Fairy Lights by Lisa

My most memorable birthday was probably my fifteenth. It started out wonderful. Saturday. No school. Chocolate chip pancakes. My little brother had a sleepover with his Scouts team, so even he didn’t ruin it, though I’m sure he would have if he could have.

And did I mention? Mark Cotter, the second-hottest guy in school (the hottest is Tad Claybourne, but he’s a jerk)had just asked me out on a date.

Bear in mind that when I say hottest, I mean on the Brains/Looks Qualitative Scale. Ted Claybourne was about a 6/10, giving him a 6 for Brains and a 10 for Looks, a cumulative 16, but not really the most attractive thing when you took into account his less-than-charming personality. Mark Cotter, on the other hand, was about an 8/7. More evenly balanced. And probably the nicest guy at school. All in all, a much better catch.

I brought him as my date to my party. It was spectacular, with fairy lights leading all the way from my grandmother’s back porch, far into the forest behind. The music and guests were all more beautiful than I could have hoped for. I think Mark was really impressed. He kissed me, even.

There was just one big problem… he thought I was human.

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Temporary Hiatus

Hey there Hollow Tree dwellers! Given the inconsistency of our recent posts, and Lisa and I’s inability to be 100% present during these reckless summer months, we have decided to take a temporary hiatus. We’re thinking late September, when things slow back down.

That doesn’t mean the tree will be abandoned. We’re currently lining up some exciting guest bloggers who will regale you with tales from their own brilliant imaginations and we will let you know who and when as slots fill up. If you’re a writer and you’re interested, please let us know! We’ll schedule you! 🙂

Meanwhile, enjoy the sunshine folks. And we’ll see you when the leaves start browning.


The Rebellion by Isabelle

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Lana waited for the search light to make another round, counting down the sequence she’d committed to memory. Rubbing sweaty palms on her thighs, she straightened her shoulders, crouching low for the run.

“Get ready,” she called behind her.

3-2-1.

They rushed across the abandoned plaza and ducked into the sharp angles of the building’s entryway. Jo’s feet were solid lead, banging on the concrete, her breath a frantic pant behind her. Lana waited for the sirens, her heart in her throat, her body tensed for another run. The army never came.

There was only silence. Silence and the sound of Jo’s hysterical breathing.

“Think you could breathe a little louder, Jo?,” she bit over her shoulder. “I don’t think the guards quite hear you.”

“Nick said he’d be here.”

“And he will.”

“Then where is he?”

“Maybe he’s running late.” Lana cupped her hand above her eyes and pressed against the glass. Everything within the building was still dark, only shadows and moonlight dancing in slow circles across the stark white tiles.

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A Little Late

My apologies for the silence! I was on vacation until Sunday and got back to immediate domestic duties (note: unpacking sucks). Please forgive me! I will try and have a freebie up on Friday. I hope you’re all enjoying your summer. 🙂


Weary Traveler by Lisa

He moves a dusty patch of earth behind him with every step. His steps, once eager, had slowed to determined, mechanical movements.

He didn’t know how long he’d been walking. A month? A year? A lifetime.

Always he was pulled on by a waft of air, reminiscent of her smell, her hair, or a flash of movement in the distance like the swish of a dress. Continue reading


Dust by Isabelle

The window ledge is small, far smaller than I remember. Maybe it always was. Maybe I’m the one that’s grown.

So much looks different now. The fields are green and lush as always, but the cityscape on the horizon is new. A sign of time passing. Of moments left behind.

I shift my weight, adjusting my feet, clutching the frame in a white-knuckled grip. The distance between my feet and the ground grows into a dizzying tunnel vision. I shut my eyes tight and breathe. One misstep would send me plummeting five stories down. Continue reading


Mooniversary by Lisa

A little science fiction, in honor of Mr. Bradbury passing away earlier this month.

I miss color.

That’s the one thought going through my head as I scan item after item for customer after customer. It’s been a busy shift, what with the holiday and all. Everyone in the whole colony seems excited except for me.

I miss color.

It had seemed so cool when the opportunity first came up. I mean c’mon, I was eight. Who didn’t want to live on the moon? It had seemed like the best birthday present ever. We would be the very first, and Dad was going to develop moon-growing vegetables and Mom was going to design a drill to well deep into the surface to harvest moon ice.

Plus there was a rocket ship ride. Complete with a whole hour of anti-gravity free time. That feeling of floating, of not being weighed down by yourself or towards anything else, was the most amazing thing in the world.

I even got to wear a spacesuit. Had to, in order to get from the ship into the airlock. Fifteen minutes to put on a suit I got to wear for about two and a half. That was pretty cool, too.

Our first year was in tents, as the building happened. They’d built the entire Air-and-Grav dome around absolutely nothing to begin with, because it cost less to have people work after the dome was built, than outfit a bunch of people in suits for long periods of time. It seemed like camping. Which is fun for about two weeks. But then you kind of miss running water and warmth. The AG dome is protected from the harsh heat in the sun and cold in the shadow times, but the temperature is always either chilly or hot. And really, there wasn’t much here but rocks and dirt at first, so exploring wasn’t as exciting as it sounded.

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