Midweek Musings 1×05

While our ongoing intention with Midweek Musings is to bring you the latest and greatest (as we’ve heard and perceived it) music, we’re slacking just a tiny bit this month to ALSO tackle this little 50K project, NaNoWriMo’s little brother/sister/cousin/pet mongoose: JuNoWriMo.

*JuNoWriMo Edition*

*JuNoWriMo Edition*

We’re still bringing you NEW music, but it’s not quite as new as usual, as we’re prepping these posts in advance. So let’s turn up the heat this week with Leona Lewis’ foot-stomping, soulful, “Fire Under My Feet.”

I got fire under my feet
And I feel it in my heartbeat
You can’t put out all these flames
You can’t keep me down in my seat
I got fire under my feet
And I feel it in my heartbeat
You can get out of this place
If you can’t take the heat

I tripped and I stumbled
Watched my world crumble
Sometimes you eat dirt
You live and you learn

The lamb and the lions
The tigers and titans
Afraid to get hurt
But now I’m making them purr

I got fire under my feet
And I feel it in my heartbeat
You can’t put out all these flames
You can’t keep me down in my seat
I got fire under my feet
And I feel it in my heartbeat
You can get out of this place
If you can’t take the heat

Was drowning in quicksand
Nobody grabbed my hand
Thought it’d bury me
Instead, I’m set free

Moving onto the bigger things
I began to spread my wings
No longer in chains
I’m dancing over these flame

I got fire under my feet
And I feel it in my heartbeat
You can’t put out all these flames
You can’t keep me down in my seat
I got fire under my feet
And I feel it in my heartbeat
You can get out of this place
If you can’t take the heat

This may not be, not be perfect
But I’m happy and I’ve earned it
Every tear shed will be worth it
Step by step, ain’t looking back
Have no regrets

I got fire under my feet
And I feel it in my heartbeat
You can’t put out all these flames
You can’t keep me down in my seat
I got fire under my feet
And I feel it in my heartbeat
You can get out of this place
If you can’t take the heat

The Guidelines:

  • This is a non-judged free write session.
  • Use the prompt anyway you’d like.
  • Post anytime between now and next Tuesday.
  • Keep it under 1,000 words.
  • Leave encouraging comments for other participants.
  • Most of all, have FUN!

6 thoughts on “Midweek Musings 1×05

  1. Back from New York, with the fresh news of two hematophage blood rages all over the news, I headed for the precinct to powwow with Carlisle. I sat next to his desk in a cheap office chair that might not have had any better days to see. He pecked at his computer keyboard, talking to me in between lines of the handwritten report on his left.

    “What the fuck is going on, Kel?”

    “Officially? You’ll have to wait for Gail to fire up the P.R. gerbils to spin that story wheel. Unofficially, Irises seem to be the true targets of these attacks.”

    “The media is going nuts over the idea.” He glanced to the monitor, hitting the backspace rapidly. “I don’t know who leaked that news gem, but it’s all over.”

    “Carlisle. My office.” Captain Baker leaned out of her door. Dressed in a simple gray suit, she wore her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. Professional and lifeless. “Now, please.”

    “Yes, sir.” He scooted back from his desk. “Be right back.”

    ‘Right back’ turned into fifteen minutes. I paced around his desk, reading signage and whatever lay exposed within eyesight. When he emerged, a new tension rode his frame.

    “I’m off the case,” he said as he slumped into his chair.

    I wasn’t sure I hadn’t expected this, somewhere deep inside my brain. I hadn’t expected him to capitulate so easily, or the surge of anger I’d feel when he did.

    “Excuse me?” I sank back into the beat down task chair.

    “Captain says this is a LOCI matter, and Miami P.D. will not be assisting.”

    “Are you bullshitting me right now, Matt Carlisle?”

    He clenched his jaw.

    “You know I’m not.” He sighed and leaned back. “Captain says you’re bringing the heat with the whole world watching this case. The department is not willing to be compromised by bad press if this thing goes south.”

