Ink Stained Paper Cuts

Xavian glanced around the forest glade before picking up the rabbit he’d caught. With a day until the transforming ceremony, he wants to ensure his mother will have enough food until his return. If he survives. Not everyone does. Some return scarred or missing limbs. Sometimes both. Tangible reminders signifying their transition into adulthood and magic. Absconded at night, they awake in unfamiliar territory and must navigate their way back equipped with a knife and a prism. Nobody knows Xavian…

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Papa, whiskers twitching with a smile, wiped his cow shoes before wrapping them in a scrap of cloth and hiding them in the back of the closet. On this moonless night, he’d walked deep into the woods under the blanket of darkness. Jars of moonshine, wrapped in burlap, hid in his pockets. A subtle sign of the silent rebellion we mountain people engaged in. Settled at the table, lantern low, he used his knife to sharpen the stump of pencil…

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The gaggle of white-haired women hurried down the hall, ignoring the staff following them, muttering something they couldn’t hear.  “Which room?” Hazel shouted, hearing aids off — again. Marge swung her heavy handbag towards the nearest door, accidentally hitting a member of staff. Rita, slowest with her walker, rolled past the young man crumpled on the floor while Marge burst through the door Hazel opened. “Edna, don’t start without us!”  A woman in a glittering gown stared at them, and…

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