smoke

Young Nightmare

Smoke rose in pillars from the field

Fires blasted the soldiers with heat

Sweat dripped down their brows already

Gunfire was heard in the distance

as were the pained screams of dying men

The smell of copper field the air

before the stench of burning flesh joined it

Time dragged for the victims of battle

Commanding shouts led men to fight

Swords clashed and dirks appeared

hoping to kill before another shot fired

 

The mix of sounds left the young boy horrified

He gagged as he struggled to find his commander

The faces of friend and foe both fierce and unwelcoming

Clutching the dagger to his heart

his feet stuck in the bog

He fell, left to crawl amongst the bodies

and pray not to be trampled

 

His eyes met the fear filled gaze of an enemy warrior

A gunshot echoed above them and he screamed

sinking the black blade into the other man’s heart

His hands shook, leaving it embedded

And he rose

 

The commander found him as the others retreated

Paralyzed, he was lifted onto the steed

He’d never felt so tired

It clung to his limbs like wet clothing,

pulling, pulling, pulling

until he sunk beneath its surface

The panted breaths of the horse were all he heard.

 

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Very Short Stories, Week 22

Good Monday morning! Or at least, I hope it will turn into one if it hasn’t yet.

My dreams were sweet and intoxicating, and kept me in bed longer than I’d like. But here I am with my very short stories.

Here you go!

 

September 10th

The tree lay on its side, but relatively intact. Winds from last night’s storm #uprooted its proud base, leaving it exposed to the elements. She wandered over to it in sun’s brilliant rays and mourned its fate to shrivel and decay.

But the tree didn’t give up.

 

September 11th

#Smoke tumbles off the burning logs, crawling slowly towards the heavens. The fire’s scent hangs in the air and spreads its warmth and fond memories. Leaves rustle underfoot and form a carpet on soon to sleep grass. The taste of Autumn is in the air, beckoning.

 

September 12th

Rain gathered behind the dam’s walls. Its angered waters licked and spilled over its confinement, taunting those in its way. Shouts were scarcely heard over the storm, ordering evacuation.

The police rushed to remove those in the city below, to beat the #floodwaters.

 

September 13th

The teachers blamed the #lunar eclipse but the students only wanted freedom. From rules and regulations. From homework and grades. From the rigors suffocating creativity. They longed to spread their wings and read from forbidden works.

Really, they wanted stimulation.

 

September 14th

I remember doing #somersaults on the ground. The grass wet or dry, but soft against my clumsiness. I remember it turned into flips in the air that ended badly, too. I remember the child in me who made the attempt despite the outcome.

Where did she go?

 

September 15th

His eyes were #amber and sweet like honey. They raked over her naked body, sending shivers across her skin. Tension rose between them in the still silence. The pure sexual energy demanded release.

If she were a lock, his kiss was the key to unleash both their passion.

 

September 16th

Her fingers fluttered like hummingbirds across the keys of the piano. It was the only thing betraying her #euphoric mood. With eyes shut and lips a thin line, no one thought she was anything but serious. The notes that rose and fell were uplifting, demanding. Like her.

Fire’s Vengeance

Gas covered the wood
Its smell filthy in the air
And yet it welcomed Fire.
Strike a match, sulfur’s touch,
Floated through the sky.
 
Flames grew, running
Through predetermined paths
Climbing the wooden trellis
Amidst the clematis screams.
 
Its violent touch
Melted all in its path.
Plastic
Metal
And
Memories.
 
Burned away the evil
Hidden in this
Trinket filled home.
 
Smoke blocked windows
Yet the sights were clearer.
 
Fire clambered up the stairs
Followed the smell of alcohol
Like
a
Bloodhound.
 
The drunken shouts
Were masculine
As his victims urged Fire on
Imagining its red tongue
Licking his ankles,
Shredding his face.
 
Suffocating on emptiness
The man met his demise.
House turned to coal with him.
 
Fire’s Embers waited for the words
Before departing.
 
“Good Job.”

Very Short Stories, Week 8

Your favourite Monday post is here, and it contains my #vss365 for the week! Seems like I enjoyed darker themes, but they have their place, too, right?

Twitter’s #vss365 has kept me going, and engaged on otherwise horrible days of late. It has kept my anxiety, depression, and etc at bay. I am very thankful for the word prompts that @_Irene_Dreams_ is coming up with, day after day, as a result. Check her out if you want some inspiration on a less than inspiring day!

Anyways, here are my very short stories!

 

June 4th

Sitting in the #lotus pose, she imagined a shield surrounding the green energy of her mind. Like a gardener, she plucked out the colours that belonged to others, and reinforced the wall. One day this will be second nature, she hoped, but first I must control this gift.

 

June 5th

Dressed in black, the figure stood before him, surrounded by fog. He clasped his hands before him in silent prayer, desperate for the #phantasm to evaporate. Eyes shut tight, he was startled by the weight of a hand on his shoulder, and he screamed his fear like a banshee.

 

June 6th

Words unspoken clawed at her throat, desperate to be released. But she knew if said, the divide would be too great, and the fires would burn past remembrance. Instead she played the part of a #craven, and smothered them into her darkest depths. Hopefully it was worth it.

 

June 7th

The #century’s past was one mired in
blood, sweat, broken bones,
and mangled bodies.
War,
Famine,
Pestilence,
and Death
rode forth,
claiming time
and land
with their cruelties.
Those with Faith
remained strong
and rallied.
Fighting for a Dawn
still hiding.

 

June 8th

Pillars of #smoke darkened the sky, and blocked the warmth of the sun. Rubble littered the street with both the dead and the living. Buildings stood on toppled legs, waiting to fall. The eerie silence filled with wails, and commands.

All on an otherwise normal day.

 

June 9th

The greens and browns of the room spoke to a woodland #motif, calming and wholesome. A crib made of maple stood in the corner, and beside it, a changing station. Sat in the nursing chair, she folded clothing on her growing tummy, and hummed lullabies to her future babe.

 

June 10th

#Wings float and flare above the water
Wings dip and dive through the air
Wings lift and laugh with the sunlight

Wings share the colours
Of a forgotten rainbow

Wings twirl and dance before our eyes
Wings magic and muster joy inside
Wings falter and fall from our lives