Micah persisted calmly, pushing aside some rubble. “We couldn’t just give up on the assumption that there are no survivors. Someone could die!”
Harrison wiped sweat from his forehead. “I didn’t say we should give up. Let’s look farther over here. Hey!” he turned and shouted to the others of the rescue team. “Micah and I are heading over this way!”
“Okay, boss!” someone shouted back, raising a hand.
“C’mon, Micah,” Harrison said, turning to his second-in-command. “I want to check out those buildings over there.”
“Or what’s left of them” sighed Micah. “I’ve been on this team for five year, but it still gets me every time.”
“What does?”
“How horribly these earthquakes affect the villages of Haiti. Look at this place. Two days ago it was a peaceful community. Now it looks like a war has been fought here.”
Harrison sighed heavily. “Yeah. Here, this hut’s only partially ruined. Let’s check it out.” He ducked cautiously between the crumbled walls. “Is anyone in here?”
“Do you see anyone?” Micah asked from behind him. “I--”
“Micah, hush a moment, will you?” Harrison threw up a hand, scanning the debris with his eyes. “I heard something over there.”
“Here’s a flashlight,” Micah whispered, pressing the item into his leader’s hand.
Harrison began gingerly pulling aside pieces of thatch that had fallen from the roof, using his flashlight to illuminate his work. “Well, cook me up and serve me with gravy!” he whispered suddenly. “Micah, look!”
“What?” Micah entered the hut quickly. “Did you find someone?”
“Yes,” Harrison smiled. “Just one person. A very tiny one. Micah, it’s a toddler. A little orphaned girl.”


Only one more to go!

Friday, 27 June 2014

It Happened on Saturday... #6.

Here I go with number six plot bunny and first scene, both in one post. Yesterday I was very efficient! :D

“Oh, go jump in the lake!” “ “You need to take that with a pinch of salt.” “That’s a bunch of bologna.” Have you ever said something figuratively, something you really didn’t mean? Well what would happen if when you said something, it actually happened? One Saturday morning, when Eddie woke up, he found himself in a different world than the one he had lived in Friday night, a world where everything is taken seriously.

At first it was fun. Actually getting a guy with a mohawk to jump in the lake, and saying that he couldn’t see the lady in front of him in the store so she would really disappear. But things are getting out of hand. Eddie can’t seem to control what he says, and the “Literal World” is becoming a chaotic mess. He has to do something before everything falls apart. Can he curb his tongue?

Going to bed on Friday nights was never pleasant for Eddie. Friday nights meant that the next morning would be chore day, and that meant taking out the garbage, clipping the grass around Aunt Matilda’s flower beds and running down to the corner drugstore to buy a sack of peppermints for Aunt Matilda to take the nursing home on Sunday.
Aunt Matilda always handed out peppermints at the nursing home they went to each Sabbath to visit the elderly. She never called the residents anything else in private but “the elderly.” Uncle Ralph would usually snort and mumble something to the effect that he and she weren’t that far from being elderly themselves. In answer Aunt Matilda would pat his hand and give him a peppermint. She never gave Eddie any peppermints until after church in Sunday morning to ensure his good behavior.
Eddie longed for peppermints on Saturday nights. He would watch with huge eyes as Uncle Ralph ate at least three, but nary a one was he allowed to have, which was very trying for a seven year old.
And so he disliked Friday night bedtime. This Friday night was no better or worse than any other. Eddie kissed his aunt and uncle goodnight and climbed the five stairs to the upper hallway to his bedroom. After doing the usual boring things to ready himself for a restful night, he clambered into bed and stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.
“I’ll pretend that big one is a planet where they eat nothin’ but peppermints, all day long,” Eddie whispered confidingly to Donald, the faded yellow dog lying beside him on the bed. Donald, being only a toy, made on response, and so Eddie went on. “Yep, they eat nothin’ but peppermints, and there’s no such thing as grass that gets so long that you have to cut it with shears that hurt your fingers to move.”
Eddie laced his fingers behind his head. “But I guess that isn’t very realistic. Wish it was, though. But it’s just a bunch of bologna.”
His eyes drooped, but he did not fall asleep right away, for it is one thing to say people can fall asleep “as soon as their heads touch the pillow,” but quite another to actually do it. Especially when you can still hear boys playing baseball in the old lot down the street, and you have to stay in bed and not go out and play. It was really rather trying, what with having to go to bed a whole half hour before most of the other boys, and... Eddie was asleep.

