This week was a busy week! I'm so excited to have had the chance to read a critique two of the short stories from this round. If you haven't already, you need to check out Kristin Record and David Neuner's stories. Also, I want to thank Dani and Clari for the critiques on my story. They were both really helpful in pointing out areas I could clarify. Because of their comments and notes I hope I tightened this up and add a touch more tension.
Without further ado, here are the edits I made this week after the feedback. Everything in blue was added, orange was deleted, green was moved and black stayed the same. Just to track word count, draft 1 was 600 words, draft 2 was 1100 words, and draft 3 is 990 words. To read the clean copy check out this week's Part 2 post.
“Black as night. Light as day.” Azami choked on her tears as she draped her upper body over the lid of her mom’s casket. “Extinguish the candle of the past. Today we celebrate the present and prepare for the future of tomorrow. We protect our clan coven, we love our family, and we care for those who cannot care for themselves.” Azami whispered the prayer of her family’s coven the coven’s prayer, one a group she’d never met her mom didn’t get the chance take Azami to meet. Her aunt’s arms wrapped around her waist and tugged, but Azami refused to let go of the cold metal beneath her hands.
“Azami, it’s time to go.”
She shook her head. “No. I can’t leave her. She promised everything would be all right.”
One finger at a time, Azami was pulled away from her mom until she twisted around and buried her head in Aunt Charlotte’s stomach.
Azami sniffed once more then backed away. She needed to get out of the stuffy funeral home. Why do they call it a home? No one would actually want to live here. The white walls and red scratchy pews benches closed in until she couldn’t find a breath. A burn built in the bottom of her lungs and pushed out through her eyes. While searching for an escape Azami realized most of the people who’d come to say their final goodbyes were strangers.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It will get better.”
Words she’d heard over and over the last few weeks. Ever since the day Mom breathed the last breath she’d ever take. The day Azami lost the person she admired the most, the one who promised to teach her everything about being a witch.
Gone for good.
Sunlight streaming through a stain-glassed window across the way gave Azami her something to focus on until the walls quit caving in and the fire in her lungs cooled. She tracked the light to a house off in the distance, one etched in her memories from the many trips she and her mom had taken during the summer. Pieces of siding dangled from the front and sides. Gray shutters hung on by a single nail. Mom always said it wouldn’t take more than a gust of wind to blow the off. Except, that wasn’t true because every time they visited, nothing had changed. No one cleared the dead weeds from the front of the house or repaired the hole in the middle of the second step. The front door had been was the only piece of the house that didn’t look like it was five hundred years old.
Ghosts lived in the haunted place—or so the people in town said. Even if there were ghosts, it didn’t mean they were evil or filled with darkness. She and her mom. had planned a sleep over for the weekend before school started. They were supposed to have a sleepover before school started again.
But that wouldn’t happen now. Or ever. Freaking doctors and their stupid medicines.
Without thinking, Azami took off to her left toward a door to get out of the place.
“Where are you goin’?” Aunt Charlotte called out.
“To the bathroom.” She swiped a hand across her cheek to dry the last of the tears she’d let fall. Aunt Charlotte nodded then turned to an old man and some kid about her height standing off to the side. Azami studied the gray hair sticking out of the gentleman’s ears, the dark spots on the back of his hands. Was he a warlock? Could he introduce Azami to her mom’s clan? As questions invaded her thoughts, the He turned to face Azami. He was older than she expected, maybe twelve or thirteen like her. His eyes, the color of a lime, caught her attention only to be outshined by a gold aura outlining his form body. brought on another round of tears, distracting her away from the path to the bathroom. Auras and their meanings were the first lessons Mom taught her on the hill behind their home.
This one stood out though, He was different though. because Most of the guests’ auras were black or gray, not a brilliant gold. Shinier than the gold ring Azami wore on her middle finger. A gift from Mom after she completed her first potion. He lowered his chin with a half-smile, half-frown. When the boy took a step toward He took a step toward her and the hair on the back of her neck raised. Azami she turned on her heel and headed toward the hall for the exit, which happened to be the same one as the bathroom something about him felt familiar, but wrong. About halfway to the door a picture on the wall fluttered.
“Must be a gust of wind.” Azami said to no one in particular. Azami looked over her shoulder to the boy with his hand waving in the air. Had he done something to the picture? She stopped to inspect it.
A chill raced up her spine, her shoulders shook. With one finger, Azami traced the frame of the painting, She looked around then glanced around to make sure no one was watching see if anyone watched her. No one, not even the boy was there. She touched the spark of light smack dab in the middle. Like the flame of a candle, but not, it was a flare. It sent electricity down her arm. Azami gasped, but continued to She traced trace the light to the hand holding it, and down the arm of a woman with long black hair similar to hers and silver eyes like her mom’s. The woman who held onto a pole at the edge of a white cliff.
“Wonder what she’s reaching for.” Azami considered the emptiness in her chest. It mimicked the feel of the picture, nothing around but a single pole and a light in her hands.
A voice eerily like her mom’s came from the open window at the end of hall. “Come. It’s time.”
She ran out the door and up the street to the house. The click clack of the low-heeled shoes against the pavement calmed the ache in the middle of her chest. A gust of wind lifted her skirt, but it didn’t matter, she’d worn shorts underneath—even if Aunt Charlotte said she was old enough not to have to wear them anymore.
“You’re becoming a lady, Azami. Ladies don’t need shorts under their skirts. They know how to act when wearing one.” Aunt Charlotte preached earlier that morning. Her mom never would have told her not to wear a skirt. One never knew when they’d have to run or get down and dirty.
It was always better to be prepared. That’s what her mom had said.
Laughter exploded out of her. Azami stopped at the bottom of the steps to the house, placed her hands on her knees and laughed so hard more tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Why did you leave me, Mom? Aunt Charlotte doesn’t know anything about us. That’s what you said. Now I can’t learn. I won’t be able to carry on as a member of the coven. You said it would be okay. Mom. Are you there?”
The laughs turned to giggles then coughs all while she kept on crying. Of course she wasn’t. Azami fell to the ground, she gripped her hands around her knees, and buried her head chin in her chest.
“I miss you so much. Why isn’t there anything I can do to get you back? A spell. A potion. Something. Anything. I don’t want to be alone.”
Quite whispers floated through the air.
The screen door squeaked open then banged shut. Azami jumped to her feet and backed away.
“Who’s there?”
“Me.” The boy with the gold aura stepped from around the corner of the house. “Your mom sent me.”
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