The tunnel #writephoto

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photoprompt

apparition

 

At first his vision was not clear, as if the world around him was out of focus. Minutes passed, then, step by step, he started making sense of what he was looking at. He was in some sort of cave, and far, far away in front of him, he could see light of day. He must have been lying down on a slab of rock, perhaps flat on his belly, but he could not feel the hard surface under him.

He tried to move, and sensed some motion, at the periphery of his vision. He wanted to touch, move his limbs, scratch his body. His body? He had wide angle vision, could look down at the floor of the cave down below, or up its ceiling, left and right.

Some oblong objects appeared, sideway of him. It took him some effort to recognise what they were: the pincers of some crustacean creature – was he in the claws of a giant spider?

He tried to move again, got some feeling in his right front limb, the claw had moved. Could he lift his head? Yes he could. It was so simple, the powerful limbs could lift his body up, shell and all.

The shell was his, he was the creature, the large sea spider, whose armour was scraping the floor of the tunnel, as he moved forward toward the light.

Loop #WritersWednesday #DailyPost

Inspired by today’s Prompt

DSC_0025

The shed stands in a little hollow, surrounded by trees and bushes. The bushes are of a climbing sort, maybe  roses, or jasmin. This place is old, but not decrepit, although as we approach it, I notice someone has removed the small inside lock on the door. It was a kind of light latch, just to allow the occupier to get privacy. My friend has disappeared inside, and I keep watch, to ensure she is not disturbed. I look around the shed, and notice some tools against its walls. My neighbour is working nearby. I mention to him the broken, or vandalised, latch. He’s aware of it, and says he will fix it. Then I remember I have that urgent phone call to give. It seems that all the public phones nearby are either not working, or of a type I cannot use. Is it that I have no change? Yet I have several cards, of a type that looks old and way past their usefulness date.

I quit the shed, with much regret, and walk toward the town hall. I never knew it was so close. I must talk to that councillor. Now there is a puzzle, what councillor, and why? Is this a throwback from that silly TV program we watched last night, where the mayor wants to buy the priory in order to build a casino? The one with the sexy nun who looks like my sister in law…

I take the familiar steps and enter the main hall. I am aware of people around, I hear them talking but cannot see them. I am worried about the friend left behind, a sweet worry tainted of lust. I try to use the hall’s telephone, but of course, do not know the extension. I am afraid of attracting attention: how could I justify my presence here? I recall that my neighbour said I could use his phone at home. I walk there, and follow a well kept path through the woods. His wife welcomes me, explains she’s now much better, and indeed looks even younger than I recall. We chat amiably, and when I try to give this call, I have forgotten what it was about, and to whom. I am now back, walking toward the shed, and found that my friend has gone. There is now, somehow, more light around, I keep looking at those useless bank cards in my wallet: a waste of space. Sometime, finding people we love, in this world, is nigh impossible. One moment they are there, just so close, and the next they are gone, and we cannot reach them.

I know this is dawn, and I have a choice, carry on the search, or pause. I know it may be prudent to pause now.

Image: Magritte Museum, Brussels

Escape

Weekly Writing Prompt #94

clichtschwaermer_mg_7881

On the map, the thin ruby line shows the road snakes its way from the center of the city – this immense space where children, and adults, play, and where the birds sing all day, all the way down south. We lose our way several times before reaching the city’s limits, and it does not matter, for this is a wonderful summer day. The trees are lush from the rain of the last shower, as we follow the trace of the old wall. We will take the escape route again, later, all the way to the old city.

Inspired by the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing challenge, June 19, and a Sunday ride on the Berlin-Leipzig long distance cycling route.

Image: http://gruen-berlin.de/projekt/flaschenhalspark

 

door-template-instructions

Twilight #Writephoto

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photoprompt

twilight

 

We stood at the edge of the woods, as our star was disappearing behind the hills, a move so swift it surprised us. Here, in the open, the air was much cooler, and you shivered a little as we watched, in awe, the waves of mist rising from the valley in front of us. The power of the spirits was palpable, and soon the white sea was engulfing the tips of the trees, masking our path.

Your pale, elfin face just visible in the deepening darkness, you looked at me and smiled, silently saying: “It takes two ghosts to be amazed by twilight!”

Knock #writephoto

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photoprompt, June 1, 2017

knock

 

She stood in front of the massive door, in awe, at what she guessed was the threshold to the temple. Now, she was close to her goal, to the end of the journey she’d started , eons back, on a deserted beach.

She would have to use the heavy knocker: she touched the metal with one fingertip, it was icy cold, although the air in the tower was merely cool. The demonic head seemed to be looking at her, challenging her to dare. Her eyes followed the curve of the powerful antlers, the cruel, alien shape of the skull. She’d seen the head of the demon before, but she could not recall where. It was as if the heavy brows lifted imperceptibly, as if the demon was reading her mind.

Hesitantly her hand moved to seize the metal loop, and as she closed her fingers on it she felt the now hot metal. As she backed off from the door, the sound of the knocker against the wood was a deep and lasting echo which seemed to resonate down endless corridors.

The eyes of the demon appeared to glow, as, slowly, the door started rotating on invisible hinges. Cold air swept her, as she felt a powerful draft pulling her through the threshold…

 

Trace #TheDailyPost

Inspired by today’s one word prompt

DSC_0252

 

In any other city I would probably lose him, as his ability to hide behind others, look like them, or simply disappear, is beyond any other’s. But this is the city of Faust. Among the folks of the night, roaming the quiet streets, haunting the silent parks, he is known as the Prince of Deceit, and easily recognised. So I know where and how to find him, follow his putrescent scent, get the demons of the night to corner him.

He tries to pretend to be someone else, a poor vagrant, a homeless, harmless victim of this harsh life. And I laugh. Through the rictus and the sardonic smile, I see the reality of the shaking Devil.  Confronted, identified, gone the assurance, gone the lies, the pitiful remnant of a fallen angel is just afraid!

Vade retro Satanas!

Picture: Devil Voodoo Figure, Usulutàn Province, El Salvador (courtesy Tucson Museum of Modern Art)

Derelict #WritePhoto

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt, May 25, 2017

ruin

 

I remember the laughter, the children running around in the high grass, the blue sky, the warm sun. I remember the joy of a shared summer day, with all of them: an old fashioned family, uncomplicated, and happy. I still see the cakes on the little table, the soft drinks, the bees flying high above the roof. It was then.

That was before, before we were invaded, before the monsters came. And now, so many years later, I have come here, and see the depth of our loss: the small house derelict, the silence of a deserted village. This is now.

And now, we keep those memories in our hearts, as we go on, fighting.

 

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