In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Powerful Suggestion.”
Small hands wrap around shaking ones. Fear and fear, together. She doesn’t cry; she’ll wait until later, a quiet girl emboldened by will entrapped in anxious possibility.
She forgets to breathe, withdraws. Suddenly, in this de-oxygenized state, they appear; familial strain upon the mount of War, shock and fear upon Pestilence, emotional void upon Famine and cancer upon Death.
Her life is changed forever.
I shake my head, watchful. A figure beside me. Bigger hands wrap around steady ones.
I call out, wistful: Real things in the darkness seem no realer than dreams.
She looks to me, big brown eyes.
I hold her,: Don’t fear the unknowns, Kitti. They only exist in your imagination.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Take That, Rosetta!.”
… Of a language long gone,
Say, could that language be Gaelic?
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Interplanet Janet.”
A cold land of eternal mist it was,
Of dreams that die with the shut of the eye;
And of looming castles high in the grey,
Forever the slave of a winter sky.
High in the bare trees, a raven caws.
He, the great sentinel, unfolds his magnificent ebony wings and watches with keen eyes, and even keener knowing. Atop his wooden throne he has endured the stagnant progression of time as though he was not that which he is; a living creature. He hops forward once, then twice, peering downwards upon that which he protects; a path of uncertain time, meandering through a land of uncertain myth. Darkness looms forever heavy in the moist air of this place, lingering like suffocating ropes between the tall phantoms of his forest. Though it is daytime, the light is diluted and grey.
Again, he caws, this time louder and deeper; defensive. He flutters over to a lower branch, hopping upon the bare wood with frantic, clutching claws. Something drips from the wood that his sharp hold penetrates, and in the obedient light of the dusk it almost has the appearance of blood; thick and dark. Cocking his head, he is drawn to the clattering sound of wood on rock, foreign noises in a world where the only sound is usually that of silence itself.