Shimmer #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

between

 

“So, this is it, that small island?”

His mind was wandering, as he started looking for the boat.

“Don’t worry, he will turn up, he never misses an appointment.”

The sun came out from behind the dark clouds. It was a beautiful place, silent, peaceful.

At last he said:

“Will you come with me?”

“Of course, I am familiar with the place, and I always stay with my friends for the crossing…”

At last he looked at me, and recognised me.

I helped him on the boat. The lake was a mirror, reflecting the tall cypresses on the Island of the Dead, in the shimmering light.

Hidden

nemesis_now_licufer_the_fallen_angel_figurine_image_1

 

The little daemons I used to see, at the crossroads, or standing high up on roofs, pretending to be busy, have gone. Or, perhaps, I have stopped noticing them, or they have stopped inviting me to see them. What does it mean? Is it because the city is now used to me, no longer interested? Or is it me who is now impervious to her mysteries, unable to decipher the signs, to see through the deceptive appearance?

But they are still there, watching, without being watched. They are waiting for my next move: they have all the time, other strangers to amuse themselves with, other tricks to play on the unaware. They know that, day by day, this old man is losing strength.

Soon I will be ripe for the taking, for the offer I cannot refuse. The Master knows.

Image: Nemesis, source

Afar #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

afar

 

“Thus, what you are saying is that for years the government has had this beautiful valley reserved to store nuclear stuff?”

“Well, first of all, none of this is to reach the media, do you understand? This is highly sensitive material, and everything would be denied anyway…”

“Okay, but you said there were several wells drilled, in the valley and atop these hills, didn’t you?”

“Yes, we want you to understand why your proposal is not acceptable.”

“Well, what was the purpose of those wells?”

“It’s what I told you already, initially, it was to see if the ground was suitable for storing depleted uranium rods. Geologically the location seemed perfect, very old rocks, stable, no record of tremors since records began… well away from populated centres…”

“But, you said, drilling was abruptly terminated, when was this?”

“It does not matter, we just want you to understand why your plan to build that golf course is simply not on. Besides, you already know the whole valley, and those hills, are now guarded by the ministry of defence… but don’t publicise this!”

“So, what happened?”

“Let’s say that what is below this landscape, deep down, is a state secret. It’s only because of who you are that I am telling you this.”

“You must tell me more, I want, I need a reason to give this up.”

“We could simply tell you that this is a nature reserve, a site of exceptional beauty, and indeed it is, and will remain so.”

“What is it?”

“It’s classified, but I have been authorised to say this: there is a structure, down there, at a depth of about one hundred meters, and it’s protected by a dome.”

“A dome, made of what? What structure?”

“This is classified, we are still measuring and probing.”

“And how old is that thing?”

“I can’t tell you, other than it is very old, extremely old, even.”

“And you expect me to swallow this story?”

“I am sorry, Sir, but you will have to believe me, or not, but that’s it.”

“One bit of proof!”

“Yes, I was also allowed to give you this: an estimate of the size of the underground structure.”

“And?…”

“It’s about as large as ten football fields.”

“And do you know what the dome is made of?”

“It’s classified. But it’s metallic.”

Catharsis

Arnold_Böcklin_-_Die_Toteninsel_III_(Alte_Nationalgalerie,_Berlin)

 

How to fight Evil? Some say, the Goods and the Angels must rise: only the Sword can triumph, in the Name of all that is Holly. I am no longer so sure. Isn’t the Enemy already among us? Can we still recognise the Fallen one, among the Angels? For he’s an expert of disguise, borrowing beauty and charm when it suits his ends: the ever-changing Joker.

Today he’s everywhere, in the sweet songs, and the laments, in the unctuous speeches of the virtuous. One day, the hateful legion, the next Innocence, in all her nakedness. And the fools to applaud.

Yet, we have been victorious before. All it takes is determination, and clarity. In this world, and beyond.

Image: Von Arnold Böcklin – 0wFgMTIQ3kZCpg at Google Cultural Institute, zoom level maximum, Gemeinfrei, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13251755 (Original in Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin)

Light #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

snowy-dawn-ivinhoe-and-ashridge-111

 

In this blinding light, on such a bright morning, I seek your smile, a sign, even a shard of memory.

Where are you, in this, or another world?

Do the rays of our star still caress your skin?

Or are you now so far beyond, perhaps on an alien shore, watching another sun rise?

I have lost your trace, your scent, the feeling of your existence.

Night will come.

Glass #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

glass

 

“When was this photo taken?”

“Sir, we cannot be certain, it was transmitted just before the station was destroyed, that is, before the start of the eruption. As one can see, there is no trace of dust or smoke.”

