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 |  A folder for my writing August 2017 & July 2016 |
| Layla Flower's father was a painter who always used her mother as his model, but he never painted Layla. Although Layla begged him and asked repeatedly with promises of staying motionless without breathing, her words were spent in vain. “Too risky,” her father answered. “You are too pretty to paint.” “But what about Mom?” “She is pretty, too, but her face has character.” So, Layla gave up asking...until she turned nineteen when she thought she needed to find that character thing to show up on her face. One day, she came across a cheap trip for college students and asked her parents to send her to Paris. “Great city!” said her father. “Okay, but visit the catacombs. It’s one in a lifetime experience.” Beckett Sand paused to stand in the doorway to his grandparents’ room, but his grandparents who had raised him were not there anymore. Their place was dark, empty, sterile, with no life or motion. The deep shadows in the hallway brought back memories, but there was nothing there for him now. At twenty-two, he didn’t need such a big run-down house. So, he told the real-estate gal to accept the first offer. He wanted to leave the area anyhow. Afterward, with some of the money from the sale of the house, Beckett decided to take a trip to Paris, having read of the catacombs. On the same day Beckett was to board, Layla, too, boarded the plane that was heading to Orly airport. Just before the doors were closing, she noticed the young man rushing inside the plane while gasping for air. The flight attendant showed him to the empty seat next to Layla. “I’m sorry,” said the man, “May I stick my bag in front of you. It won’t fit in the corner space here.” “Sure,” Layla smiled. “There is enough space here. My overnighter is at the top.” “Beckett Sand, how are you?” “Fine, thank you. I’m Layla. Layla Flower.” “Is this your first trip to Paris? Mine is.” “Mine, too,” said Layla. “Only for a week, and the first thing my dad wants me to see is the Catacombs.” She rolled her eyes. “I am going to Paris especially to see the Catacombs,” said Beckett. “A pal of mine went there and he thinks the place is haunted with all the dead skeletons.” “You don’t say! Maybe I’ll take a guided tour, so I won’t get lost.” “Some newspaper guy is also insisting that in the Catacombs is a wormhole.” “Wormhole? Wormhole as in separated regions of space-time?” “Exactly! But then, everyone claims something odd, these days. We could go tomorrow. At least, we’ve met and we’re both from the states.” Layla felt Beckett was eyeing her face with appreciation. She thought he was kinda stunning, too. “That would be great to get it over with right away,” she said. “Then the rest of the time, we’ll be free.” A single ticket into the catacombs was $32, but a private tour for two cost $55. So, Layla and Beckett went on the private tour together. “Creepy!” Layla shuddered at the sight of the walls. “Imagine! All those people once lived!” “This place used to be limestone mines, first,” the tour guide began explaining, but right then, someone called him for help with a tourist who had fainted. “You two stay here. I’ll be back. It won’t take a minute.” He dashed off. “This is not professional!” said Layla. “Look, there’s another tourist group, way over there. Let’s go join them.” Layla would rather wait for the guide, but she didn’t want to stand there alone since Beckett was already walking that way. The next second, Layla slipped and tried to hang on to Beckett. Then, neither knew what happened, but they found themselves walking through a thick forest, far too dark. “I can’t walk and I can’t see a thing.” Layla was so furious at her father now, worse than when he rejected to paint her picture. “I hate to tell you this, but I think we hit the wormhole.” ‘Oh, nooo!” Suddenly, something who Layla thought to be a monkey jumped in front of them. That being had nut-brown, spotted skin, large ears, and gold-green, cat-like eyes. It was about three to four feet in height and moved gracefully back and forth in front of them as if dancing. “I think I know who that is,” whispered Beckett. “He is a green seer of the children of the forest.” “You mean Game of Thrones? But that is fiction!” “Apparently not!” “Hush,” said the being. “Humans aren’t our friends. But you dress weird. From whence do you come?” “Paris!” both said. “How did you know English?” asked Beckett. “We can read minds and learn very quickly. I see that you have come far and wide, and you two are in love.” “What?” both exclaimed. “It happened when you were among the clouds. You’re destined to be together. We can cut the chase and marry you off, here. Why not? Life’s short!” “What is this place called?” Layla asked to change the subject. “Stormlands, what else. This forest is the best place there is. The rest you don’t want to know. And what may you be called?” “I’m Layla Flower.” “I’m Beckett Sand.” “Enemies!” screamed the green seer. Abruptly beings like him jumped down from the trees, but an older one among them, hushed others. “You’re the bastards of Martell and Tyrell, but how are you together? You are not supposed to unite. Oh, oh! Love! You eloped. But that is a disgrace! You have to marry, now, and urgently.” Beckett grabbed Layla’s hand. “Let’s get out of here!” And they ran with the tree children after them. Suddenly, Layla slipped on wet leaves… “Aha! There you are!” Their guide was gasping for breath. “I was looking for you. Where’d you disappear?” “You wouldn’t believe!” Layla rolled her eyes. Beckett snickered. ------------ 987 Words Prompt 2: Write a story in the Romance genre, set in the Game of Thrones world. You do not have to use existing characters, but you can. Give it a happy ending.  |
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