    “Gods damn you.” I stood up so fast the chair toppled behind me. I didn’t pick it up. “After every fucking case you’ve dragged me into? After all the times I’ve pulled your asses out of the fire?”

    “C’mon, Kelly. The press will crucify us if another of these vamp attacks happens because we stuck by you at the risk of this city.”

    “Stuck by me?” Holy fuck. This building was going to melt if I got any hotter. “You brought me in. I went to that party for you.”

    “And the very nice paycheck you collect from the city.”

    “Who are you?” I gaped at a man I no longer recognized. “Do you really believe I only help you for a shitty city consultant’s fee? Because let me tell you—Miami P.D. doesn’t pay dick for my services. I could make more bartending.”

    “You should go.”

    “What’s wrong, Matty? Is it really getting too hot for the Miami P.D? Or just for you? Is the captain offering you an easy out?” I waved toward the doors. “Exit’s right there, Detective. I’m sure your investigative prowess will lead you to it, and you can go hide in your bachelor pad until the scary monsters are defeated.” I shrugged. “Or take over the world and come knocking when they get hungry.”

    “You’re a bitch sometimes, you know that?”

    “And you’re an asshole,” I countered. “More or less all the time. See me giving up?”

    His dark skin wasn’t enough to hide the heated flush in his face.

    “And guess what? You don’t get to call me a bitch over this. I’m the one getting the shaft here. You think you’d get bad press helping me? Just wait until the media get wind of the Miami P.D. throwing a long-time friend to the department to the wolves.”

    “Damn you, Kelly.”

    “Ha!” The barked laugh hurt my throat. “Someone’s beat you to the punch, Carlisle. Or maybe you haven’t noticed.”

    Head high, I strode out of the precinct. In the parking lot, Graham, Scythe, and Jackson waited by my Jeep. Scythe spotted me first.

    “This does not look good.” He made a circular motion at me. “If I could read chakras, I’d guess yours are majorly bent right now.” With a low whistle, he asked, “Who lit the fire under your feet?”

    “What did the fools say?” Jackson asked.

    “Fools? Really?”

    “I’m being kind. Mentally I’m using a stronger noun.” Her admission drew a reluctant smile from me. “I’d offer to go mess a few of them up, but there would be blood, and our lives would get—complicated.”

    She touched a finger to the corner of her mouth. I wondered if she was as tempted to say hell with it as I was.

    “Carlisle is not with you, so I gather things did not go well.”

    “Miami P.D. has officially withdrawn any and all support,” I said. “This is a LOCI matter, and they can’t afford to back me up and risk provoking another hematophage attack on the city.”

    “Back you up?” Graham sputtered. “But they brought you into this.”

    “Strangely enough, I made that same argument.” I rubbed the pads of my thumb and index fingers together. “The tiny violin you hear is the sound of them not giving a rat’s ass.”

    Graham’s blue eyes burned golden.

    “Your eyes get so weird when you’re pissed,” I said. “Do you know that?”

    “What?” He drew back, blue once more the primary color.

    Jackson drew in a deep breath, gaze locked on Graham. I shifted my sight, but saw nothing unusual. His chromature was still green, with that ancestral trace of violet. What did she see?

    “Let’s go to the house,” Jackson said. “We have plans to make and matters to discuss that should not be recorded by nosy police cameras. Without the support of the police, we will be walking a delicate line to stay on the favorable side of the law and still bring this killer to justice.”

    Still riding high on my anger, I nodded.

    “Let’s bring down a bad guy.”

    1000 WIP words

    Liked by 1 person


    An unforgiving summer heat beats down on Neve Laugero as she loads boxes into her fifty-year-old VW bug. She might be a harried mover, packing up and heading out for new digs over the long weekend, if not for the fact that she’s in a hospital parking lot.

