Monthly Archives: March 2016

BEST OF: Changing The Future (367 words)

Originally Posted: September 24, 2014

It always felt like a shock. Not a little static shock, but like the time he accidentally touched an uncovered wire for a second—that wave of energy rolling up his arm.  It didn’t hurt, per se, but it didn’t feel good. Daniel always seemed to notice before Arthur’s brain could even fully recover from whatever happened.  He’d steady Arthur easily, and whisper “Who was it?” as if it was ever anyone else these days.

“Maggie,” Arthur would dutifully respond, and Daniel would abandon him.  Of course, Arthur never minded.  If he had the power to help her, he’d have abandoned Daniel in a heartbeat.  She was other of their top priority.

And it was all due to Daniel that those shocks were so small, not the crushing pain Arthur had felt before—knowing the worst had happened to someone he cared about.  Daniel could move fast enough just quick enough to stop it before it could get too bad—sometimes before it happened at all.

So slowly Arthur made his way back home, sometime taking hours to get to that house in the woods, sometimes days.  But no matter what, it was worth it.  To be greeted at the door by Maggie—to have her wrap her arms around him and say “Thanks, King.  I owe you another one.  You’re always saving my life.”  To which of course Daniel would always get mock huffy and complain that he does all the heavy lifting and Arthur gets all the praise, but in the end everyone’s okay and they order pizza that Daniel always has to go pick up because Maggie doesn’t want to give out her address to people she’s never met.

And it takes a while, but Arthur finally admits—he’d rather get shocked every day, he’d rather take all the weight of every crushing pain he’d ever experienced at once, than let one bad thing happen to Maggie. And he is so grateful for Daniel that he doesn’t even know how to start to say it—and then as if he’s the psychic, Daniel gives him a wink and a smile and says, “Don’t worry, you’ll figure out how to tell me.”

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Posted by on March 31, 2016 in Bekah Beth's Best Of


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BEST OF: Sibling Reunion (613 words)

Originally Posted: April 16, 2014

I was so excited to see my brother.  I regressed an embarrassing amount when I knew I was going to get to see my brother. Well, it would have been embarrassing, but—screw it, it was my big brother, and I was happy to see him.  He’d certainly seen me be more embarrassing in the past.

“Do you want me to go ahead and take your bags?” My husband asked as we walked out of the gate, shaking me out of my bubble of “almost home” excitement.


“Well, I know as soon as you see Nathan at the end of the terminal, you’re going to want to take off running. I figure if I go ahead and take your bags now we can avoid you over balancing and the sprained ankle incident of ‘O7, or we can avoid you dropping them, running away, and the TSA questioning of 2010.  So, do you want to go ahead and give me your bags?”

I gave him a sheepish smile and went to refuse, but he held out his hand and gave me a little “give me” gesture.  I handed him the two little carry-on bags with a quick, “I love you.”

“And don’t you forget it.  Now, let’s go, let’s not keep your corny little reunion waiting any longer.”  And he picked up the pace a little bit.

We rounded the corner and I could see the end of the terminal where people were waiting just on the other side of where the security check point started. Nathan was easy to pick out, six-foot three with some vivid red hair, he was very hard to miss in a crowd. I could see he was smiling at me.  I leaned in to give my husband one last thank you kiss on the cheek and then took off running.

Nathan caught me around the waist, lifting me into the air and swinging me around like I weighed nothing. I guess in comparison; my five two petite frame did weigh nothing to him.  “No bags, Marcy? Are we going to be taken in for questioning again?”

“Hank’s got ‘em.”  I laughed as Nathan set me down gently on my feet.

“Ah—Hank. Now the husband Hank.  How fun.  Where is Hank the no longer boyfriend?”  There was an edge to Nathan’s voice that I hadn’t expected.

“Coming out of the terminal at a normal pace like a sane human being.”  I gave a little wave and Hank nodded back at me, his hands full.  “Why do I get the feeling that you’re a little hung up on the face that Hank and I got married, Nate?”

“Hung up? No—not really.  Surprised? Sure.  Intrigued as to what sparked this sudden step forward after standing still for eight years? Certainly.  Shocked that you eloped without us? A bit.  But I wouldn’t say hung up.”  Nate gave a quick overly nonchalant shrug.  “Let me see those rings of yours, hmm? Does Hank the Husband have good taste?”

