Sketch – Page 2 – Esther Davis

When The Gardener Sings

by Esther Davis

I taste the world. Bitter chemicals my neighbors sweat. The sweet nutrients my buried tendrils grasp. Refreshing water drawn through my roots. I feel the breeze ruffling my petals, the rain as it runs down my stem. I sense the sunlight tickling my leaves. Sense, but not see. I only see when the gardener sings.

His shadow interrupts the sunlight’s tickling, and cool liquid embraces my roots. It comes first as a low hum that vibrates my fibers. Then the hum becomes more.

I hear through the gardener’s ears and see through his eyes. A bed of swaying tulips rained on by a can, and a song. A song full of memories. Old. Ancient. He doesn’t know where the song began, only that his great-grandmother learned it from hers… Continue reading “When The Gardener Sings”

Rose of Darkness

by Esther Davis

Water stains and rips decorated the package cupped in her hand. A dirty string held the parchment wrapping together. No address or name, to or from. The mail dragon didn’t need words.

Neither did Emma.

Only one man would seek out the mail dragon to find Emma, hiding in the city of Trygghet.Only one man could have sent it.

Or his enemies… Continue reading “Rose of Darkness”

Dear Papa

"Special Delivery" by Kim Sokol — “Special Delivery” by Kim Sokol

by Esther Davis

The silver dragon perched on the hilltop. Its rider tightened its saddle and adjusted the bundle on its back. Crystal’s sandals pattered on the cobblestone as she gaped at the mail dragon. She ran on, clutching the envelope to her chest.

Dear Papa,

Can I call you Papa? I’ve always wanted a real papa.

Crystal scribbled the words on a scrap of parchment as soon as she slipped away from Mama’s rant. “Made the biggest commotion when it flew in. Rotten magic folk should get the message already. The mayor tried shooing her off, but the rider insisted. Stubborn as rhino dung!”… Continue reading “Dear Papa”

Nowell

by Esther Davis

Nowell thrust Fyrsken into the snow and leaned on the sword’s hilt. The frost caking his gloves seeped through the cloth, stinging his fingers.

“We need to go back,” Nowell said.

Sleipnir stopped. The white wolf twisted his neck to peer back at his master. “They don’t deserve you.”… Continue reading “Nowell”

Don’t Forget to Feed the Computers

by Esther Davis

“Don’t forget to feed the computers.”

Dr. Whitmore pitched another fork of hay over Chicago’s iron fence. The elephant pinched the yellowed straw with his trunk and shoved it into his disproportionately tiny mouth. On paper, Chicago counted as another of Dr. Whitmore’s experimental specimen. The only real experiment was seeing how long he could get away with keeping a pet elephant.

“Could you feed them, Honey?” Dr. Whitmore asked. “I’ve got to finish another research proposal. Funding doesn’t grow on trees.”

Mrs. Whitmore crinkled her pudgy nose. “Have I ever offered to touch that sludge? You feed them.” … Continue reading “Don’t Forget to Feed the Computers”

Cobweb of Ghosts

by Esther Davis

I watched the lone survivor ease back into the conscious world. Bloodied mud and scarlet-stained moss lay around him. I ran my tongue over the flesh wedged between my teeth, savoring the taste of centaur.

Sanroc rose to his hooves, staggered a moment. I probed Sanroc’s mind, searching for fear, but found none. Still dazed.

My eyes glazed over as I further submerged myself into his consciousness. I smirked at his grasping for memory. Mortals. Such feeble minds.

He’d been brought here against his will. Sanroc remembered that much. But he still didn’t see the shreds of ropes mingled with the surrounding carnage nor the dagger, forgotten, beneath the stunted, gnarled spruce.

Odan came in the night. He’d dragged Sanroc–gagged, bound, and blindfolded–from their village under the veil of the new moon. Sanroc massaged his head now, trying to pull his memory to the surface. He saw again Odan’s bitter eyes. I remembered the vengeful lust I’d lapped from his kidnappers mind.

I pulled back to my body, leaving only the smallest probe in Sanroc’s head. I dug my claws into the bark and shifted my weight to make branch groaned beneath me. Sanroc’s head snapped towards the dark trees. All at once he saw the carnage, remembered the screams, and knew I–the beast in the shadows–had devoured his “friend”… Continue reading “Cobweb of Ghosts”

Tech #Disaster 101

@EstherDDavis

Mrs. @SprklyBubbles96 1

#English800

2 Sept 2073

5 Paragraph Essay: Technological First Aid 2 (First Draft)

Bright screens, blaring music, the aroma of chocolate cake drifting from the i-Sens Box’s ad… welcome to the ideal American home. Our #technology keeps us alive, feeding us the constant simulation the human brain craves for survival. But what if an EMP exploded above Washington? 3 :O Goodbye to electronics, permanently.

Don’t worry, the human brain can survive a full 26 hours 4 without constant stimuli. 🙂 5 But only 26. In an #emergency, your first priority is finding new stimuli. Water, food, shelter—that can wait. Continue reading “Tech #Disaster 101”

Not a Frog

by Esther Davis

“I don’t think it’s a frog egg.” Dain raised the glass to eye level and turned it slowly. “You could’ve at least given him a bigger container.”

“The egg was smaller, I swear! By, like, a lot.” I didn’t like how Dain only clamped the glass’s rim from above. After three nights in the cupboard, the growing egg had pushed nearly all the water out. Some of the moisture still lingered on the side. What if the glass was too slick and my not-really-a-tadpole slipped from Dain’s fingertips? I resisted the urge to snatch the glass and cradle it against my chest.

The once penny-sized bubble now pressed against the glass walls. The confinement had warped the egg sac, making it more cylindrical than spherical. In the orange liquid floated not the pet tadpole I’d expected, but a dragon fetus. Continue reading “Not a Frog”

Men of Blades

by Esther Davis

The Obelisks should have saved us.

Joshr perched on the boulder, waves crashing against the rocky shore at his back. The Obelisk rose from the volcanic rock like a charred tree from ash. Its protective enchantments still held. The runes running up its hundred-foot spine still glowed blue. Far to the west and east, other Obelisks shone, each holding their ancient vigil.

No enemy could breach the unseen wall spanning between the Obelisks. But the Builders never knew enemies could come from above… Continue reading “Men of Blades”