    Except for a splattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and a simple gold chain necklace with an anchor pendant, she’s dressed down and unadorned. She’s wearing cut-off jean shorts, a white tank, and camo flip-flops. Her long wheat-colored hair is piled on top of her head and pinned in place with a pencil.

    An elegantly dressed dark skinned woman carrying a briefcase approaches the overloaded Volkswagen. “Dr. Laugero?”

    She looks over the roof of the car and says, “My resignation has been tendered and accepted, so you can drop the title and forget about pitching whatever it is you’re selling.”

    “Looks like I got here just in time,” the woman says, setting the briefcase on the blacktop.

    “I don’t see how,” Laugero says, tying down the boxes on the roof, “As I said, I’m no longer affiliated with St. Christopher’s, or any other facility, for that matter.”

    “That answers my first question. Did you walk away from your medical license too?”

    Laugero closes the car door and comes around to give the woman a slow once-over. “Why is a top notch headhunter like you nosing around a no-name physical therapist like me?”

    “Danielle Kasula,” the woman says, extending her hand.

    Laugero ignores the gesture and crosses her arms. “I’m sure my cell number is somewhere in the file you had complied. Give me a call in a couple weeks. Maybe I’ll have the patience to listen to your spiel. But right now -”

    “I’m not a headhunter.”

    “Go on.”

    “I hired one to find you, yes,” Kasula says, nodding at the briefcase, “and I could have sent him after you, or I could have called or emailed you, but I came to make the offer myself.”

    Laugero sighs. “You have the time it takes me to drink a beer to make your case.”

    “I’m not sure I follow you.”

    “I’m saying we can stand here and bake in the sun or go across the street and cool off in the Paramount Grill while you talk.”

    Five minutes later, a waitress seats them in a window booth, brings them a couple cold brews and a plate of appetizers, and leaves them to it.

    “Let me get to the point, Neve,” Kasula says, halfway through her beer. “I’m the administrator of a small medical facility in California, near the Oregon border. We have a state of the art surgery and rehab clinic –“

    “No disrespect, but I’m done with hospital administrators and corporate practice.”

    “After what you’ve been through with St. Christopher’s board of supervisors and Administrator Alan Burke, I understand your hesitation. All I’m asking for is a consult. One week in exchange for a full month’s pay and board.”

    “That’s hardly enticement,” Laugero says, signaling for another round.

    Kasula waits for the waitress to deliver fresh glasses, takes a long drink, and looks across the table, makes sure she has Laugero’s attention. “I hear you’re thinking of reenlisting. Doing some peace time work. Maybe getting in with the medical corps this time out.”

    “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

    “The facility I mentioned is a veteran’s hospital.”

    Laugero’s breath stutters.

    “The salary is comparable –“

    “I don’t give a shit about the salary.”

    “I can have Burke’s reprimand expunged from your record.”

    Laugero stands up and reaches for the bill. “Tempting, but I’ll be better off –“

    “One day,” Kasula says, grabbing Laugero’s wrist. “One day to evaluate one patient.”

    The back and forth shakes her resolve. “Tell me, and talk fast.”

    “Completely uncooperative. If we can’t intervene, and soon, atrophy will get the better of her.”

    “Why do you think I can change any of that?”

    “You have what it takes to earn the patient’s respect. A service record.”

    Laugero fingers the anchor pendent lying warm against her chest. “One day?”

    Kasula nods. “One day. Two at the most.”

    “One day without administrative interference. I work with the patient as I see fit.”

    “Agreed. Our plane leaves tomorrow at 8 am.”

    Laugero scowls. “What about my car?”

    “I’ll have it shipped.”

    “For a one day consult? I don’t think so. You want me out there, we’ll drive out there. Together. What is it? Three days. Four at the most? That way we both get what we want.”

    “How’s that,” Kasula says, finishing off her beer.

    “You want a consult. I want a road trip.”

    Kasula rises and follows Laugero to the register. “By road trip, we’re talking about kitschy hotels, late morning lattes, and window shopping, right?”