This cover I actually made quite a while ago, but yesterday I fitted it with a story, named the little boy whom I find rather adorable and edited the picture itself a little. :)

Thursday, 26 June 2014

Plot Bunny First Scene #5.

I need to hurry up with my plot bunnies! I only have three more days not counting Sunday, so that means a plot bunny a day! I need to get cracking!

Here is plot bunny first scene #5, like the title says.

This is a nice ship. I likes ships. :D

“Be careful over there, father!” Charlotte felt her words fade away over the choppy water and her hand fell from the air to smack against her side. “Goodbye...” Michael’s hand touched her shoulder and she leaned her head against his chest, her eyes on the ship moving swiftly away from the dock. “I wish he didn’t have to go. Why must he leave us?”
Michael sighed. “You know, Lottie.”
Charlotte nodded slowly. “Aye. It is his duty.” The words dropped heavily from her mouth, weighed down with lead.
“Ah now, duty isn’t such a bad thing as that.” Michael took her arm and they began walking back along the street. “You make it sound as if he was committing a crime rather than serving the King.”
Charlotte pursed her lips. “It seems a bad thing when it takes him away from his family. ‘Tisn’t as hard for you, Michael! You’re a man. But I shall be so lonely.”
Michael smiled and touched her nose. “You’re not such a little thing. Sixteen is hardly a child anymore.”
“I didn’t say I was a child,” corrected Charlotte, stepping around a puddle.
“Besides,” Michael continued. “Father was working most of the day anyhow, so you didn’t see him that much.”
“During the day. At nights, we would sit on the porch together. You should know, Michael. You were with us. How can you forget so quickly?”
“I know.” Michael stared up at the starry sky. “I suppose I’m just talking like this because I’m afraid I will start missing him myself if I stop.”
Charlotte squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry, Michael. I shouldn’t have been so harsh. We shall have to comfort each other until father returns.”
“Aye. Besides, you have Gerald to keep you from being too sad.” Michael’s eyes were twinkling as he opened the door to the house.
“Michael! You know that Gerald is a close friend for both of us. Don’t talk like that!” Charlotte pressed her lips together, staring at the hem of her dress.
Michael tugged on one of her curls. “A close friend for both of us, eh? I’ll have to remember that if he has to ask me in place of father to start courting you.”
Charlotte slapped his hands and walked into the house. “You can act like such a little child, Michael,” she said scornfully, shaking her hair.

Saturday, 21 June 2014

Several Things...

First off, here is the first scene for Exchange Prisoner, my fourth plot bunny.

“Good morning, Bertram,” Angela yawned, staring up at the little monkey perched on the edge of the floor of his cage. “How does the sky look this morning?”
Bertram blinked his round eyes at her and squeaked in his own monkey language, which of course, Angela couldn’t understand a word of. He then swished his tail and yawned.
Angela yawned too. The morning felt dull and sloth-like. She dragged herself out of bed and went to the window, her knees trembling against one another. She just had to keep her eyes looking straight ahead, then she wouldn’t see how far up she was. Angela was deathly afraid of heights. For some things, she was a sensible girl, but when it came to places that were of high altitude, she was as useless as a piece of wood in place of a sword in the hand of a knight.
A knight would be useful at the moment, actually. Then she and Bertram could be rescued. Angela rested her chin on her hand and stared at the clouds. All her life she had dreamed of a dashing knight or prince coming to sweep her off her feet. Only a few had ever appeared, but they had either been of the age of five, or were already engaged to someone else, or had terribly bad habits.
But now there was not even one engaged, nose-picking, five year old to come to her rescue. Was she to spend the rest of her days locked in this tower, a prisoner to Count Tomas? Angela rubbed her forehead. Bertram squeaked again and leapt around inside his cage. She ignored him, knowing that if she undid the latch he would jump on her.

