Encounter with an Angel, a pre-Christmas tale

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I stood waiting at the traffic lights with a few other humans, and I noticed her immediately: her posture, the recognisable signs of strength and gentleness. There are some very beautiful beings in this city, but this was enough for me to keep my eyes on her, as the traffic roared past us. She turned her head round toward me, and I saw the light in her blue eyes, and heard the melody of her voice in a concert of crystalline bells:

“You look worried, my friend, and you should not be,” said the Angel with a dazzling smile, “We know that not all is well in this world, but this is no different from all times,” she continued, as I looked at her face in awe. “Besides, there are some very good things happening, even if it is sometime difficult, for you, to recognise them. You should know that every time the Enemy scores one, We win two, sometime even three. So, please relax, and keep your faith in Her, for She won’t abandon you, however stupid you might be, most of the time.”

I was speechless. People walked around me. The lights had changed from red to green and back to red again. The Angel had gone, in a cloud of bells.

She knows

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She knows how much I value her, her role, her character, and she plays hard to get.

“You have to show me, not good enough just to say: ‘she possessed him, he was what her will dictated.’ You have to write it, convincingly, a good two thousand words, at least, showing how much this is true, this is his reality, the truth about my power…”

And, of course, she means her power over me too. I have to admit she’s at the center of this, the lady of the forest, the magician, the witch, she who inspires me. But she wants more. She wants success, fame, she wants to be on the stage. I have to work harder. The plot is too complicated. It’s not, solely, about her. She, is merely interested on how bright she will shine, a heroin for our time.

“And then you have to show what I can do, not fiddling in the bushes, the real me: just look, deep in my eyes!”

She has gorgeous eyes, a deep green, turning grey, when she’s really angry, like now.

So I must reform, understand that this is her book, not mine. That this is her story, not just any story.

Or else.

 

Image: Brünnhilde, By Odilon Redon – Houghton Library, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3721653b

Angel #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

christmas

 

You raised your arms, the dove looks about to fly away. The world is at peace, your smile reassures all of us. The small flame vacillates, one short instant. The warm light plays in your hair. How we admire your face, the beautiful eyes that greet all of us.

For we are afraid, and seek your protection. The donkey looks at you, just to make sure you understood: your people need you.

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

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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.”

Light #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

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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.”