    Laugero laughs. “Not a chance. You’re going to earn that consult the hard way. Pup tents, instant coffee, and a thirty hour drive without air conditioning.”

    It’s still hot as hell as they walk back to the car, and she’s still fired as hell, but she’s breathing easier and there’s something warm and sweet blossoming between her ribs – a seed of hope.

    She glances at Kasula and grins. Maybe a kitschy hotel or two along the way wouldn’t be too bad. People made concessions for friends, right? Because she had a damn good feeling that Danielle Kasula was going to be the best friend she’d had in a very long time.

    – – – – –
    @bullishink / 916 words

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Pingback: #MidweekMusings 1×05 : Fire | My Soul's Tears

  4. Flora paid for the drinks, then left the bar. She spoke with the grass, dirt, flowers, trees. “Where has Pahana gone?” A trail of white only Flora could see formed along the ground. She followed it.

    Pahana stood before the remains of his house. Fauna felt the heartbreak in his veins, the aching of his heart, the tears of his soul. “Pahana?”

    He turned as he wiped away his tears. “Flora?”

    Flora’s fingers touched his cheek, his tears. “Show me where they rest, please.”

    Pahana led Flora to a mass gravesite at the edge of town. A dozen fresh graves were there, unmarked. He stopped before three of the graves. “My daughter. My son. My wife.” He slowly sank to his knees. He didn’t cry. Flora knew he’d run out of tears in that place. All he could do was kneel before the graves, and pray someday he could feel anything other than empty.

    She placed a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you.” She spoke with the ground, the grass, the trees, the flowers. Pahana watched as green grass sprouted around the graves. At the head of each, a rose-bush grew. Deep red for his wife, peach for his daughter, yellow for his son.

    Pahana stood. “Thank you.”

    Flora smiled, touched his cheek once more. “Tell me, my friend, are there still angels here?”

    He nodded.

    “Tell me where they are.”

    He took her hand, and guided her through the town, to the home of the mayor. “They took over everything.”

    She smiled, touched his cheek once more, “Go someplace safe. Tell everyone you can to hide someplace safe.”

    “What are you going to do?”

    Flora said nothing. Pahana looked at her, into her eyes. He saw fire. Burning, white-hot fire.

    “Be safe, Flora. Please.” Pahana left, running from house to house, telling people the fairy Flora was here to save them from the angels. “Get somewhere safe!”

    Flora called on the wild magic. She knew it was the machines of her world, of Cylinders. The ubiquitous machines flowing in the blood of everyone, in the air, the water, the trees. She still called it the wild magic. She couldn’t begin to understand the machines, their sciences, their technology. But she could understand wild magic. Especially her wild magic.

    Vines grew, came alive, gathered around her. A vine crossed the ground to the door of the house. It grew between the door, and frame, unlocked the door. The door swung open, silently. Flora entered the house, the vines surrounded her, protected her.

    She moved room to room, searching for the angels. They’d gathered the beds of the house, the chairs, the tables, in one room. They slept there, draped across everything. They had no guards. They were angels. No one would attack them.

    Flora spoke to the wild magic. The vines spread rapidly through the room, twisting around each angel, binding hands, feet and wings. No angle was free. The vines trapped them all. She spoke to the wild magic again.

    The vines erupted in flames.

    The angels burned.

    Flora watched them die. “For Pahana. For his family.” She walked among the dead angels. “For my sister.”

    She walked from the home, still surrounded by vines. Outside, the vines spread until the house was no longer visible. She heard the sound of wooden beams splintering. The vines crushed the house, consumed it, turned it, and everything in it, back to dirt.

    The fire in her eyes never wavered, never faded. “The angels want a war.” She spread her wings, “Then they shall have a war.” Her wings tore into the air as she took flight. She used the wild magic to guide her as she headed toward her mother’s side.

    It was time to stop the angels.

    Time to stop the madness.

    “There must be no more families like Pahana’s.”

    639 words


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