Because I Promised Kylie I'd Write A Short About Purple Mold...

Iyanna screamed. One long, loud note of desperation and horror rang out in the quiet of the small hut.

Westin ran in to the outhouse, where Iyanna stood, tears leaking from her eyes and both hands pressed hard against her open mouth. She was shaking. Her brother grasped her hard on her shoulders. "Yan! What's wrong? Answer me!"

Iyanna wanted to scream again, to tell him that the end had come, that he was hurting her, but she could never judge her brother. He was as afraid as was she... desperately afraid. She melted, sobbing, into his arms.

He stroked her hair, held her tight until the shaking subsided. "What's wrong?"

She sat up, looked him in the eye, and said, "Look around you, West. Look what's happening." She felt a tremor start in her hands again as he observed, with a look of pure terror, the walls of the room.

Reddish violet mold had crept up the walls in just a matter of hours. It gave the room a dark, dank hue and an unpleasant odor.

But that was not the reason for their fear. This mold was more than just a structural problem. Everyone in Voresct knew the significance of the violet mold. It's rarity made it instantly recognizable. No one knew quite where it came from, only that it was a gift from the God who had created their land. Simply put, the violet mold warned of conflict, of war, and mostly, of death.

War had not come to Voresct in sixty-nine years. Recently, it had threatened only the very outer borders. But this? This sign that open war and quick death were coming to Iyanna's farm? Something had to be wrong.

Iyanna sat, staring at the voracious mold that threatened their lives, long after Westin left. At thirteen years old, Iyanna hardly knew what to make of it all. She was too young to die. She hadn't done anything worthwhile yet. The mold could not speak of her death. Her three younger sisters? She shuddered. Not them. So tiny, so innocent. She would not allow it. Her mother? Too weak and careworn to be of any notice.

Her heart leaped. Westin? No. No. Her hands started to shake again. She bit her tongue and willed herself to stop tremoring. Sweet Westin, her adored, adorable big brother, was the air she breathed. He meant everything to her. She wasn't sure she could make it with him dead. No, she was quite sure she couldn't.

Tendrils of musty odor slipped into her hair. She clasped both hands together, hard. Please God, she said, If there is a God, save my brother's life. Don't let this omen come to pass. Spare us. Spare us.

( The purple mold is from Kylie. I promised her I'd write a short that involved purple mold that warned of attacks. This was the result. It's totally strange, but maybe you'll enjoy seeing a piece of my brainstorm-stories. If not, stick around and I'll post something more serious in a day or two. - C.
An added note: If you want to read Part II of The Purple Mold Trilogy [no, I did not come up with the name- that was Kylie] go ahead and visit her blog at www.reflections412.wordpress.com. -C.)