JusJoJan – SoCS — A Gust of Wind

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.

The Wall – a Practical Practitioner Flash Fiction

https://morguefile.com/creative/GaborfromHungary/4/all 3bd328e827ad878ce609dad27ac2c21a

Roger has provided us with this week’s prompt for Flash Fiction for the Practial Practitioner.

The Wall

Sharah reverently touched the ancient wall. Old paint chipped and peeling made by methods long forgotten. “Caribbean Green” the elders called it. Colors were rare now, all structures sported the same dull gun metal grey finish. The wooden walls surrounded a strong and solid bunker, where the humans had made their final stand.

From here they had launched the Magnetized Pollution Concealotron, and thus burned the sky to ash. The invaders had been driven off, but the cost could never be forgotten. The nuclear winter that followed wiped out more of the earth’s population than the invaders ever had.

Word count 99

Til next time ~Peace ~JPP

Stream of Consciousness Saturday a penny for a posy

“Penny for a posy, penny for a posy mum? Penny for a posy.” The little waif danced about the fountain square hawking her wares. A small tattered basket filled with flowers picked from the roadsides. They were gathered into tattered little bundles with equally tattered and dirty bits of string or rag. Star knew she should keep walking, she had to get back to the inn before she was missed. But the dark circles of the child’s eyes beckoned her, she placed a few coins in the girl’s hand and selected a flower from the basket.

The Strain of Dark Magic

art by rondell melling on pixabay

Melantha ground the herbs in her mortar, gently circling the pestle round and round, softly chanting. She added the herbs to boiling rainwater and when the full moon rose, set the potion to strain.

Why? Melantha wondered as she carried her cauldron into the town square. Why was she doing this? The townspeople hated and feared her for the strain of dark magic within her. Why save them? Because she was the only one who could. “As one can, one must,” she repeated her mantra quietly. She left the cauldron in the square and spirited away on noiseless feet.

Watching from the shadows, Melantha smiled to herself and the town folk gathered around the cauldron. There’s not much pride left to a drowning man, nor to a dying town. A young woman was the first to scoop of the deep green liquid and take a cautious sip, feeling no harm, she spooned the potion into her children. Melantha returned to her shack as silently as she had come, the strain of her solitude eased a bit by her own act of compassion.

For Stream of Consciousness Saturday on lindaghill.com

Til next time ~Peace ~JPP

Witchly Curfew

“Curfew was three hours ago!” Nokoa’s voice cut like a knife through the misty silence of deep night.

Etheria froze with her hand on the lion’s head. Drat, she was caught. Now Nokoa was bound to turn her in to the Head Witchtress. “How did you know?” Etheria demanded.

Long Ago Along the Silk Road

Mumu’s cottage was a house of wonder, open to all who cared to enter. Little Yu Yang loved it best. She would sit looking at the artifacts collected over Mumu’s long long lifetime. Yu Yang loved the stories Mumu would tell.

The Old Asylum

The asylum was vast, and old. Aiyana was sufficiently recovered from her injuries to be allowed out. Nothing remained wrong with her physically. She had no recollection of who she was, where she was from or what wretched events brought her here.

The Forest Path

The Forest Path

Lillith pushed her little cart down the stone path. It could hardly even be called that now, the old stones were broken and cumbled, it was little more than a water run off through the darkest part of the forest. Nobody used it these days. Nobody but Lillith. She reached down to touch the boy’s forehead, still hot. He had been asleep far too long now. The fever had come on so quickly that it frightened her.

The Feast

Xerina surveyed the dining hall. All was ready, the buntings draped, chairs assembled. Xerina was not entirely pleased with the look, it was some how cheap and tawdry with the folding chairs and tables, no matter how expensive.

A Fabrication – a stream of consciousness exercise

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “fab.” Use it as a word or find a word beginning with “fab.” As always, use any way you’d like. Have fun!

A Fabrication

“The girl is a witch! She must be purified by fire,” the old magistrate’s voice rang throughout the square.

“What are the charges?” The counselor asked her question defiantly.