I held up my hand automatically, but my mind was racing.  Nathan gave my engagement ring and wedding band a close look and then gave me an encouraging smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.   “I just need to know now, Nathan.  Is this going to be an issue between us?”

Nathan’s expression softened.  “Are you happy, Marce?”

“Of course.”

“Well then,” Nathan’s smile was genuine this time, “We’ll have plenty of issues between us.  But you being happy will never be one of them.  Deal?”

“Deal.” He leaned over and kissed me on the top of the head as Hank reached the end of the terminal and joined us.

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Posted by on March 30, 2016 in Bekah Beth's Best Of


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BEST OF: Best Kind of Love (285 words)

Originally Posted: January 9, 2014

Jackson weaved in between my legs as I wandered into the kitchen. I took small deliberate steps to make sure that I wasn’t going to squish him or step on anyone’s toes, literally. “Hey Momma.” He started.

“Yes, Jackson.”

“Will you tell the story of how you and Daddy met again?”

“You know I don’t remember how Daddy and I met. We were children, babies even. Younger than you and Stevie are now.”

“What about the story that you always tell Stevie?”

“I tell Stevie the story about when Daddy and I fell in love. That was very different then when we met.”

“So, it wasn’t love at first sight then, Momma?”

“No, sweetheart, it wasn’t love at first sight.”

“But isn’t that the best kind of love? That’s what Jamie said at school.”

“Well, I guess that’s Jamie’s opinion isn’t it? But, no, I don’t think that’s the best kind of love.”

“Well, then what is the best kind of love, Momma?”

“I think that the best kind of love is any kind of love that you can feel. I think that the best kind of love for me is the love for your father, love for you, love for little Stevie. Those are the best kinds of love.”

“So, my best kind of love is for you and Daddy and Stevie.”

“Yep. Those are the best kinds of love.”

“And the love for Andrea.”

“Yes–Wait. Jackson. Who is Andrea?” Jackson began to giggle and sprinted out of the room. I forgot all about making dinner in favor of chasing my six-year-old out of the room. “Jackson Roderick, you get back here right now and tell me who is Andrea!”


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Short-Term Changes

Hello Friends and Families,

As some of you are already aware, I’ve recently been hit on all sides from some pretty nasty heartbreakers in the past week or so.  While I’m sure I’ll be able to get through it and be stronger on the other side, right now I feel quite overwhelmed.

So, I’m taking a little break from new writing.  But don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you hanging.  Instead, we’re going to have a week or two of ‘Greatest Hits According to Bekah Beth.’  I’ll take some of my favorite stories from the last two years, clean them up where they need it, and repost them for you all to see what I like most in my writing.

Feel free to weigh in if you agree with my favorites, or if you have a favorite that you want to see.

Thank you all for your patience while I work through the next couple of weeks,

❤ Bekah Beth

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Posted by on March 28, 2016 in BekahBeth's Thoughts


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Fiction: Cup of Tea (187 words)

He sat down with a cup of tea. It wasn’t his tea. His cup of tea would come hours later when a sane person would normally wake up. But since he always woke up at least a little when her alarm went off, and since she actually had to go to work at this god awful hour, the least he could do was make her a cup of tea so it was ready when she got out of the shower.

And sure enough—she came out, dressed, but with her hair still wrapped up in a towel, scooped up the mug, took two big swigs of it before kissing him gently on the mouth. “Thank you, love. Back to bed.” A small kiss on the forehead, and then her attention was gone on the next part of her daily routine. He stumbled slightly back towards the bed, listening to her hum happily as she went about her morning. He didn’t even bother to crawl back under the covers as his last conscious thought was only two and half more hours until he had to get up for work.

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Posted by on March 24, 2016 in Stories


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Fiction: Good Morning (147 words)

It was a tradition.  He was always the first one out of the house, so she woke up, wrapped herself in a dressing gown, and stood by the door, often blurry eyed and slightly grumpy.  But then he came to the door, and it was worth getting up. He kissed her, gently.  And then there was the exchange.

“Go back to bed, yes?”

“I’m going. Look I’m walking as we speak.” She wasn’t walking, but smiling softly up at him.

“You’re stubborn.”

“You’re wonderful. Have a good day.”

“Good bye. I love you.”

“I love you.” She stood still, waiting patiently for the click of the two locks on the door.  Once she was fully locked into the house, she shuffled back to bed.  It was a silly daily tradition, but she loved every second of it.  Even if she had to wake up early for it.

