Orientation #FOWC| 2022-2-1

Welcome back to Lamon Reviews.

I want to try, for the month of February, to do Fandangos One Word Challenge. It is a daily word challenge for artist of all media. My media of choice will be fiction writing. My goal is to continue my story on Sundays for the entire month.

Let me know what you think. I hope you enjoy reading my short story as it evolves.

Wish me luck!


#fowc 2022-2-1 Orientation

⚜Sartas Sacrifice⚜

“There is no where to run little seedling.”

The world is spinning and alternating in strange patterns making it hard for Mánta to maintain her orientation. Flashes of both time and life spread around her field of vision. Each section playing out before her like an old television program. The voices are loud and clear, but the picture is static, only sound. Suddenly lines of black and grey radiate upward towards a bright orange horizon. Is the sun rising or setting. Mánta was unaware of the time. Was it midday? How many hours since she first heard Sartas malodious voice?

” How does it feel, knowing the truth? Knowing nothing matters?”

There is a slight tingling in her legs and it slowly spreads throughout her body as the sound of Sartas voice reverberates in her bones. She can feel it in her toes and fingers, like small electric charges jolting left, right, up and down.

Go now little seedling. Remember and understand where you are now.” Sartas disembodied voice wavered and melted away from Mántas consciousness. Slipping away as quickly and quietly as it began.

Mánta is jolted back to the present. Only a second passes as she quickly orients herself. Standing in her driveway holding her large white puppy, Bogo, by his collar. His tail wiggling and whipping in a frenzy of happy wagging. The sun is high in the sky and beaming down on where she is standing in bare feet. Her second dog continues running and jumping around the midsize silver car as it rolls to a slow stop. Her calls to him go unheeded.

Her nearest neighbor behind the wheel of his car. His wife in the passenger seat. What is her name again? Christy. Yeah, Christy. Mánta breathed deeply to steady herself.

She smiles and waves. Mánta waves back mechanically. Her smile equally as fake as the one affixed to Christy’s pale and heavily made up face. Her sharp nose upturned in a strange confluence of happiness and disdain. It annoys Mánta how their visits are always unexpected. Just drop by, unannounced, usually on their way home or out. And this strange show of comradery is acted out again and again. Or is she just acting?

They are not an extension of us, she thinks, yet they are always near. Are we friends? I don’t remember asking to be friends with them. No, not friends. The grimace on Christy’s face shows all Mánta suspects and knows. The thought annoys her and burrows around deeper into her brain before going dormant again.

Right. Petriv. Petriv wanted their friendship. He sees value in visits and affable conversations and close connections. All Mánta wants is to stay on her land with her animals without outside interference. It would be so easy if that were the case. But nothing is ever easy for her.

Petriv walks out of the small cottage. A large smile plastered on his pale face. The small gotee he started last week, framing his chin. Making Mánta think of actors like Pierce Brosnan, only slightly shorter, and with more muscles and tatoos. Petriv strolls up, stopping short of the car, but making no attempt to help rangle the dogs. Mánta’s apparent unease unnoticed. The neighbor is saying words now, his small mouth is moving, looking at her, calling her name as she struggles to hole the rambunctious puppy. Her annoyance and unease grows in leaps.

“Manta” Larry says, but when he speaks he puts stress on all the wrong vowles. Instead of two short vowels, he mispronounces it with a long harsh A. Mánta growns inward and looks at him expectantly. He smiles, but it doesn’t meet his grey eyes. He needs acting lessons if this farse will continue long term.

Larry hands her a bag of bananas and for a second she wonders whether or not they are poisoned. Mánta smiles as she takes the bag while holding Bogo. The words pompous and pretentious come to the forefront of her mind, then sink back into its depth.

She notices Moole sniffing around the back tire and calls to him sharply. Larry asks what he is doing and she tells him. She stops there, knowing she shouldn’t tell him she mistrust him and thinks he will run over her dogs. She knows to never tell them what she is thinking.

Larry continues and tells her to not be angry with the dogs. She narrows her eyes at his audacity to tell her anything, as though he knows her, as though she is more than just a mere acquaintance, but quickly relaxes her gaze. Just because they allow their dogs the “freedom” as they put it “to be a dog”, did not mean she would let her dogs put themselves in harms way. Perhaps it is just neighborly advice. Thats what neighbors do. She considered for a moment asking them to leave and never return.

But Petriv needed Larry. He needed someone other than Mánta to talk with. She did not. She could live in the silence of the land and be contented for her lifetime. Petriv is the strange connection holding this precarious unease together. Petriv continued to smile his alarmingly trusting smile as he waved and they backed the car down the driveway.

Mánta busied herself with keeping both the dogs attention as they turned onto the road and headed towards their property. Stooping down to repeat nonsensical words in a sing-song voice that had tails wagging and ears perked. She turned to Peteiv, who was standing and still had a grin .

“Darling, we need to get that gate up.” She smiled and walked inside calling the dogs along with her.

Now I’d like to hear from you.

What did you think of this short story? What I want to try to do is use Fandangos one word challenge to continue with the same characters and storyline. I will try to continue this on sundays. Let me know what you think in the comments below. Should I continue and develope the story?

And As Always…

Go forth, dear readers, support your favorite indie authors and encourage reading and literacy.

K. LaMon
Lamon Reviews


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