For Linda’s JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness SaturdayYour prompt for #JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “movie title.” Take the title of the last movie you watched (just the title, not the premise of the movie), and base your post on that title.Have fun!
Last movie I watched, hmmm Spiderman Far From Home (dvd)
Star was alone on the top of the rise. They had been traveling for days through the bleak sandstone of the Enchanted Wasteland. The first few days were spent wading through endless sand dunes. Star and her company had trudged the dunes, scarves tied so tightly around their faces they could barely breath. Even that did not prevented the constant shifting, blowing sand from working it’s way into their eyes, ears, mouths and lungs. The dunes had given way to rocky hardpack, the sun beat brutally against the skulls of Monster, Witch, Human and beasts alike. As she topped the rise, hoping to see some glimpse of green in this Goddess forsaken land, she saw … waves. Waves of colored sand, fossilized dunes of varied colors that stretched for as far as the eye could see.Continue reading “JusJoJan and SoCS – Movie Title theme”→
Your prompt for #JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “the first 3 words of the first full sentence.” Okay, follow me here. This is what I want you to do: 1. Grab the closest book to you when you sit down to write your post. 2. Open it to a random page. 3. Locate the first complete sentence on that page. 4. Use the first three words of that sentence to start your post, then take it from there–write whatever comes to mind. That’s it! Have fun!
Page 130 – Moontide – “A gust of wind caught it as she got her sword clear and threw it over his head.”
A Gust of Wind
A gust of wind blew through Star’s hair. As always, her mind went blank even as her body reacted. She acted as she had been trained, dancing with effortless grace wielding a slender curved sword in one hand, dagger in the other.Continue reading “JusJoJan – SoCS — A Gust of Wind”→
De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) is hosting at dVerse Poets pub for Quadrille 93. “Pen us a poem of exactly 44 words (not counting the title), including some form of the wordspirit.”
Spirit of Light
A star in the dark shall be woken light from the shadows shall spring spirit so strong can’t be broken bells too long silent won’t ring remember to listen and hear when one star stands alone in the darkness then every nightmare shall fear
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “shade.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
Shades of Magic
The graveyard was old and dark. No bright monuments or flowers festooned a new graves, dark and dreary as the night. Star followed Meldimeriel, the tiny fairy bobbing a bit ahead casting the only light in the gloom. In a unkempt section of the cemetery, they came to their destination. A simple soldier’s grave, centuries old untended, the meager headstone crumbled and decayed beyond recognition. Naught left for a marker but an ancient sword thrust into the ground, topped by an old helmet.
Meldimeriel bobbed up and down in excitement. They had found the grave they sought. Star gently laid her bow, quiver, and staff aside, pulling smaller items from the pockets of her cloak, herbs, salt, a small silver pentacle. With a sprinkling of herbs and salt, Star cast her circle, closing it with a whisper of magic. Raising her pentacle overhead, she whispered her chant.
From the grave a sullen grey mist slowly rose, hesitantly coalescing into a vaguely human form. The shade glared balefully at Star with a booming mutter “Release me.”
“I have questions,” Star replied, respectfully nodding to the ancient shade.
“ASK!” boomed the disembodied voice.
Star scuffed the circle with her boot disbursing the protective magic. She would meet the shade on his own ground. Gathering her courage, she stepped out of the circle.
The wolf eyed her suspiciously, his black fur matted from a dozen or more wounds. The girl fought fiercely, wielding her two small tomahawk blades with the controlled power of a master. Daerwyn watched her with burning eyes, what was she waiting for? She must know he was spent, why not finish him?
Daerwyn flinched as the girl drew back her arm and flipped the tomahawks in rapid succession. They somersaulted through the air before striking the trunk of a tree. He cocked his head in confusion. The girl sank to her knees, lifted her face to the sky and cried “NO MORE!” She knelt on the leaf strewn forest floor, head bowed. Daerwyn saw she was as weary as he.
She spoke softly “Kill me if you must Wolf, but your death will not come by my hand. I have seen enough blood spilled to last many lifetimes.”
Dear friends, as some of you know that our dear Hélèneused to do this Prompt and after her sad departure, I have felt that this gap needs to be filled. I have decided to take this challenge up and as a trial, I will post 4 challenges for the next 4 Mondays at 12:00 am PST, every Monday morning. And we shall see where to go from there. I hope that you will respond to your posts.
You can write a post on your blog and create a ping back to link to the original post. Write an original story, poem or a caption. You have six days to respond to the Prompt. I will try to reblog your response on my blog. There is no limit to words or format but keep it family friendly. I will do a round up next Sunday before the next Prompt is posted. Please tag your responses with #Whatdoyousee
Diana over at mythsofthemirror has a new challenge out for November: Write from the point of view of a creature that doesn’t exist in the “real” world.
The Rules: Don’t tell us what the creature is. Let us “experience” it through its thoughts and actions. Write a killer opening line and first paragraph. Hook readers so they’ll click over to your site to finish reading. Images are fine, but don’t include “the creature” in the image. The point is to “show” with your words. Aim for under 500 words, but honor your muse. Be creative. Keep it family-friendly. And most of all, have fun.
Here is my offering
Her hand on my neck is warm as she bows her head. The battle was difficult for one so young, so fragile. Her helmet falls to the ground as she buries her face in her hands. I listen to her silent weeping as fat teardrops plop to the ground. The other humans do not know, they cannot see. It is just us here in this glade, quite and obscenely beautiful in the aftermath. Continue reading “Myths of the Mirror November writing challenge – Sorrow”→