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Posted by on March 23, 2016 in Stories


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Fiction: Malcolm (156 words)

“Malcolm!” She ran towards him, all loose hair and long skirts and so much taller than the last time he saw her, but he still held out his arms and swung her off the ground with a hug. “Don’t stay away so long.  It isn’t kind.”

“Yeah, well,” he set her back down on her feet and brushed her hair out of her face, “I never claimed to be kind.  I’m just your brother.”

“Yes, but you’re my big brother. Big brothers are supposed to be kind and loving to their baby sisters.  It’s a rule.”

“Ah. There’s the problem.  You know how I get about rules.”

“Yeah, me too,” She turned and linked her elbow with his, steering him back towards the little farmhouse.  “After all, I’m not supposed to have skirts on in the fields.  Let’s go see Momma and receive our punishments, shall we?”

“Yeah—“He eyed the little farmhouse wearily, “Let’s go see Momma.”

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Posted by on March 22, 2016 in Stories


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Fiction: Out of the ICU (266 words)

She gave him a little smile, her eyes still mostly closed.  She made a weak motion with her hand which may or may not have been an attempt to touch his arm. “Hey you,” she whispered roughly, “you didn’t have to come.”

“And listen for the next twenty years about how I didn’t come to see you in the hospital? No thank you. I’ll do my time here and now.”  He sank down into the chair at the side of the bed. She gave a weak laugh, but her eyes were already shut again.  “Should I let you sleep?” He asked cautiously.

“No, no, I’ve been asleep for days.  Stay here–talk to me.”

He looked back around at the nurse who was waiting at the door to the room, who just smiled encouragingly.  “She’s on a lot of pain killers, so she’ll likely be asleep again soon. But you can talk to her ’til she drifts off.  You aren’t hurting anything.”

He turned back to his friend in the bed, and heard the nurse walk away.  He sat silently for a long time before she gave a little twitch in bed and said “I’m not asleep.”

“Okay–then?”  He replied, not quite sure what to make of that statement.

“I don’t want you to sit there quietly because I’m asleep.  I’m not asleep. I’m wide awake, okay? So don’t be quiet for me.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” he teased.

“Whatever I say dear is right.  Now, tell me.  I think I lost a day or a week or something.  Whats going on out there in the real world?”

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Posted by on March 21, 2016 in Stories


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Legal Theft Project: Bonding (261 words)

The carnival rolled into the fields at dusk, its spirited music carried into town by the wind.  As soon as the music hit Agatha’s ears, she became almost intolerable.  She jumped around the house, pulling on anyone’s arm she could reach, asking when they would be going to see the rides.

Her mother was a rock, entirely unaffected by her daughter’s pleas for entertainment.  Agatha’s big brother, on the other hand, was an easy target.  “C’mon, Malcolm! It’s the carnival!”

“And it will still be there in the morning,” Malcolm answered easily, but Agatha could see that he didn’t like telling her no.  All she needed was one good point, one good thought to tip him over to her side.

“Yes, it will.  But the carnival lights and sounds are all so much more magical when the sun has gone down.” Agatha pointed out.

Malcolm blinked at her silently for a second. “Damn. You’re right.” He conceded. Agatha waited for a moment longer, trying not to push too hard. “All your chores are already done?”  He asked, as if it was an unattached thought.  She’d won.

“Of course.”

Malcolm considered a second longer. “Okay. But you have to wear a coat the whole time we are outside. No arguments.”

Agatha was pretty sure she hadn’t been this excited in at least a year.  “Deal.”  She bounced up on the balls of her feet and kissed her brother on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

“Go get ready,”  Malcolm grinned himself, a child again for the moment, “Let’s not waste any more time.”

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Posted by on March 18, 2016 in Legal Theft Project


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Fiction: Prophecy Child [Part 2 of 2] (1155 words)

I stayed with my mother when my father moved out, because she was higher ranking in society, and based much closer to the Soothsayer, where my mother felt I needed to go frequently because she wanted to figure out more about my so called destiny. So, I went every couple weeks or so, whenever it struck my mother’s fancy, to stand in the crowded room and stare at a man who said nothing to me or about me ever.  Although, he did always make eye contact and give me a little wink.  Every three or four months, I went to visit my father and his “god sister” and those children for a couple of days, or weeks if I could convince my mother that I could afford to miss that much schooling, which I managed to do once every year or so.

