Monthly Archives: August 2019

The Thursday photo prompt: Mirror #writephoto

3F2E184A-5654-449F-AEAD-955B48594AB0

Earduk looked into the mist. It was fourteen moonbirths since his father Shardan had breathed his last and departed for the land of Ancestors. His body laid to rest in the Hall of Memory under the stones.

It was time for the final ritual. This was Earduk’s personal ceremony.

Hanging from his shoulder the jute bag felt heavy  as it bounced on his right thigh with each step.

He stopped in a kind of reverie, wondering  how far his father was on his journey. Today would be a great help to him, Earduk was sure.

He tapped the bag at his side and with a smile remembered how hard it had been to prepare the heavy sword within. He and two of his brother’s had strained for many fire-burnings to bend the blade exactly as required preparing for when it would be called upon to fulfil the reason for it’s making. It’s spirit was now released and it was ready to work for it’s owner.

His father would be waiting to feel it in his hand once more. A sign that he had given up battles and was happy to live in peace with all the other denizens of the realm. Only then could he continue his journey to be with his wife Lucine once more. Earduk’s beloved mother who had passed into the realms of shadows many new moons past.

He could see the grove ahead wherein lay the Pool of Souls. He slowly reached into his bag. Reverently withdrawing the blade he turned it over and over  in his hands. The blade flashing in the rising sun casting shafts of light  onto the placid waters which acted as a mirror to the tree-lined banks.

He raised the short, plain, iron blade above his head and with a loud cry cast the offering  far into the pool.

The splash caused a stir and broke the tranquil silence. He felt he could hear the sigh of the water Gods as they accepted his gift. The ripples slowly diminished and with the ritual complete Earduk turned back to the shore.

Earduk would be able to  tell the elders that Shardan’s relics could now be placed in the niche under the door of the family roundhouse.

 

 

3 Comments

Filed under Alternative history, faith, Flash fiction, Inspired by fable, Otherworldly, Self compositions

Crimson’s Creative Challenge #41

D44456C2-FAF9-45C8-A38E-9413D437500E.jpeg“You may well hang your head, I suppose you’ve been sneaking around again, upstairs and downstairs. I wouldn’t put it past your sort to go poking around in my ladies chamber. Go on admit it, you have haven’t you?”

5 Comments

Filed under Inspired by fable, Self compositions, Stirring the memories, Whimsical

RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #267 Marvelous&Terrific

ronovan-writes-haiku-poertry-challenge-image-20161

Weather marvellous,

having a terrific time,

postcard platitudes.

2 Comments

Filed under As you read it, Factual, Haiku, Self compositions

Sammiscribbles weekend writing prompt

01B13483-073D-45A2-A07D-BE836BAFE0E1

I will tell you a tale,

it’s not very long,

about Teddy the tinker

who loved to sing songs,

while riding in his cart

as his pony towed them along.

The pony’s name was Ticker

but he had just one thing wrong

with him, though you couldn’t tell

as he trotted in time to his gong.

It wasn’t his heart though his name may suggest

but his very long appendage

which reached to his chest.

 

 

 

2 Comments

Filed under Adult themes, As you read it, Comic verse, Self compositions, Whimsical

Sue Vincent’s popular Thursday photo prompt: Journey #writephoto

journey-sue-vincent-4

Culloden was getting tired. For forty days he had been searching for the sacred mount. The burial place of his forefathers. He had no understanding that he was the last of his race although he realised he had met none of his kind for longer than he could remember and for a giant, memories are long. He had long ago learned how to conceal himself from the eyes of men. Although he and his kind had never meant or meaningfully done harm  to these strange, to his eyes, miniature replicas of himself, whenever the two races had met his people were attacked and despite friendly overtones they  had been forced to flee and hide. Hiding places were becoming scarce. Men had slowly but surely started to change the lands he had known, loved, walked and cherished since time immemorial. Fires were set across the land for reasons he could not fathom. The woodlands were shrinking, there were now vast open spaces which were left as bare earth for one half of the year and in which strange plants started to grow which were soon removed by men. The only secure hiding places were in the vast caves which time, wind and water had excavated in the deep gorges in the hills or at the edges of the sea. He was scared and slowly the thought had been building in his mind that his kind were no longer necessary. After much contemplation and with a resignation born of patient, peaceful, deliberation he had decided to return to the eternal resting  place of his forefathers.  There he would lie down and enjoy the sleep of the blessed which comes upon all living things. He would leave this realm in the hope that those who followed would maintain the eqilibrium thus far  enjoyed by Mother Earth.

