Tag: writerslife

Travel Post – Rotterdam (Part 2)

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Rotterdam Centraal Station_preview

Where I feel good, I’m at home. – Erasmus

A quick train ride in a sun-drenched morning and soon the naked trees and rural countryside gave way to the city of Rotterdam. From the slick, modern Centraal Station, I took my first steps into the city, feeling much like I had finally arrived home after a very long journey. The city’s personality put me right at ease. It was a short, straight shot down Endrachtsweg to the quaint 19th century B & B I’d reserved for my stay. Anno 1867 was as lovely as my hosts, Agnes and Anton, and exceeded all my expectations. Agnes had a wonderful laugh and easy spirit. She made me feel welcome from the first ‘hello’ and gave me a tour of the charming, multi-level house built in (can you guess?) 1867. Original wood floors, classic décor, tall, bright windows and all the creature comforts one could need set the backdrop for a cozy home base. Out of the two available rooms, I chose the Rode Kamer (the red room). Check it out here: http://www.anno1867.nl/red_room.php. Warm, clean, and comfortable with an updated bathroom, it became one of those places that I could have easily stayed for weeks or months. But sadly, my first stay would be my last. The house had been sold a few weeks earlier and Agnes and Anton would be handing over the keys at the end of March to explore a new adventure in Italy. I hope they set up another B & B there!

Vegan Hot Chocolate in Delft_preview

Vegan Hot Chocolate at “Kek” – Delft, Netherlands

Agnes also accommodated me with colorful vegan breakfasts presented on beautiful floral porcelain ware. Fresh cut fruit with soy yogurt and nuts. Unique blends of smoothies in a fine glass goblet and paper straw. And every morning she’d prepare me for my outings with a snack bar or package of trail mix, a choice from the tea box, and hot water for my thermos. I’d step out the front door with a flask of tea steaming in the cold February air, belly warm and full, and begin my trek of the city. It was glorious.

British Blokes in a Hot Tub Boat_preview

Tourists enjoying Vessel 11’s Hottug in Rotterdam’s Old Port.

Rotterdam was the Netherlands I came for. It must have been my home in another life. How else can I explain the familiarity and joy I feel in this fantastic city? There’s graffiti and a few city corners gathering rubbish, but streets are relatively clean and green spaces are well-kept. Museums for every interest dapple downtown. Rustic houseboats float in canals just beyond the busy street curbs. Eclectic architecture rises up like modern memorials. There’s even growing cuisine options for the vegan-minded, as I discovered on a visit to Green Delight on Nieuwe Binnenweg. And French fries. Oh, the French fries. Yes, I think I must have lived here before, but, seeing as my spoken Dutch is still horrendous after nearly a year of personal study, I conclude I was probably a happy foreigner getting by on exaggerated hand gestures and the occasional ja, nee, and dank u wel.

Space separates the bodies, not the minds. – Erasmus

Cat Cafe_preview

There’s a wonderful mix of cultures and ethnicities here. The fantastic eats around the city are tasty evidence enough. Delicious Vietnamese pho soup on West-Kruiskade. Fabulous Panang curry at Hua Hin near the sleepy, picturesque neighborhood of Kralingen. I even found a Japanese restaurant with my beloved iced boba tea – no matter if I froze the tips of my fingers right off drinking it in twenty-eight-degree weather.

Rotterdam brings in a diverse body of students as well with Erasmus University just around the corner. It feels like a city full of tradespeople and families. The vibe here is quintessentially Dutch. Not so much in a traditional sense, like Delft, but it is a general sense of well-being and progressive respect for oneself and the public. It’s easy-going, laid back and there seems to be no agenda except for efficiency and self-expression.

Cube Houses_preview

While the calm hum of Dutch humanity plays out, there is an unspoken, non-judgmental air; a motto of ‘live and let live’ here. Rotterdammers have embraced Desiderius Erasmus as their patron scholar, along with his tempered approach to the religious zeal of the Christian Reformation. He was a Dutch humanist in the late 15th and early 16th century that encouraged a free will, Via Media (middle road) line of thinking, especially when it came to church teachings. His poetic quotes are painted all throughout the city – sentiments of open-mindedness, cultural acceptance, and autonomous thought. What novel ideas.

This type of thinking promotes a potent culture of common sense and decency, especially on the roads. Respect for cyclists and pedestrians were quite the revelation for me. Coming from Florida, where vehicles are used as tools of intimidation, it’s a refreshing respite to have drivers deliberately stop for people in crosswalks. The first time it happened, I was stunned. I had to fight against my natural instincts and cross in front of a waiting car. I forced my feet forward, thinking,

“Move! Walk! Someone is actually waiting for you!”

Dutch cyclists, however, will threaten to run right over your toes if you step in their lane. But there’s no better way to zoom around a city without leaving a carbon footprint and it warms my green, little heart to see so many people not driving a car. I think it’s an even trade-off. I never felt uneasy or unsafe in my travels around the city. I crossed the Erasmus Bridge and throughout surrounding neighborhoods as well. (Being that I was a solo female, I was also smart about the time of day I ventured about and sharply aware of my surroundings. Let’s not throw out common sense here and label it ‘innocent naivety’.)

To be brutally honest, I feel a lot safer in Europe than I do living in the US. America is relatively isolated in its egotistical bubble and suffers a lack of understanding and compassion because of it. In Europe, the cultures are so closely packed and borders are so frequently crossed that the declaration of a mother country is seen as a conversation starter rather than a battle cry to exercise exclusion.