“I wish something would happen,” she said aloud, moodily. As soon as the words left her mouth, something did. A shoe flew through the window and landed by her feet. A very muddy, very smelly, shoe. With a piece of paper sticking out of it.
All right. Now, I have my fifth plot bunny! War Across the Seas. This one is one of those back covers that has part of the story from it instead of just a regular one.

“Lottie, what is it?” Michael took her by the arms and turned her to face him. “Why are you so upset?”
Charlotte bit her lip, trying to blink away tears. “I should think you would know, Michael Braxton! ‘Twas bad enough to have father leave, and now you say you wish to go and fight as well! Oh, why must young men be such hotheads, and wish to go and kill others? You will only be killed yourself, if you're not careful! I am so sick of this tiresome war! Why must the colonies rebel at all? Or why can’t we just let them be their own country? Surely after a bit they would tire of it, as with a new toy that grows old, and come back to us!”
Michael sighed. “It doesn’t work that way, my sweet. We must not let the colonies have their own way like this! ‘Tis like they are children! They must be trained, and brought up properly, else they will be entirely spoiled! I do not want to leave you all alone, but I must! For ‘tis my duty to go and fight for the King!”
“You do not want to leave me?” Charlotte snapped, grabbing her brother’s hands. “Very well then. I shall go with you! For if I cannot persuade you to stay, then I will not try! Instead, I will go with you!”
And now, for the last thing. I am so excited, my followers! For yesterday, I finished the first draft of my Beauty and the Beauty retelling!!!!!!! I am so happy! This novella took me eighteen days to write, is 16,021 words counting numbers for chapters, has four chapters, and has pleased me VERY much!! I think this is one of my favorites of what I have written so far. So, I am done the first draft and I am so happy! Very happy, Bob. Very happy. :)

Now I need a title. I have though of several, all not very good. But here they are, at least some of them.

True Love Heals
Love, Fear and Devious Deeds
Barbara and the Greg. *note. I am NOT using this one, it just popped into my head when I was trying to think of a title*

So. None of them are that good. Any suggestions?

Friday, 20 June 2014

Questions For the June Crusade.

You know, I am not good at post titles. In fact, I'm not good at titles, period. I still need to come up with a title for my Beauty and the Beast retelling story. :/

Well. Anyway, here are the questions that were posted on Anne-girl's blog for the June Crusade. So, here we go! I am answering them for my latest plot bunny, Exchange Prisoner.

Pick a "villain song" for this bunny. {i. e. Gaston,Falcon in the Dive }

Ummmm, I'm not very good at picking songs like this.... perhaps "Me" from Beauty and the Beast?

Take the first character you created for this bunny, what is his or her worst fear?

Heights. Angela is deathly afraid of heights. It doesn't help that she's now locked in a tower.

What does your protagonist do on wednesdays? Antagonist?

Count Tomas always goes sailing. Angela counts the stains on the floor of her room.

If your protagonist could steal something what would it be?

Angela would steal the key to her room. Also Count Tomas' wig. No one else but she knows he has one.

Give two of your characters a special thing that they do {like a special handshake, an inside joke, a tradition together}

Angela and her fellow prisoner Bertram the Monkey give each other high fives each morning and console each other abut the height problem. Bertram is afraid of heights too.

Pick the epicest person in your book and describe them. Preferably give an actor as well.

I'm not sure if I have a really epic person. This plot bunny isn't that good, and not too thought out.... maybe Count Tomas. He has a moustache with curly ends that he can twirl, and a big hat. This fits well!

This is Matt Baynton.

Which Jane Austen Character does your protagonist most resemble?

I don't know. Maybe Jane Bennet? I really don't know. Let me take a quiz... Marrianne Dashwood! Okay... 

How would your characters react to an airplane ride?

Angela would be terrified. She's scared of heights, remember?

What demographic could this bunny be for?

For anyone, I guess. Perhaps, though, more likely for ten to fourteen year olds?

Describe your inciting event

Ummm, the moment when she realizes that Count Tomas is in love with her. 

Saturday, 14 June 2014

#4: Exchange Prisoner.