 

4 Comments

Filed under Alternative history, As you read it, Flash fiction, Inspired by fable, nature inspired, On the lines of romance, Otherworldly, Self compositions

TEN WORD PHOTO PROMPT: Care of houseplants

2D4DD822-8111-4259-AD58-639164FDBD96Gain mindfulness by talking to your plants on their level.

1 Comment

Filed under Old knowledge, Self compositions, Whimsical

Heroism and grief, a tale of the two.

Flood (8)The 15th August 1952, a night of tragedy for a small close-knit community on the wastes of Exmoor. Still remembered by many as one of the most tragic nights in living memory. Many tales of bravery have been told mixed with tales of woe, here is one such with a most poignant climax.

Grandfather Abe sat in his chair beside the old log fire. Stubborn, obstinate, he had refused to leave with his family when they had told him the house wasn’t safe and looked likely to collapse. The  rushing waters of the swollen river rising ever higher at its back door. He insisted that the river had served him all his long life and would never hurt him now, but he was wrong. He was just drifting off to sleep when the end came and only awoke when he found himself in the water, miraculously unharmed by the tumbling masonry, all that was left of his beloved cottage as it toppled backwards into the torrent.

His wife, watching from outside, where she had waited in the cold and driving rain shaking her head at his obstinacy, gasped as she saw the collapsing building, safe  from  her position across the road from their front garden. Fearing the worst for her husband she rushed back to what had now become the water’s edge. It was not yet completely dark and suddenly she saw a shape in the water, arms thrashing wildly. It was Abe struggling to escape the fast flowing stream. His wife cried out, “Here Abe,” and bracing herself against the railings that were previously the garden fence, leaned through and reached out her arms to him. This appeared to give him renewed strength and in two strokes he reached the railings but the effort took it’s toll. He started to roll over. With superhuman effort his wife managed to grab hold of his braces  and drag him towards her till he could grab the railings himself.

With one last heave she dragged him to the lowest bar. Exhausted she leaned her arm on the top rail but with the water around her feet she over balanced and with a loud cry toppled into the water to be swept away. Her body later recovered about half a mile downstream wedged under the remains of one of the many bridges destroyed by the flood. Old Abe never recovered from the shock of losing his wife in that way. He knew that it was only because of his attitude she had lost her life and was never the same again.

5 Comments

Filed under As you read it, Factual, History, Short story, Stirring the memories, Uncategorized

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, First Line Friday: August 16th, 2019

The capitol grew rank in the summer heat, the humid streets clogged with sweating tourists and rats. Both were welcome, the tourists for the money they could put in the pockets of the traders, and the rats, the over-riding reason why there were so many tourists. The vast majority here to visit the Karni Mata temple, better known as  the Temple of the  Rats. What the vast  majority don’t realise is that  it is only the twenty thousand or so black rats who live within the temple precinct are sacred. The ones who they see scurrying around the streets while they browse for souvenirs of this wonderful if not stomach-turning experience, the ones lazing on the sun-bleached walls and roof and those who roam uninvited in their hotel rooms are just rats. 

8 Comments

Filed under As you read it, Factual, faith, Self compositions

Crimson’s Creative Post #40

D90992D5-874E-4988-A439-66F5ABFE3059.jpegOne step, two steps, three steps four,

five steps, six steps, there isn’t any more,

we get to the top and have a look around

nothing to see so we go back down

only one thing left to do, this much is plain

as we skip down the steps we’ll sing our song again

 

7 Comments

Filed under Comic verse, Self compositions, Singalong, Stirring the memories, Whimsical

Colleen’s 2019 Weekly #Poetry Challenge No. 140 #SynonymsOnly #Shadorma They lurk unseen

In unlit

corners, shadows creep

silently,

cold fingers

search for that which ends their life,

illumination

8 Comments

Filed under Factual, Otherworldly, Self compositions