And I get it. No place is perfect. There’s a crisis going on in Europe as I write this. Countries are bickering over who should take the next wave of refugees as people struggle to find a safe place in society. But as a majority, and especially in Rotterdam, the mingling of so many different ethnicities is considered enrichment of the city, not a detriment.

Stroopwafels_preview

One of the highlights of my stay was a free walking tour offered by a highly knowledgeable, cheerful guide. A group of passionate locals decided to start the Free Walking Tour of Rotterdam, offering a detailed history of the major sites in the city. Anyone interested in tagging along has simply to show up at 13:30 pm in front of the famous Markthal. To my surprise, about sixty eager tourists turned out! Our guides wisely split us up into to two tour groups and off we went. We hit the Maritime Museum, the Cube Houses, Zadkine’s sculpture/memorial to honor the destroyed heart of the city in WWII. Then a quick stop in a favorite hot spot for bitterballen. Bitterballen are basically a Dutch version of meat ‘hushpuppies’. Many people said they were delicious but I decided on a cone-full of hot, crispy fries instead. Wow! Draw a big green circle on your map around “Ter Marsch & Co.” on Witte de Withstraat. (You’ll also find the world famous “De Witte Aap” bar just a few steps away!) We saw an old church riddled with bullet holes from the war (sometimes it doubles as a rave party venue), and ended at Erasmus’ birthplace. In all, the tour took just under two hours and it was a fantastic way to spend the afternoon.

https://freewalkingtourrotterdam.com/

Tips are not expected, but they are a nice gesture to show your guide your appreciation. If you visit Rotterdam, do not miss this!

Check out Part 3 of my Rotterdam travels next Tuesday!

Read PART ONE HERE!

By: Erica Ruhe

Travel Post – Rotterdam (Part 1)

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Erasmus Quote Rotterdam_preview

All the world is my homeland. – Erasmus

There’s nothing like discovering that a nearly 500-year-old philosophical dude has put one’s life experiences perfectly into words. Feeling at home in a foreign land is an enchanting experience. Referring to a map is less important than exploring the city. Getting lost is a good thing. Letting your feet lead you to incredible views, interesting people, and intriguing history is the purpose of the visit. My hope is that, after giving this a read, you’ll be entertained and inspired to get lost in foreign culture too. Even if it’s ten minutes from your house.

After many years of pining, I recently plucked up the nerve to book a solo trip to the Netherlands and London and I’m impatiently plotting my return. The day I bought my plane tickets, a surreal, hazy excitement fell over me. My entire life had been lived ‘going with the flow’ and letting others steer the boat. So this was my first big opportunity to do something I had longed to do – and to do it my way. Was I a little anxious? You bet. But it wasn’t the prospect of traveling alone that made me hesitant. It was the idea of having to plan all that travel! What a wonderful dilemma. I chose late February for off-season prices and fewer crowds to battle. Winter cold clings but the first signs of spring can be spotted if you look carefully. It’s a perfect in-between time, in my opinion.

Erasmus Bridge_preview

I hadn’t been outside the US in a while and it was blatantly obvious when I tried interacting with my new flight mate in the middle seat beside me. Trying to make friendly small talk, I tapped the armrest between us, smiled, and said,

“This belongs to you. It’s never easy being in the middle seat.”

At this, he replied with a long, “Yeeeeaaaa….uh….yeah,” and averted his attention back to the screen on the seat in front of him.

Was it my breath? Did I have something in my teeth? Then I realized: he might not speak English. It dawned on me that as soon as I stepped on to the plane I wasn’t really in America anymore. This was international territory and, silly American, not everyone speaks English. The meaning suddenly shifted perspective as I replayed our little conversation in my head:

I tapped the armrest between us, smiled, and said,

“This belongs to me. Don’t test my patience today, pal. I’m in no mood.”

Perhaps this was closer to the truth than I wanted to admit. That armrest remained unused the whole flight.

I arrived in London just as my connection to Amsterdam was boarding. Even before the plane taxied, that feeling of, “Well, better just roll with this” had already sunk in. Oh how I wish I could watch the surveillance video of me rushing through the security check at London Gatwick airport, then on through kilometers of departure gates in half-undone sneakers while juggling my plastic bag of allowable liquids back into an overfull backpack. I stumbled into the gate just in time to wave goodbye to the plane. But it wasn’t a total loss. That was the best cardio I did all month.

Luckily, there was another flight just a few hours later. With the help of a flight attendant who was scheduled to work that hop, I got a backstage tour of Gatwick, a quick wave through customs and a fresh ticket on the next flight out. With what seemed like barely enough time to buckle my seatbelt, we landed at Schiphol airport just as evening closed in.

Amsterdam Meringues_preview

A kind woman at a kiosk set me up with a new SIM card for my phone and a friendly cabbie ushered me to the fanciest sci-fi-looking taxi I’d ever seen. A sleek black Tesla Model X beckoned to me with open falcon-wing doors. I swooned right into the backseat, feeling much like a passenger preparing for a ride on Star Tours at Disney World – but way cooler. And cleaner. Seductive city lights streaked across the tinted windows. Cars packed in around us on the highway, heading to a large festival just kicking off for the night. The possibilities that awaited me on this trip struck home. I was infatuated with the potential.