“And what do our satellites see?”

“Nothing, Sir, just dust, surrounding the whole planet. It must be dark down there, doubtful there will be any survivor.”

“And that little island on the other side of the lake?”

“We think, now, that this is where the first eruption took place. It’s hardly believable: a stable old ground for millennia.”

“Well, we will have to rethink. Any other pictures?”

“No, Sir. All cameras have been vaporised.”

Before the long journey

Rachael

 

From the gate it was a short walk to the ship, under the high protective dome which had been erected on their arrival the year before. The leader could see his crew was excited: they would find back their cubicles, their personal possessions, holograms, books, games, even the small pets they were allowed to keep on the journey. They would also find, for the lucky ones, messages from family and friends. He looked at each of them, smiling, as they stood before the door, at the foot of the small elevator. They exchanged jokes and greetings. Over half of them were humans, fourth or fifth generation colonists who had volunteered for the reconnaissance of their old world. The others were replicants, but an uninformed observer could not have guessed. He thought the replicants tended to be smaller and somehow more fragile looking, many were women for whom it was the first long range spatial experience. From what his first officer had told him, he knew already that it was them who had been the most agitated until his return. Now they were all boarding slowly and orderly the big ship.

He found the size and glow of the hull pleasing. Two thirds of the vessel were taken up by the drive, the giant fusion reactor that allowed the ship to achieve trans galactic speed. But they would use the much smaller magnetic drive to leave the earth. The leader had several hours of tests and preparations to work through before their departure. He was looking forward to this work. Himself a replicant of the twelfth generation, cosmonauts and navigators, he would steer the ship into orbit, and then out of the solar system. The entire crew, bar himself and the first officer, would then be sent to cryogenic sleep for most of the journey. This would happen about a year after their departure from earth.

As he initiated the first test programs, the leader reflected on their mission. It had been a great success. They had plenty of recordings and measurements. Non-human life was now again plentiful on earth. The machines the previous mission had left to roam the oceans had done  beautiful work of removing and destroying the plastic and other noxious material that polluted them. The atmosphere was clean.

There was more. One of the replicant ladies expected a baby. The first human being conceived on earth for three hundred years.

Picture: Rachael, Blade Runner

Glow #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

frosty-dawn

 

“He said he would come this morning, so have no worries!”

“Without him we are lost, we won’t ever go back home…”

“Just watch the light, soon you will se him, coming down from the top of that hill!”

The valley was still in darkness, but soon it would be dawn. Soon, the leader would be back with his flock. He would guide them to the gate, he would open the gate for them.

After so many months of searching and waiting, they would see it, in all its glory.

They would see the glowing spaceship that would take them home.

 

writephoto

Web #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

armour

 

Reaching this corridor had taken time, and my companion and I were exhausted. When was the last time human beings had visited these walls? We had to decipher puzzles, and pick complicated locks. We had lost our way many times, fearing to fall through some traps, and crash down to deep and horrific dungeons.

The surface of the armour was a dull grey, a thin dust covering those parts not hidden behind the cobwebs. Was this a sentinel? Or a witness, to the horrors that had closed the house to posterity? We thought of the Commendatore, the victim of a terrible crime. The man, or should we say the creature, who had worn the armour, was tall, and rich. The exquisite finish of the metalwork, the still luxurious leather of the joints, all showed this was a work of art, brutal, signalling the strength and power of its owner.

The corridor was dark, only faintly lit by a distant window. The same thin dust covered walls and the carpeted floor. The solicitor had not not known the details of ownership, merely that the property was for sale. For a fortune. There was a large park around the house, century-old trees. And many works of art inside, he’d said. The owner, whoever, or whatever that was, had not yet allowed visitors. We’d taken on ourselves to have a look.

There was very little furniture, but some ancient prints on the walls. The air was dry, not stale, as if, somehow, fresh air was sometime allowed to penetrate the house. We decided to take a look at the prints. A few steps away we were looking at a delicate drawing… of the same armour, with a text we could not read. We heard a faint noise, a light friction sound. There was now way this was possible…

The high helm, which must have covered the skull of the knight, was now turned toward us.

Balefire #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

balefire

 

“Is it a signal?” she said softly, “or is it for us?” It is both, I thought in silence, this is to warn, and prepare. I took my friend’s hand and we walked away. We knew we were not wanted. The warning was clear. Everywhere we would go in the country, it would be the same, and one evening…

None of us was amnesiac. We knew full well how it would end. There was a long tradition. From time to time we would lit a bonfire, but most of the time the fires were lit to burn us. Us, witches.