The fate of a payment. Stunningly beautiful Angela was taken prisoner on board a pirate ship, and suddenly found herself faced with being used as a human peace offering when the pirate ship itself was raided. In order to keep his ship, the pirate captain offered Angela as a payment. And that was only the beginning. Since then, Angela has found herself in three different ships and two castles, continually being traded in order to keep something that her captor valued as more important. Will she ever be able to live peacefully again? Or will her life be one continual journey?

Friday, 13 June 2014

Secrets in the China: First Scene.

Here is my first scene for my third plot bunny.

It was a cool day for late August. Heavy clouds hung low in the sky, covering the feeble rays of sunlight trying to peek their way through the gloom. Chantal lifted the pitcher to the faint light and inspected the delicate design sprinkled across the smooth surface. Perfect. Andre would be so proud. He had wanted her to help him with the family craft for so long, and now his wish had come true. Chantal didn’t like to boast, (well, she liked to, but knew she shouldn’t) but she knew that her pitchers were a thing to behold. A spark of pleasure ran through her hands as she set her work of art on the table in front of their shop.
People would soon pass by, hurrying about doing their shopping, and their little shop would be filled with customers. And today, along with the things Andre had made, they had three pitchers and one vase to sell that she herself had made. It only Andre would come back from the river so he could see her handiwork.
Why does he need to go to the river so often? Chantal wondered, smoothing her hair down from its wild state of disorder. He goes every morning and nearly every night. What is the big secret?
Chantal frowned at her reflection in the glass. She would confront him as soon as he got home. She had a feeling that his river visits might actually be meetings with other young men to plot against the Republic. Foolish boys. Didn’t they know how much trouble they could get in if caught?
She heard his whistle from down the street and went to the door. “Andre!”
He swept her into a hug as he came in, clothes dusty, hair rumpled, boots muddy. “A fine day, Chantal, is it not?”
She pushed herself to the ground. “Andre, I want to speak with you.”
“Not now, little sister,” he yawned, going into the one other room of the cottage and stretching out on the bed. “I want to get a little sleep before the customers arrive. I was up before the sun and am positively fagged.”
Chantal followed him into the room and put her hands on her hips. “Non, Andre. I want to talk now.”
There was no answer save a taunting snore.
Chantal slammed the door to the room shut, hurried over to the bed and pulled his hair, not too gently. “Andre, you big oaf, sit up and listen!”
He sat up, grumbling and rubbing his head. “All right. I’m up. This had better be worth that tug on my hair, Chantal.”
Seating herself on the stool beside the bed, Chantal folded her hands. “Andre, I want to know what you’ve been doing down at the river.”
Andre avoided her gaze. “Just... talking with some friends,” he said cautiously.
“Very well. If you won't tell me, then I’ll tell you.” Chantal closed the shutters and lowered her voice. “You’ve been meeting to talk and plot against the Republic, haven’t you? Don’t try to lie or twist the truth, Andre. I’ve guessed, and I’m correct. Right?”
Andre looked at the ground for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Oui. Chantal, it’s to try and save the king and his family, and the hundreds of others who are in danger of their lives.”
“Andre,” Chantal whispered, taking his hand. “You and your friends are risking your lives to do this! If the Republic found out, you could all be arrested!”
“We don’t care.” Andre had pappa’s stubborn look in his eyes. “It is a risk we have to take to try and save these people.”
“What about me?” Chantal felt tears in her eyes. “What about the only family you have? You would risk my life and safety for people you have never met?”
Andre lowered his gaze. “I do not want to, Chantal. You must understand, ma cherie.” He drew her closer and stroked her cheek. “I do not want to put you, my friends, or myself in danger. But I feel that it is my duty to protect the people whom the Republic has threatened. Don’t you understand? You must not hinder me, but help. I will need your assistance, Chantal. Please, won’t you help me, and not tell me to stop trying?”
Chantal stared hard at the ground for a long moment. “I...”
Andre lifted her chin with one finger so their eyes met. “I know what I ask of you is very great, Chantal. But,” his hand tightened its grip on hers, “I would not ask if I did not think you capable of helping. You are strong, Chantal. You have the strength to help. So I ask once more, will you?”
Chantal took a deep, shuddering breath. Then she smiled slightly. “Oui, Andre. I will help. Tell me what to do, and I will do it.”