It was nearly eight by the time I arrived at the B&B I’d booked for the night. Ineke was a most warm and gracious hostess. She even received a package on my behalf when my Eurail pass would not ship to the US in time for my trip. She led me up several flights of narrow wood stairs, passing by unique antiquities and pictures mounted on the walls. The apartment was on the third floor of a hundred year old, traditional Dutch row house with an amazing rooftop garden. Spotlessly clean, comfortable, and utterly charming, it was the perfect landing pad after a very long day of travel.

If you get the chance to visit, I highly recommend BB Ginkgo.

https://www.bedandbreakfast.nl/bed-and-breakfast/amsterdam/bbginkgo/57812/

Delft Gate_preview

Oostpoort (Eastern Gate) – Delft, Netherlands 

After a refreshing sleep, I woke early the next morning and walked to Centraal Station. With a firm goal of packing an average-sized backpack for a ten day trip, I debated for many weeks on the one set of shoes I would bring. No amount of space saver bags were going to magically allow room for ten days of bulky winter clothes and two pairs of shoes. Ultimately I decided on a comfortable pair of sneakers and suffered being chastised by my ego for my middle-aged sensibility throughout the entire trip. Boots would have been way more chic…who cares if my feet fell off my ankles on day two, right?

Blue Delft Heart_preview

Venturing out of the quiet neighborhood and into the city center, there was a distinct divide, like two Amsterdams living side by side. During this seven-ish hour, Night Amsterdam moved slowly, as if in a twilight, hypnagogic state of sleep. It had the feel of a tired owl fluffing up and settling in to its nook after a long night of activity. Day Amsterdam awoke slowly. Little dogs off their leashes tumbled and yapped in a frosty park. Streaks of sun broke through the early cover of gray. Food stalls with coffee and stroopwafels sent steam signals into the cold air that they were open for business. Sightseers trickled in from side streets, congregating for selfies at an iconic I AMsterdam sign. While the energetic odor of ‘tourist trap’ gets heavy in the stretch by the Rijksmuseum and Centraal Station, to pass by this is to miss part of the experience. A tight train schedule didn’t allow time for a pop in to the ‘Rijks’ or the Banksy exhibition at the Moco Museum, but I vowed to explore them on a return visit.

Rotterdam Canal_preview

Stay tuned for Part 2 appearing next Tuesday!

Read PART TWO HERE!

By: Erica Ruhe

6 Beauty Must-Haves For When You’re Running Out of Time!

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Hit the snooze button one too many times and now are cinched for time? Did a friend just call you out of the blue for an awesome event but you’ve been binge-watching shows on Netflix all afternoon in your jammies? Before you panic, here are 6 essential beauty items you will need to look polished in less than twenty minutes!

Concealer

I don’t know about you, but concealer is my holy grail since I’ve been cursed with hereditary undereye circles, so you’ll never see me without it. But if you’re blessed to be dark circles free, then you can still use concealer to hide any problem spots, acne, discoloration, or to brighten up your eyelid. (The concealer pictured above is CoverGirl Vitalist Healthy Concealer in Fair, $8.54 at Wal-Mart).

Eyebrow Marker

If you’re trying to be quick, but at the same time don’t want to deal with powders, pomades, or pencils, an eyebrow marker is your best bet! There’s no sharpening involved, and the small felt tip is so small that it makes for precise feather strokes for a natural finish! (The eyebrow marker pictured above is NYX Eyebrow Marker in Medium, $9.75 at https://www.nyxcosmetics.com).

Mascara

Since the rest of your eye is going to be bare, that means that your lash game has got to on point. So grab the most voluminizing mascara you own and apply three generous coats (after curling them with an eyelash curler of course!). This is really going to make your eyes POP. (Mascara pictured above is from Medusa’s Makeup Witch Lash in Black Noir, $12 at https://medusasmakeup.com).

Lipstick

When you’re in a hurry but still want to look like you didn’t just roll out of bed, then aim for the brightest or boldest lip colour you’ve got. I usually go with reds or raspberry tones, because since the rest of your face is pretty simple, a bold lip will lift your whole face and make you look perky, sophisticated, and instantly glamorous. Never underestimate the power of bold lips! (Liquid lipstick pictured above is from Medusa’s Makeup Lip Paint in Bang, $12 at https://medusasmakeup.com).

Blush

Few of us are blessed with rosy cheeks and if you’re on the pasty side like me, blush is your savior for that healthy glow. (Blush pictured above is from Tarte Amazonian Clay Blush in Paaarty, $29 at Ulta).

Setting Spray

Need to skip some steps? Then you can cut out powder and reach directly for your setting spray as this will lock the look you’ve got as well as keep any oiliness at bay and lock in moisture. (Setting Spray pictured above is Urban Decay All Nighter Makeup Setting Spray, $32 at https://www.urbandecay.com).

Since these items are only six, these are also easy enough to slip into a small makeup bag to bring with you always whenever you’re on the run!

Which items would you have added to your list?

By: Azzurra Nox

My Bad Romance: My First Kiss

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kissing

It was a typical morning in my seventh-grade life. I’ve never been a fan of math, especially since that year I had begun Pre-Algebra. But the only thing that made that class bearable was the fact that the boy I had a huge crush on since sixth grade sat right in front of me in class. Since we were friends, I’d often find any excuse to talk to him. I’d ask him about movies. How the Chicago Bulls were doing that season (he was a huge fan and always wore a Chicago Bulls cap, strictly backward as per the ‘90s cap etiquette for cool kids).

