SOUL-SHIFTER - Chapter 1SOUL-SHIFTER
©2009 Bonnie Watson
The memory was as clear to me now as though it had just happened. Smoke wafted under the basement door while my mother continued to fix dinner. It wasnt the first time, so she was used to it or so her thoughts told me.
Being only a year old at that time, everything fascinated me, to the plain white tablecloth on the kitchen table to the smoke wafting under the door. On wobbly legs I ventured close and pressed my hands against its wooden frame. Thats when my mother grabbed me.
Allen! she scolded in a warm tone just before the door opened.
What? My father halted on the other side, then cautiously peered around with a flask of liquid in one hand.
My mother just shook her head and returned to the stove with me tucked under one arm. She stirred the stew beginning to bubble.
You should be more careful, She pointed at him with her spoon. Hes learning to wa
SOUL-SHIFTER - PrologueSOUL-SHIFTER
©2009 Bonnie Watson
Six stories up and the only thing between me and escape was a gap in between rooftops. Six minutes ago I thought I had lost her. Six hours ago I had been at a coffee shop wondering whether to tell my parents the truth. Being pregnant would have been a better story and possibly had a happier ending. Quite the opposite now as I scanned along the narrow ledge for an escape ladder, steps, anything! There should have been a streetlamp below. Now the alley was as dark as the night sky.
The rattling of metal staircase alerted me to another person approaching. I knew who it was. We had met for coffee earlier. An attractive woman, her blond hair was like mine, short and wavy. I had felt drawn to her then. Her words were compelling and understanding in that motherly way. But it was all those probing questions that got me thinking. It was as if something was telling me to get away, some nagging pull that led me here. But why?
The Soul-ShifterTHE SOUL-SHIFTER
©2009 Bonnie Watson
I had a good life. Everything I wanted: a house, wife, two kids; it was the perfect setup for one like me. One I suppose, who had two talents.
The first talent was simple. Come home. Greet kids. Kiss wife. Undress. Eat dinner. Sleep.
My other talent it all began with a kiss, and it wasnt from the wife.
Lovely. Fiery red hair. Matched her temper too. She could make any man crave for seconds. I was young and foolish back then. I had my share, just as anyone else. Yet my type of craving could not be satisfied with a mere one-nights stand.
I had to possess.
That body, sleek and curving with two full moons upon a chest to block out the light of day. She was a fine catch, but something I should have left well alone. In my blindness, I kept wanting more, kept coming back. Always, she was alone and waiting to take in all I had to give that is, until she found another. He was slightly older, maybe mor
Mousel - WIP short storyMOUSEL
©2004-2009 Bonnie Watson
A blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the underground passages, causing bits of dirt and dust to fall between the cracks that had yet to be patched. The tunnels were ancient, built generations ago when the first mouse set its tiny paw prints upon the dirt. Now it was home to thousands. Each mouse lived according to the laws set down by their ruler, King Sniff-it. His generation had come and gone, but still he ruled with a strong paw and clean whiskers, and not a cat or bird of prey or human dared to intrude. In fact they could not, for the kingdom of mice lived entirely on an oasis of islands, linking to and from each one by climbing over ropes that were tied to a single tree to each island. In total there were three islands.
What? What is it? King Sniff-it came scurrying toward the cry as fast as his little legs could go. Whats happened? Tell me! Tell me quickly!
The kings nephew,
Chelsea - Short Story UpdateCHELSEA AND THE RENEGADE SHAPE-SHIFTER
Copyright © 2009
The morn was as bright as any other day for the sky homes in Sundire. High above the clouds they collected like giant lilly pads of independent villages, attached from below to keep from floating off. As twelve-year-old Chelsea Williams trotted outside, she wondered how far down they went, especially when a piece of paper swept away from her grasp and was lost over the edge. How many others were there, she pondered, collected over time in a place where no other could venture? That was, unless you had a shape-shifter, which Chelsea did not at the moment. Instead, she waited patiently with her pad of paper settled on her lap, pencil in hand, and began to draw.
It was half past noon by the time the carrier arrived, late as usual. Chelsea pocketed her pencil and rose when the great winged beast carrying the latest letters of importance to her village appeared in the distance. A spectacular site, its