Thursday, 12 June 2014

Pictures For My New Story.

I bet you all have heard of or seen Pinterest. I do not have a Pinterest account, but here are some pictures that go with the Beauty and the Beast retelling that I'm
writing. So you can pretend that this post is my Pinterest board. :D I believe most of the pictures have to do with Greg. Whom, I think might be my favorite character. :)

Someone needs to tell this to Greg.

Okay, so this is actually from Beauty and the Beast, but it fits, obviously.

Greg again.

This is Greg and a certain person in the story.

Greg. Yup, most of these are for Greg. Why can't I find some for Barbara?

Greg? Don't you get it? Why can't you understand?

Guess who this is for?

Barbara needs to say something to that affect to Greg.


Nope, not Greg. This is Stewart.

Greg and Barbara.

No. No you're not, Greg. :(

Just change 'everyone else' to Barbara.

Greg after a certain point in the story. 

This story needs a name. It is a retelling of Beauty and the Beast, contains fear, anger, bitterness, a wicked plot, lies, and misunderstanding. Also love. Love is the greatest thing in the world. Except for an MLT. Mmm, mutton, lettuce and tomato, when the mutton is nice and lean and the tomato... okay, I'll stop. :D Kudos if you got that quote. :) But anyway, does anyone have any suggestions at a title? I;m not very good at picking a good one, or even thinking of one.

Tuesday, 10 June 2014

Plot Bunny #3: "Secrets in the China."

So, here is #3 for the June Crusade! Oh, by the way, the last one about Heather is called Happily Never After, just so ya know.

Secrets in the China

In a country filled with chaos, anger and fear, not many will stick their necks out to save others. Chantal is no such coward. Faced with the imprisonment of Andre, Chantal must find a way to save her brother from the blade of the guillotine. But how can she, with the Republic watching everyone so closely?

The answer is in her trade. By hiding secret messages in the china she makes, Chantal is able to smuggle information to her brother and other prisoners, showing them how to escape. But the Republic is becoming suspicious, and still her brother is not free. Will her operation be discovered? If so, it could mean the death of herself and all those she is striving so hard to rescue. Chantal is not about to let that happen without a struggle. But how much will her struggle cost?

Monday, 9 June 2014

Broken Frames and Princess Crowns.