Our history was somewhat complicated. As in the year before I had given him a Valentine’s Day card that I had made and written a poem that went along these lines:


Nobody knows of my feelings for you,
I keep them hidden, clear out of view.
But the tracks in the snow may give a clue,
But nobody knows of my love for you.


Now my grand romantic gesture would’ve been all fine and dandy if my best friend at the time hadn’t started dating my crush that week of Valentine’s. Our classes had boxes for Valentine’s cards, and I had placed mine in the box on a Monday, my best friend had gotten with the said boy on a Wednesday. Valentine’s fell on a Friday, so now you can see my dilemma. Drama-ensued for a while because of that, until things cleared up (hey, it’s not MY fault they got together after I had posted the card!).


But back to that day in Pre-Al.


It was Halloween, my favorite holiday. All I could think about was how I was going to go Trick-Or-Treating that night (something that truly defied my social group of “pretty popular girls” cause that was seen as “childish” cause ya know when you’re twelve and in a popular group, you need to act like you’re fifteen). This probably explains why I ended up leaving said group, which meant also leaving behind my best friend (and also the most popular girl in seventh grade) which was social status suicide on my part, but I was a rebel!


But I digress.


I was there getting settled in my seat, trying to pretend I knew what was going on (cause ya know, I refused to wear my glasses at the time, which meant that I couldn’t see a thing written on the board and I’m actually surprised I managed to earn B’s in math without ever seeing how the teacher worked out the problems).


Crush Boy sat down and I was doodling on my notebook when he turned around and flashed me his usual charming smile saying, “Happy Halloween!” And then and there just kissed me.


This is where time kind of stopped for me.


My heart was hammering so hard against my chest I was certain that I was going to have a coronary right then and there. My breath caught in my throat, and my cheeks flushed in the most horrendous way (being pale sucks).
“Woo-hoo!” One guy cheered, which pulled me out of the moment and was reminded that I was still in class.


In a math class that also had my best friend (and Crush Boy’s ex-girlfriend) sitting only a few rows over.  I looked over in her direction, and if I weren’t so near-sighted, I’m certain I could see her glaring.


Despite that kiss being simple (we were twelve and in class!), the feelings of euphoria that I experienced from it were something I chased for years, attempting so desperately to feel that lightheaded and blissful. And because this is me, no, Crush Boy and I didn’t have a short-term happy ending. We never dated. Despite him always showing a strange fascination with me, but always dating other girls instead. Later that year I moved, and on my last day of school, he kissed me again (this time after our English). He came up behind me and just planted his lips on me and then said, “Good luck at your new school.” I could barely murmur a reply back before he was already gone, rushing to his final class.


I never saw or heard from him after that day.


Maybe, some people are just meant to be memories.

By: Azzurra Nox

Review: Juice Beauty Phyto-Pigments Liquid Lip in Gwenyth

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juice

By now, we all know about Gwenyth Paltrow’s lifestyle blog Goop. Well now, she also has a beauty brand called Juice Beauty to go along with the blog. I’m not particularly crazy about the blog Goop (because some of the stuff on there is either ridiculous or downright dangerous/not healthy at all). But being a makeup addict, I was thrilled to find this in my Allure Beauty Box for February, although I had no high expectation cause I’m very picky when it comes to liquid lipsticks. This liquid lipstick promises to look shiny like a gloss, but without the sticky effect. The shade is named after the creative director of the makeup (ahem Paltrow) and the colour is reminiscent of the ’90s berry hues that were on everyone’s lips think Courtney Love and Courtney Cox back in the day, (unless you were wearing the matte browns instead).

What It Is: Liquid Lipstick

What It Does: Provides shine and colour to lips.

Verdict: The moment I opened up the tube and noticed how sheer the formula was I knew that I wasn’t going to be a fan. And sure enough, after wearing it for six hours, this liquid lipstick did what most lipglosses do, it BLED and it somewhat faded. Now, I know many people prefer moisturizing lipsticks and don’t care if they have to reapply (which in that case, this may be the perfect lipstick for you), however, I expect a lipstick to NOT budge once I apply it (maybe I’ve gotten spoiled ever since using Jeffree Star’s liquid lipstick where it won’t budge, smudge, or bleed for ten+hours). Also, I’m not really a fan of berry colours either. Or at least, they’re pretty to look at, but for some reason never look so amazing on me (maybe cause berry tones are made for cool skintones and although I’m pale, I have a warm skintone). But if you’re looking for a high-shine glossy lipstick, then this may do the trick for you. The formula is luxurious and the colour is vibrant, so it’s got that going for it. It just isn’t the sort of liquid lipstick I prefer.

Price: $24

Where To Buy It: Juicebeauty.com

By: Azzurra Nox

*swatch of the shade Gwenyth below

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Review: Medusa’s Makeup Witch Lash Mascara

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mascara

It’s been several years now that I’ve been trying to primarily use Vegan cosmetics. At the moment I’m really digging Medusa’s Makeup, cause not only is it vegan, but it’s also cruelty-free, and crazily edgy. This makeup has attitude and wearing it gives you a boost akin to wearing rock star stiletto boots.

What It Is: A lengthening and volumizing mascara

What It Does: This mascara not only does it lengthen lashes, and gives you an incredible boost, but the flexible rubber brush enables you to separate lashes—say goodbye to clumpy lashes forever!

