Vista #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

vista

 

“Soon we will be back, walking those hills, and finding ourselves, again.”

It’s true, she thought, life is an eternal come back.

Simply, we change, not the hills, not the sky. Only us grow old.

Or it feels like it.

So, we will have to rewrite the story, or is it stories?

Will the nights be as silent, the vistas as inspiring?

Will we retrace our steps, or lose our way, as if in a foreign land?

How do we rewind time?

Dream #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

dream

 

They were back, still in a daze, amazed at the colours, the air, the clouds. She took his hand, in silence, knowing he could not be reached, yet. Was this real? Or was it a dream, another dream? If it was, then she did not want to wake him up, or herself. Not now.

If it was a dream, was there a purpose? Were they expected to go back, abort the mission, or go forward, further still into the future? Was this land their world, was it now, or was it down the tunnel of time? Then who was treading the sand under their feet?

Dakar

Silver #writephoto

Thursday writing prompt

silver-1

 

“I am glad you brought me here, Paul,” she said in a whisper, “I have never seen water on this scale. Even here, this small pool. And the wet sand…”

The boy looked back at her, his young bride, as through her veil he saw the blue in blue eyes. “This is Caladan, a water world. Eighty percent of the globe is oceans. I was born here. You can imagine how I felt when I came to Arrakis…”

They were both silent. A small displacement of air signalled the arrival of their transport. Soon, at the top of the dune, their escort appeared in the traditional long robes.

“M’Lord, your transport is ready when the Princess and your Lordship are.”

“We are, General, we were admiring the silver reflection in the lagune.”

Inspired by Sue’s prompt on Thursday, and thoughts of Caladan. I must say I look forward to Villeneuve’s Dune.

A tale of two worlds

Recently I have indulged in some fantasy. This is the story of a man who appears to live in two very different places, with the same companion.

Dakar_Senegal_-_Looking_North_(5274051599)

 

He sensed she’d moved out of the room and must be in the kitchen, making coffee, as every morning. Here, in the city near the sea, their routine was fixed: rise at six, coffee, gym, shower and swim, breakfast, then work for four hours, which normally took him till about four in the afternoon. The rest of the day was a matter of mood. May be a walk in town, another swim, followed by a drink by the sea, in one of the many little bars of the harbour. Some other day it was sex, and then dinner in one of their favourite fish restaurants, under the stars.
That morning he reflected on the last night’s dreams. Slowly he got up, put-on his lose kimono and walked to the kitchen. She was there, naked, as he liked to see her first in the day. Coffee was brewing. She came to him with the usual words, a miracle of sensuality and attachment. The dreams had taken him, and her, far away, in a world he did not recognise, but knew was, would be, had been their world. There, like here, his special talents and knowledge had made him, them, indispensable. There, like here, she was his guardian angel, his indispensable alter ego. She asked him about the dreams, and listened, her face showing a profound attention. He told her he did not know where the planet was, and she said she would try and find out when he was asleep.

Image: By Jeff Attaway from Abuja, Nigeria – Dakar Senegal – Looking North, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=73952615

Read further

Soar #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

storm-clouds-1

 

“They are already on the move? They are geese, I think, perhaps a vanguard, it would mean a very early winter…”

“Or they are tourists, having a look around. Besides, a storm is bubbling up above us, they could be looking for shelter.”

“Or they are spirits, warning us to leave, while we have a chance. It may not be winter that’s coming. It could be locusts, or a big earthquake…”

“Are you trying to cheer me up?”

 

Secret #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

secret

 

You can stop worrying, no-one will ever know, your secret is safe, hidden, under key. Now you have regained your freedom, there is no evidence, no proof, nothing has ever happened. Your thoughts are safe, and as you well know, time erases everything.

So, it is up to you, what you do with your life, where you go, who you meet. In the meantime, you only need to think of your enjoyment. As for her, she too will soon be forgotten.

 

Veiled #writephoto

Thursday writing prompt

veiled

 

What is there beyond? Is it in our time, or elsewhere, across a void? If we walked to the edge, what would we find? Is there a bridge, through the veil? Is it passable?

What would we find in that wilderness, would we meet other beings, or only rocks? Is it even wise to ask those questions? Did the Creator intend for us to look in that direction?

Or is the veil there for a reason, in order to stop us interfere with that elsewhere? After all, our interference with all things, alive or mineral, on this side of the chasm, has not been entirely successful, has it?

So maybe, this is intended, a veil to warn us: beyond this point you shall not go, thus far, but no further.

Gallery #SixSentenceStory

Wednesday’s Six Sentence Story Challenge #4

computer earphone figurine furniture

Photo by cody berg on Pexels.com

 

He looked back at the portraits of his ancestors, on the walls of the dusty gallery, and wondered.

What would they think of him, this ruin of a man, this wreckage?

There is no trace of glory for them to see, merely the shameless face of a sinner, a deluded thief.

But then, he is here, still, and they are long gone, ashes and dust, forgotten.

Sic fugit gloria mundi, he thought…

As his skeletal hand rubbed his polished, fleshless skull.

Guardian #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

watchers

 

I am waiting. I know you will come, when does not matter to me: I am old, and patient.

When you arrive, I will be ready. Maybe, by then, you will be wiser. If not, woe to you.

You may think that, after those eons, I should have forgotten. Poor you. I forget nothing, ever. Besides, I know your sort: the species that believes they can trample the spring flowers, anywhere, regardless, as if it was their home. It isn’t.

Lack of respect, I call it. Well, respect you shall learn, the hard way.

For there is a guardian on these shores, unforgiving, immortal.