“...I now pronounce you man and wife! Prince Edward, you may kiss your bride!” Heather kissed her new husband and a joyful wedding march sprang up as she turned and waved her hand to her loyal subjects. In front of her eyes a crowd of happy people stood, cheering the newlywed prince and princess. Shouts of joy reached her ears, but slowly became harsh and argumentative. The rosy glow of her imagination faded away, and she suddenly found herself in her bedroom, with no prince at her side, a handful of fake roses in her hand, a plastic tiara on her head and only an audience of dolls before her as adoring subjects.
But the shouts. The shouts remained, frighteningly loud and angry. The flowers fell from her hand as she crept towards the door to the hallway. The stairs of the house were very convenient, with a twist in them so an eavesdropper could listen undisturbed. Heather crouched next to the twist and held her breath, listening.
“Harry, I am tired of this! Day and night, it’s the same thing! Why don’t you just go and live somewhere else? You don’t care about us, so why do you still hang around? I’m sick of the sight of you!”
Daddy responded angrily, and the voices rose louder and shriller. Heather clutched at her doll that she hadn’t even realized she’d taken with her out of her room. Mama sounded so angry. Like she did nearly every day. Daddy would come home from work late, and mama would take out the frustrations of the day on him, and in return, he would blow up at her.
When the fight would finally end, both would stomp off to their separate corners and smoke cigarettes in stony silence, leaving Heather to sit in her room and pretend that nothing had happened. By morning, they would be cool and civil to each other, but to Heather, they would be as kind and loving as possible, acting as if everything was all right.
But everything wasn’t all right, and Heather knew it. It almost seemed better for them to yell at her than at each other. Many a time she had gone to her room and whispered fiercely to her dolls, “I’m not the only one in this family! Why can’t they love each other as much as they love me? Or why can’t I bring them together?”
Creeping back to her room, Heather cast about for her prettiest crown. Finding it nestled safely on the middle shelf of her closet, she held it gently, looking at the sparkling rhinestones. Daddy had gotten it for her last year, at a carnival....
“It’ll make you look so royal, Princess Marigold,” he said, setting it on her hair. “There. You look just like your mama. She’s a queen, and you are our princess.”
Heather smiled. “That makes you the king, daddy.”
He laughed, and swung her up onto his shoulders. “Yes. We’re quite the royals, aren’t we, princess?”
Plucking a leaf from a tree, Heather set it on her father’s head. “Yes, we are. Now you have a crown as well.”
Daddy pulled her down from his shoulder and held her against his chest in a hug. “Thank you, princess.” He tucked the leaf into his pocket. “Get one for your mama now. Our lovely queen must not have a bare head, now should she?”
Heather plucked another leaf and daddy began to put it into his pocket, but Heather stopped him. “Wait, how will you tell them apart?”
Daddy paused, then lifted mama’s leaf to his lips and kissed it. “This one has my love on it,” he whispered, as if sharing a secret with Heather. “Your mama will be able to tell. That happens when you love someone....”
Heather set the crown on her head and gazed soberly in the mirror. “What happened, daddy?” she asked softly. “Why did you have to change?”
But it wasn’t only daddy, of course. It was mama too. In the space of a year, her parents had turned from being passionately in love to hating each other, barely standing the sight of the other, not able to speak kindly to each other anymore.
Heather went to her dresser. A frame stood, partially hidden behind a jewelry box, in which a picture of two people was incased. She touched her fingers gently to the smooth glass, the tip of her fingernail on her mama’s face. How vividly she remembered the day that picture had been taken...
“Why’re you all dressed up, mama?” Heather spun around and around her mother, her eyes taking in the beautiful dress, the upswept hair, the high heeled shoes. “Is it because you’re going out with daddy?”
Mama laughed, a bubbling, happy, giddy laugh. “Partly, darling, but more because of the reason we’re going out. It’s your daddy’s and my anniversary.” She took Heather's hands in hers and they waltzed around the dressing room. Mama was humming a tune and laughing, and soon Heather was giggling; mama’s happiness was infectious.
“Here, you do it like this,” mama instructed, her hands steadying Heather’s waist. “Now, one, two; one, two; one--”
“Excuse me, madam,” daddy’s voice addressed Heather from behind. “But I believe you are dancing with my partner.”
Heather jumped to the side as daddy swept mama into his arms and they began to dance. Mama leaned her head against daddy, his chin touching the side of her forehead. Heather smiled and danced around them, not making a sound.
The dance ended with daddy swooping mama right off her feet and into the air, then twirling her around. When he finally set her down, they kissed for a long moment, and he turned to Heather a bit out of breath. “And that,” he smiled, straightening his tie, “is the way you dance. Farewell, my princess, your babysitter-- er-- royal governess, will look after you. I now take my wife away.”
He bowed gravely to mama. “My lady?”
“Coming, your majesty,” mama smiled, letting him kiss her hand. “Be good, Princess Marigold.”
Heather pressed her face to the window and watched as her parents walked down the path to the car, hand in hand. Daddy was saying something, and mama was dimpling, looking up into his face, the sun playing on her smile...
Heather stared hard at the picture frame. Mama had given it to her when she and daddy had come home that night. For a while, it had sat in plain view on Heather’s dresser, but when the fights had begun, it had eventually been shoved back, out of sight, but not out of mind. Not out of Heather’s mind, at least.
All was now quiet downstairs. Heather slipped down the steps and into the living room. Mama and daddy were nowhere to be seen. The only evidence of the recent fight was a frame lying against the stone of the hearth. Heather turned the frame over and a solitary tear came to her eye.
It was a photo of mama, daddy and Heather on Heather’s sixth birthday party. The frame was only a year old, and had been in good condition up until now. Through the middle of the glass, a long crack ran. Heather touched the sharp edges and sighed. The crack ran between her mother and father, separating them, and ran right through the middle of Heather, breaking her in two.

This was the first scene for Plot Bunny #2.