Verdict: To say that I’m in love with it would be quite the understatement, as I am PASSIONATELY in love with this mascara! So much so, that this is my go-to mascara on a daily basis for the past four months! And since this brand is all about giving an edge to everything they do, this mascara not only comes in Black, but also in Electric Blue and Twilight (a navy shade). Apart from lengthening, volumizing, and separating lashes, this mascara also lasts ALL DAY without every smudging or budging or anything at all! It stays immaculate and perfect all day! But the removal is also very easy, any eyemakeup remover will do and you don’t have to rub it off as it happens with so many mascaras, so that’s always a bonus! If you can’t tell, I simply love this product and will most repurchase (I initially received this product in one of my Medusa’s Makeup monthly subscription boxes).

Price: $12

Where To Buy It: https://medusasmakeup.com/collections/mascara

By: Azzurra Nox

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Skincare: These five fruits will give you radiant skin!

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*Foundation & powder-free skin.

Ever wonder why many vegetarians or vegans have amazing, glowing skin? Apart from the fact that they aren’t consuming meat, the major reason is that they’re eating lots of FRUITS!

But are all fruits created equal, and which ones are you better off eating? Well, different fruits target different skin issues as well as provide different sorts of vitamins, so your best bet is to eat a variety of fruits within a week. But to make things easier for you, here are the top five best fruits for healthy skin and what benefits you may reap from consuming them!

apple

Apple:

The malic acid found in apples promotes firm, youthful skin. There’s a reason why the famous saying states, “An apple a day, keeps the doctor away!” In this case, eating apples will surely keep you away from having to visit a dermatologist. Not to mention that the fibers found in apples, helps promote bowel movements, which leads to clearer skin because you’re getting rid of toxins.

avocado

Avocado:

This fruit is rich in biotin, Vitamin E, and promotes cell regeneration and growth. Biotin helps nails and hair grow faster. You can reap benefits from this fruit either by eating it or used topically (in the form of face masks).

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Banana:

Rich in potassium and helps in keeping skin moisturized and hydrated. Bananas also contain skin-healthy nutrients, such as Vitamin A, B, and E. It also helps with keeping the elasticity of skin, prevents premature aging, and fades dark spots.

Kiwi_aka

Kiwi:

This fruit is packed with high doses of Vitamin C, and we all know that Vitamin C is a skin-friendly vitamin (in helping to keep skin radiant and acne-free!). Kiwis contain more Vitamin C than oranges, so you’re better off choosing this fruit as your source of Vitamin C than others.

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Strawberries:

Anti-oxidant and prevents wrinkle formation. Like kiwis, this fruit also contains a high dose of Vitamin C, but unlike kiwis, strawberries also contain salicylic acid (you may have heard this acid being used in acne treatments). What this means, is that it helps prevent pores from getting clogged and stops pimples from forming in the first place! Strawberries also contain an anti-oxidant called ellagic acid, which studies have proven that it helps prevent the destruction of collagen (meaning fewer wrinkles!) and it also acts as a shield against UV damage (but that doesn’t mean you should skip out on applying sunscreen, that is always a must!).

Try consuming at least one serving or two of each of these fruits once a week, and you’ll soon notice the difference in your skin! Not to mention that they’re a healthier snack option if like me you love sweets but are trying to avoid processed sugars. So give your skin a break, and eat your way to radiant, beautiful skin!

 