Other than constantly being referred to as “The Child That Flows like Water” by most of the temple staff, including all my teachers, my life held nothing that would even begin to resemble powerful or life changing.  I was allowed to run a little more wild than the average child, because everyone was desperate to make sure they didn’t “contain me” and “do damage” to the prophecy.  So, I didn’t take to dresses the way that proper ladies of the house of the second order should have, I didn’t always have the best manners in social situations, and I was pretty bad about sitting still during classes.

I didn’t have many friends.  In fact, I’d venture to say that I didn’t have any friends in The City of the Order.  Partly it was because of the aforementioned lack of manners and disregard for rules.  Partly, it was because even with my disregard for rules, I often didn’t get into trouble for things that the other kids did get in trouble for.  But, in a big way, I think it was a lot to do with the fact that adults talked about me as this great child, which the other kids probably resented because most of them saw themselves (in many cases rightly so) as better than me, but I got a lot of the glory.  The “Prophecy Girl” was a good mocking point, and they latched onto it.  It really got to me, which of course only encouraged them to mock me more.  My mother told me what I had already assumed, that they were jealous, but I didn’t really give a fuck why they were doing it at the time, I just wanted them to stop, which pretty much guaranteed that they didn’t.

I had one good friend, David, who lived out in Ingel, two houses down from my father and his little family.  We were close, but I could only see him every so often.  We’d write letters often when we were apart, but it wasn’t the same as having a friend that you could see whenever things got tough. And he couldn’t be there to help me through the rough parts of my day to day life, so sometimes I didn’t count him at all.

So, perhaps I was little bit more bitter and cynical at nine years old than I should have been.  It was shortly after my ninth birthday when I went to see the Soothsayer like I had already done what seemed to be several thousand times before, expecting it to be like every other time.  However, when I walked into the hall, it was completely empty.  Except for myself and the man sitting on the raised platform on the other side of the room, smiling calmly, which only served to prickle my temper.  When it became apparent that no one else was going to turn up for this session, I approached him carefully, not one hundred percent sure that the protocol might be for this type of situation, and if I would have followed it even if there was one.  He watched me as I approached, but didn’t do anything but sit serenely, still smiling.  When I was only a foot in front of him, I stood still and stared him down for a little while.

We stared at each other for twenty minutes of silence.  He looked at me a little more steadily, and said quietly, “Ask.”

“What did you see for me? Why am I dealing with all of this? What am I supposed to do?”

He narrowed his eyes and analyzed me for about three seconds, and then he grinned broadly and said, “Ah, Lovely River.  Twenty five is a wonderful number, isn’t it?” and then he stood gracefully and walked out of the hall.

I swore aloud for the first time in my life.  And I swore loudly, so that it echoed and reverberated around the hall.  It made me feel better for a moment.  If my mother outside the hall heard, she didn’t say anything, she just took me home and I sat in a premature teenage angst for a week or so.

I can’t say for sure that that’s when I gave up on prophecies as a whole, but it was pretty close to then.  I was quiet about it growing up.  I couldn’t decide how I felt about our Gods or the other aspects of our religion, but I firmly didn’t believe in the Soothsayer and his prophecies, which I told to my Journals, and when the time felt right, to my friend David.  He had always been steadfastly religious, and the idea that the soothsayer was lying to us all would have never crossed his mind.  He never tattled on me, and I was sure that he’d still be there for me if I really needed him, but it became very obvious very quickly that he didn’t agree with my thought process, and it made him a little bit uncomfortable.  So, over time, we slowly drifted apart.

But despite all that, the number twenty five stuck with me, lingering in the back of my mind. The night before my twenty fifth birthday, I went to bed with a little jolt of thrill.  True, I was always excited before my birthday (my favorite day of the year) but this seemed to be a little bit more than that.  Due to that fear of “damage” that my mother held so strongly to, I wasn’t subjected to any paternally arranged engagements, or jobs that I didn’t want.  I didn’t believe in the prophecy, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t above taking the advantages that the prophecy afforded me.  Maybe that makes me a bad person, but whatever. I went to bed that night, with plans for the next day, and wondering what that year had in store for me.  After all, a very strange man once told me that twenty five was a very interesting number, and here was his last chance to prove to me that he wasn’t a fraud.

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Posted by on March 17, 2016 in River's Story