#DailyPrompt: Beloved Objects

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Language of Things.”

Nicola AlessandriniCarefully I lay out your weapons on the table, as well as mementoes of our happiness. But those are not mere objects of sentimental memories: they are the travelling companions of what is to come.

For we are changing, mutating. So the thin dagger, the flat, grey handgun in its black leather holster, the smooth crossbow, and the witches’ jewellery, the narrow gold ring, all have their role in our transformation.

For you will become me, and I you, and us, that invincible creature, ready to cross the boundaries of time and space, when time comes.

Image: Nicola Alessandrini

#DailyPrompt: UnsungHeroes

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Unsung Heroes.”

Treptow Park, BerlinYour face haunts my sleepless nights, so far away and yet so familiar,

I see the immense plain, covered with snow, and the litter of war, to the horizon.

Victory was then still deep in your future, but I know now that you saw the wings,

The songs, the invincible armies, in the Spring of what you hoped would be

A world without war.

We will never forget.

#DailyPrompt: All or Nothing?

Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.” — Sylvia Plath

TemptationWe met in one of the new high tech shopping centres that opened in the city in recent times. I could not help noticing her, a tall, attractive red hair, with the most remarkable angel face, who was looking around the same cameras I was interested in.

But it’s her who started the conversation. She enquired if I was a professional, presumably meaning “photographer”. At that instant I was looking at the new Nikon, an amazing masterpiece of optics and electronics, far too sophisticated for my modest talents, and priced well above what I could afford. I told her so, she was amused. Her crystalline laughter surprised me.

She said she was a model, which was plausible given her looks and body, although something in her poise, and her choice of words, made me wonder. We chatted amiably about cameras, modelling, art and finally she invited me for a coffee just over the alley, a shop full of glass, leather and stainless steel.

“You know,” she said as we settled down in uncomfortably deep armchairs made for another species, “You can have that camera if you want…” She was serious, and I misinterpreted her words. “O no,” I replied, “There are more important things I want about now…”

Again I was disconcerted by her smile, enticing and a little too provocative for my taste. “I meant you could have what you want, all that you want, and maybe I can help you see how?”

I froze: once again I had been fooled, almost by surprise, the devil adopting the form I would be most likely to let close to me. I was an idiot. I looked at my companion straight in the eye, seized the little crucifix that I never leave behind, and of course, (s)he had disappeared.

I wanted nothing, other than forget this encounter: Satan is everywhere, spying on our desires, waiting for his time to strike, in whatever form. I want none of it.

All or Nothing?

#FiveSentenceFiction: Trust (part 2)

Alpine streamMy hands were now pitiful lumps of red flesh, raw from the descent, I could no longer feel my arms.

The rope passed through a narrow gully, between two sharp needles of granite, above me I could guess at the cold dawn.

I took advantage of the two vertical walls, pressing my back on one of them, and my feet on the other: it was so tempting to let go, I could not be more than half way down, the end would be silent and quick.

Down, far below in the valley, still in shadows, I could hear the sound of rushing water, the fast alpine stream she told me once about.

Another twenty meters and I realised the rope was too short: there would be a fall of fifty meters at least, a painless death – but then I saw on the rock face, just in front of me, what was unmistakably another rope, this time knotted: I cried.

#FiveSentenceFiction: Trust


I did not know the length of the labyrinth, only that it led to that gate, and the little platform, just wide enough for two feet, facing the immense sky, and a sheer vertical drop of several hundred meters high above the valley.

She had said to me, in another life it seemed, that she would lay the rope from the overhang, and that with my strong arms I could then reach the valley, right down the cliff, just taking the time not to exhaust my strength…

Now of course captivity had taken much of my energy away, the beatings, the hunger, the cold, still, I went for it, killed two guards in the silence of the night: this gave me just half an hour to reach the first gate, and run for my life through the labyrinth, using the little map she had given me, all those years back.

My lungs were burning as I heard the alarm resonating through the rocks and the thick doors: I thought my heart would explode, and now I could hear the roar of the mastiffs they had unleashed, a last lap to the gate in front of me…

The clear air took my remaining breath away: in front of me the abyss, I had to believe, had to hold on the edge and feel for the rope, behind me was death – I let myself slowly down, holding to the ledge – and the rope was there…

#DailyPrompt: Someone Else’s Island

What will you need sweet angel?

KissLet me guess, and first of all, what you never leave home  without, your faithful AK47: this will take care of imbeciles… I will add the ammos of course, nice and tidy… all carefully packed around that beautiful leather belt we bought together…

Then there is that sharp knife you love, the one that’s all grey and heavy, and the leather sheath you can fix on your o-so-lovely thigh…

The canvas rucksack you take to the mountains, and your bikini, the one you wear when you want me to go crazy…

And of course, those boots, so well worn, but so strong, waterproof and comfortable…

You’ll be all right my darling, and then, I am on my way!


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