By: Azzurra Nox

SHORT STORY: ANIMORTIS Part II

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Like a hunter who had flushed its prey from hiding, the gory maiden let out a horrid screech and burst into a run towards the carriage. The terrified Greys screamed and tossed their heads, bolting forward into the darkness. Charlie’s top hat took flight as the cold breeze turned to a freezing gust under the burst of horsepower.
“What in God’s sacred Creation was that creature?” Earl Baumgart shouted above the deafening rumble of the carriage as it bumped and rattled away at full speed down the rugged road. The spooked horses were at a full sprint now.
“I don’t know, sir,” Charlie replied, fighting to regain control of the petrified team. “But we’re safe away!”
Charlie twisted his head and looked down the path, seeking reassurance that the wild girl straggled far behind them in the growing distance. Earl Baumgart also turned round in his bench seat but the road behind them was nothing more than a gaping black void in the night.
“Yield, my lads!” Charlie pulled firm on the lines.
But the horses did not give.
Charlie arched his back and threw his whole body behind the reins once more. “Yield, boys! Yield, I say!” The team ignored his order and, instead, returned his efforts with a fresh burst of speed. A second flash of panic sparked in his gut.
“Verdammt!” Baumgart shouted.
Charlie’s head whipped around. The breath whooshed from his lungs. There was the girl, clinging one-handed to the wheel’s mudguard, scratching and clawing her way up the side. Her legs dragged limply over the speeding ground under her, shredding the skirts and skin into bloody, tattered swags of flesh. To his surprise, pain was not the expression on her face. It was hatred and hunger that burned from her gnashing teeth and mad eyes. She possessed a strength and voraciousness that he had never witnessed before. The true harm she might be capable of struck down on Charlie like a bell hammer. The Earl’s life was in jeopardy.
The girl’s slender, pale arm grappled over the back of the folded canvas cover, inches from Earl Baumgart’s head. Wrapping the reins around one hand, Charlie unhitched the shotgun from under his bench.
“My lord!” Charlie shouted, struggling to keep steady against the bucking carriage. “Move away!”
Baumgart caught sight of the weapon. “Charles! No! You can’t kill this girl!”
The maiden’s other hand slapped over the edge, her flayed fingers catching a firm hold of the Earl’s arm.
“Back!” Charlie ordered as he cocked the hammer.
“Miss, please!” The Earl struggled to free himself. The girl rose over the side, blood-streaked strands of blonde locks lashing and whipping about her lacerated face.
“I’m warning you!” Charlie narrowed his aim.
She opened her mouth wide and snapped her teeth inches from Baumgart’s forearm.
“Mein Gott!” Baumgart exclaimed. Then to Charlie, “Shoot her! Shoot her!”
Charlie sucked in a breath and pulled the trigger. The shot exploded the ridge of trapezius muscle between her throat and collarbone. Blood sprayed through the air, her shoulder bucking backward, arm flinging out behind her. Baumgart shouted in horror. The Greys screamed again.
But still she remained. Dumbfounded, Charlie paused, his aim wavering. That wound would have stopped even a battle-hardened soldier. The girl slopped her limp arm back over the seat and this time, grabbed Baumgart’s shoulder. Her shattered clavicle bristled bright white above the wash of fresh blood that poured down her chest. Charlie gritted against the violent rattle of the carriage. Tucking the butt of the gun under his tethered arm he ejected the spent cartridge.
Baumgart wriggled and squirmed, trying to slide out of his coat. “Let go, you demon!”
Returning the shotgun up to aim, Charlie braced himself for the kickback but paused and eased his finger off the trigger. The girl had slithered closer, her mouth agape and eyes flared. Red drool poured over her chin and onto Baumgart’s shoulder. A clean shot without harm to the Earl was impossible.
“Charles!”
Earl Baumgart struggled out of his overcoat, peeling his arm and shoulder free of her grasp. He dove to the front quarter seat behind the coachman’s bench at the same instant the front wheel struck a large rock, sending a violent impact crashing through the landau chassis. His footing slipped and he struck his temple on the edge of the carriage door. Baumgart crumpled into a heap. Charlie’s hand smashed against the cold guardrails. The gun clattered to the coach floor as the maiden pitched backward off the side of the landau.
“My lord!” Charlie called again. “Are you all right?”
Baumgart held his bleeding head and brought his back to rest against the carriage door, too dazed to reply. His eyes rolled back and his body melted under the weight of unconsciousness.
Charlie cradled his throbbing fist under his arm. Assured that such a sudden shock through the vehicle would have sent the girl tumbling onto the ground, he glanced back to the rear canvas cover. Instead, he saw a single bloodied hand firmly anchored over the same door that Earl Baumgart now lay slumped upon.
Then, with a lurch and snapping of wood, the rear axle cracked.
Calculating the risks, Charlie whirled back to the wild, squealing Greys. Frightened into a mindless lather, they dragged the coach without concern, bashing it over every pit and rock, like careless boys running with a toy wagon. Loosened, broken spokes flew from the wooden wheels like spears. In a last desperate attempt, Charlie wound his hands down the leather reins, braced his feet on the iron front-board and pulled with all the might he could muster.
“For the love of Mother Mary, yield, you bloody beasts!” he screamed. “Yield!”
The panic in his voice was all the team heard. Their alarm confirmed the horses thundered blindly onward. Shaking, Charlie’s arms drooped with exhaustion. His eyes darted back to the unconscious Earl sprawled on the floor of the carriage. Above him, the maiden had pulled her torso back onto the ledge side. She was nearly inside the coach.
Leaping to his feet, Charlie pulled in the reins, knotted them tight around the whip socket and snatched them up the long, leather switch. He swung a leg over and straddled the coachman’s seatback, one hand on the iron railings the other poised to deliver a firm lash of the whip.
“Oy!” Charlie shouted to avert her attention.
The girl’s head jostled violently but her eyes snapped up at his voice.
Charlie secured his balance and released a nasty crack of the whip against the girl’s arm. “Back, you devil!”
She flinched from the noise but was undaunted by the new wound on her purple skin.
Charlie raised the whip and gave her another swift, discouraging snap across the side of her neck. The thin flesh burst apart with a mist of blood but still, she continued. Charlie released a few more cracks across her arms and chest but the girl had now gained a leg over the side. He tried a final time, across her head. The whip slapped at the soft, fleshy cut on her cheek, enlarging the wound into a flap of skin that hung limply from her face. At this, she inhaled and let out an ear-splitting scream.
“C’mon then!” he challenged.
Charlie straightened, stepping down into the carriage when something hard struck his back, tossing him onto the back of the rear bench. In a blur, a low-hanging branch swept over the open carriage, just missing the maiden’s head. Charlie lolled low and dangerous over the ground. Dust and small pebbles kicked up from the broken rear wheels pelted his face. He yelped in pain, squeezed his eyes tight and forced his body back into the carriage.
Winded and blinded, Charlie realized the whip was no longer in his hand. Tears flooded his gritty, burning eyes. He swiped a coat sleeve over his face and rolled over just in time to catch the maiden as she launched herself onto him. They landed flat on the seat and she opened her mouth wide for a large bite of the soft pulsing flesh near Charlie’s jugular.
Charlie caught a handful of her blood-stiffened hair and yanked her head backward. With his other hand, he caught her shinning, red jaw at the throat, pinning her arm’s-length above him. The girl wriggled and thrashed with rage, nails raking at his hands. He blinked back his blurred sight as she gurgled, frustrated, her teeth working the air behind the exposed tendons in her jaw. Fatigue burned down his arms, the muscles yearning for release. Adrenaline flooded his brain as he deliberated.

By: Erica Ruhe

Check in next Thursday for the final installment!

READ PART ONE HERE.

Short Story: ANIMORTIS

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a scary undead zombie girl

Germany, 1861

“Easy! Easy, I say!” Charlie commanded and cajoled the four Windsor Greys to an amble with a firm pull on the reins. The bridles clanged and rigging groaned as the team clambered over each other in confused panic. “Steady, boys.”

The open-top landau creaked and slowed, halting in the middle of the dark forest road. Dusk had slipped away to a heavy indigo of evening, the small oil lanterns on either side of the carriage offering little beyond their stunted diameters of golden light. Charlie squinted into the surrounding shadows, searching for the source of the team’s unease.

“Is there a problem, Charles?”
Charlie turned to the passenger behind him with a respectful tip of his top hat. “No, sir.”
“Then why have we stopped?” the Earl asked the tone in his German accent as weary as his blue eyes.
The bitter October breeze carried an unusual quiet through the trees. Charlie shivered.

“I’ll get them back on their way.” Eager to dismiss the anxiety growing in his gut, Charlie snapped a smart nod of his head and turned back to the Greys. Assured all was under control, Earl Baumgart angled his book back to the lamplight and returned to his reading.

Charlie’s leader horses pawed at the spongy earth, grousing and chewing at their bits. Behind them, the soft, pointed ears of the wheelers twitched, straining to hear beyond their clinking tack. Charlie gripped the thick leather reins, digging frigid fingers into his palms to fight off the numbing fatigue.
“Alright, boys.” He clicked his tongue. “Be on, now.”

Defiant, the horses tossed their heads and snorted, refusing to move.
“Stroll on,” he gave a good snap on the straps, his patience waning. A few hours travel still lay ahead before they reached the Earl’s brother in Coburg. Every moment standing here in the autumn cold was another moment of delay from a full belly and a warm bed.

“Oy!” Charlie slapped the reins now. “I said get!” He gritted his teeth, pulling the riding whip from the socket.

The sudden snap of a twig and crunch of dry leaves halted Charlie, whip held above his head. On their guard, the horses remained rigid, listening. Charlie stuffed the whip back into the socket, unlatched a lamp from its post and stood, peering as far into the darkness as he could manage. Only emaciated shadows of barren trees swayed in the wind.

“Charles,” the Earl whispered and thumped his book closed, “is someone lurking about?”

Charlie wrapped the reins in a loose knot around the whip socket and disembarked from the coach bench. With the lamp in hand and caution in his feet, he stepped to the front of the team.

“Perhaps it’s only a small animal, sir.” He hunched his shoulders against the night chill and exhaled, cold vapor billowing over his unshaven face. A long moment passed. Nothing stirred.

“What is it, Titan?” Charlie muttered, patting down the wheeler’s broad neck and shoulder, breathing in the familiar, earthy scent of cold, damp horse. Titan blew a heavy gust from his large nostrils and tossed his head away, annoyed and distracted. His wide eyes roved toward a dark corner in the forest ahead.
Then, on the soft breeze, came a deep, guttural sigh.

Again, velvet ears snapped forward, this time with unnerving precision. Charlie eased further into the darkness, certain his mind wasn’t playing tricks.
“Hallo?” the word scratched in his throat as he raised the lamp. Pierced with the pungent odor of kerosene, the night air smelled sharp and inauspicious. Charlie swallowed. Crisp, naked branches creaked in the wind. “I say, is anyone there?”

Charlie held his breath. Fear seeped its way down his taut back. His heart thrummed in his ears. The whooshing of his blood blurred his senses. The miserable chill settled deeper into his bones.

A ragged moan flowed down the path in answer, low, monotonous.
“Sh-show yourself!” Charlie demanded through numb lips. Shielding his sight from the glare of the lamp, he tromped a few feet ahead of his team. His eyes snagged upon a curious shadow wading through the shrubbery.

“You there!” Charlie’s voice broke in a most unflattering manner.
The figure inched forward. She was an odd girl. Seventeen, perhaps, but her footing was awkward and unsure like a babe’s first step. Her head hung low, the lower half of her face shrouded in the shadows. Her eyes were sunken; merely two, dark pools reflecting the lamplight. Jagged branches teased and pulled at her disheveled blonde braids as she neared. She was the frail silhouette of a beggar girl. His courage restored, Charlie lowered the lamp and planted an authoritative fist on his hip.

“Do you get a jolly out of spooking travelers and their horses?”
The girl did not answer.

“You should get a good wallop on the backside for a prank like this! And what, in God’s name, are you doing out here in the forest at this late hour? What kind of a father would allow his daughter to wander about unescorted? And have you a coat? You haven’t—.” Charlie trailed off at the observation, appalled. “You haven’t even a coat,” he muttered to himself, strangely and suddenly compassionate. “You poor creature.”

He took notice of her red dress, the thin fabric torn and muddy. She remained silent as she shuffled forward into the outer reaches of the lamplight. It cast faint upon her visage, revealing her pitiful state. Her face was soiled, a cut stretching across her forehead. She inhaled and exhaled with effort, the raspy sound suggesting fluid in her lungs. Charlie’s tone softened as he realized she was hurt.

“I say, are you alright, miss? You must be freezing in this cold.”
She sucked in a laborious breath and dragged another foot forward, emerging from the brush and onto the edge of the road. Her head twitched to the side, revealing a large tuft of hair that had been ripped out of her scalp. The horses groused again. Her wide, glossy eyes stared, emotionless yet transfixed. Charlie’s compassion melted back into unease.

A smell hit him.

It was illness, and yet, something grotesquely viler. He swallowed down a gag and reached for a handkerchief to cover his nose. She stank of death.
“Gott in Himmel!” Earl Baumgart exclaimed, opening his carriage door and kicking down the metal folding step. “Come! I have a warm blanket. We’ll give you a ride to town! Where is your family?”

“Sir?” Charlie tried to control the rising alarm in his voice as he stepped back toward the coach. “I think we should be on our way.”
“And leave this unfortunate soul to freeze to death out here alone?” Earl Baumgart continued down the carriage step, flabbergasted. “Have you gone mad, Charles?”
The young girl raised her head with a renewed strength and sniffed the air. Charlie’s heartbeat broke into a gallop. He dropped the handkerchief from his face. An eerie, tight breath gurgled past her blood-covered lips. Thin, delicate fingers curled into trembling, stiffened claws.
Charlie squelched the rising urge to turn and run for fear of startling the horses. Instead, he continued his slow retreat back to the landau, choking down a gasp of terror. A splash of bright red cascaded down the girl’s chin and throat. It was as though she had bit her tongue right out of her mouth. The Greys blew strong gusts of air from their flared nostrils, catching wind of the horrid stench. They shuffled their heavy hooves, jostling the carriage. Charlie felt for the lantern hook and slipped the lamp back on to its rung.
“Sir,” Charlie urged, anchoring a foot onto the coachman’s step. “She appears to be,” he faltered, not knowing how best to describe her condition, “ill.”
Baumgart paused, a peculiar expression creeping across his face.
Charlie glanced back once more. Rivulets of blood stained the girl’s bruise-dappled arms. A shred of white ribbon hung tangled in the end of a loosened braid. Rouge smudged her cheek. The glint of a golden locket flashed bright around her neck. Charlie noticed her tattered, red dress once more.
He felt his breath catch in his chest.
Halfway down the skirt, it shone of fine white silk. The top was completely dyed red with blood. This was not a common beggar girl. She did not seem to be in pain. She did not seem to be coherent at all.
“We’ll…send someone back for you,” Earl Baumgart managed in a whisper, back-peddling to the landau.
The girl turned her head toward the sound. Her jaw went slack, arms reaching out as if to embrace him. Blood bubbled into froth around her mouth.
Charlie looked back and the two men nodded in unspoken, wide-eyed agreement. They scurried aboard, Charlie nearly missing a step and Earl Baumgart clapping the superfluous carriage door closed with a loud clack of the latch. Snatching up the reins and snapping a hard crack against the team’s backsides, Charlie cried out a desperate plea, “Run on!”

To be continued. Look for part two, next Thursday!

By: Erica Ruhe

 

Remembering Dolores and the Summer of 1999

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dolores o riordan-4

While the majority of the world became a Cranberries fan with the iconic song Zombie, I didn’t become a fan till 1999, when their fourth album Bury the Hatchet was released, preceded by their single, Promises. Something about that angry revenge anthem spoke to me (I was an angsty, angry teen) and I also loved the music video cause the wicked witch of the west resembled Fairuza Balk a little. Someone else who was equally a fan of that album was my cousin Melody.

I remember how she and I would listen to the album and daydream about living in London or Los Angeles. That we felt that maybe, in cities like that, our mutual weirdness would be better understood or at least not scoffed or poked fun at, as opposed to where we lived.

My cousin was a bigger fan than I was, to the point that she said, “I wish my name could be Dolores at least it would be better suited for me than Melody. Do-lo-res…just saying it sounds darkly poetic.”

We’d sing along to Animal Instinct whilst applying makeup and drinking conspicuous amounts of coffee and Bailey’s Irish Cream. Clouds of smoke would circle above our heads as we shared lipsticks and secrets, all the while Dolores O’Riordan’s voice at times aggressive, other times ethereal playing in the background. We’d stroll the cobblestone streets of our small Sicilian town, humming Just My Imagination, and dreaming big dreams. This was before selfies were a thing, so I don’t have photos documenting those moments of us together, but they’ve remained engrained in my mind, milk fresh as though they’ve only happened several months ago, and not years ago. How we’d lie both in bed, our long hair meshing together, her’s bleached blonde, mine strawberry blonde, and how it created the perfect sunset hue, and the notes from the songs would transport us elsewhere, somewhere we were convinced that we’d be better versions of ourselves.

On Christmas Eve of 2013, Melody committed suicide—and although I hadn’t seen her in years since 1999 (I had moved to America and she had moved to Turin), I couldn’t stop thinking of the last summer days we spent together. Of how everything seemed possible—when we were young and fearless. And we didn’t know it then, but maybe, we already were the better versions of ourselves but we were just too blind to see it.

Now, with the recent and unexpected death of Dolores O’Riordan, I can’t help but think about how Bury the Hatchet had been the soundtrack of my last days spent with Melody. And how often, these last five years, I’ve found myself listening to the familiar songs as a way to feel closer to my cousin, as a way to be transported back to those careless summer days.

And now, I’m merely left with the songs and the memories of a summer that’s gone and with it its dreams.

By: Azzurra Nox