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

Causeway #writephoto

Thursday writing prompt

causeway

 

This is where we started, in these shallow waters, that erased our steps:

the slippery seaweeds, the smooth rocks, where we dreamed of another shore,

by the violet sea, hidden by parsecs of space,

on the planet of the five stars.

We saw the small waves, at the feet of the goddess, we felt the warmth of the blue sun.

This is where we started, inspired, led by this causeway to the universe,

soon living our dream. So far away, from our world…

I came back, you stayed, and now,

I am forever searching for you, excluded from your paradise.

Storm #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

storm

 

It’s lonely up here, one doesn’t meet humans too often, mostly the locals are ravens and rabbits and moles, and the occasional eagle. But I like it, this is my place, where I dream, and remember. There are sweet memories, and also dark and stormy ones.

Yes, there is a storm coming this way now. I love it, the low clouds, a drop of rain here and there, I can feel the strong winds already, snaking through my empty eye sockets, resonating in my skull. “The Old One”, used to call me the villagers, when there was still a village nearby, long ago.

Nowadays the Old One merely enjoys the peace, and the storm.

Daybreak #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

daybreak

 

“It must be done,” she said in a calm voice, her everyday voice.

The dawn was stunning. “I am going to leave you, and all the beauty…” he thought, silent. He had made the pledge long ago, when it all started. Invasion. Invincible machines. Cities burnt to ashes.

Then, all knew it would take some sacrifice. Against inhumanity, to win and survive would take more than courage. There, a short distance from them, lied the devils, yet unaware.

They would see him, though, but they would not, could not recognise what he was before it was too late. Just a human being. They may even try to capture him, to play.

His comrades had already disposed of the other aliens. It took only a small nuke, for each nest. But it took a human to do it. This was the last nest left.

The human spirit.

They kissed. There was no tear: they were both beyond tears. Her chopper waited nearby.

He checked his watch. In ten minutes he would start the walk toward the hill. By then his wife would be far enough. She would see the mushroom though. Just a small nuke.

Remembering H.G. Wells

Entrance #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

portal

 

In the depth of the cave lies a long hidden secret, visible only to the initiated: to those who truly love this land, who have ploughed its fields, nurtured its trees and respected all that lives here. The secret tells them where to hide, how to protect their children and how to honour their ancestors.

The initiated know that the invaders will come, again, as they did in the past, hate and fury, rage to destroy. But they will be, again, defeated, as were the others before them and the ones who will come after them.

For deeper still, lies the Magus, who will awake, at the sound of the horn, when the land is violated. Fear his wrath, as he avenges those who were slain by the Evil, and the corpses of the invaders line up the roads all the way back whence they came.

Keep #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

keep

 

It may surprise you, no doubt, but I am still here. Yes, in this old keep. It has been my home, all these centuries, since the fatal siege that killed most of my people. Well, most of them, not all. You see, below the keep is a long tunnel. Its access could be easily blocked. At the other end is the sea. We had plenty of provisions, all the weapons we could use, we survived for years. As you can see, from here I could look at the traitor, over there, in what was our tower. One clear morning, that was before we collapsed the entrance to our domain, I killed him, one careful shot from my longbow. Ha ha! That was a kick in the ants nest. They tried everything, water, fire, poison… It was too late for them.

So, you may well ask. What did we do all these years? Well, you know your history, or rather what they, and their ‘historians”, told you. The usurpers stayed. We occasionally went out and killed a few of their mercenaries, but this was hopeless. The people were terrified. We lived from fishing, a little hunting, which was more dangerous. My companions died, one by one. I held their funeral at sea, during the night. Finally, I was on my own. More years passed. I am still here. I don’t think anyone can see me, but I have no idea what I look like, now. By the way don’t trust those images of me in museums: I know they made me look awful. As they say, the victors write history, and have pictures made of their victims.

Not that I see myself as a victim any longer.

Ex Machina

606509

 

“She’s made of small parts, of metal, and plastic, of things none of them human, do you understand that?”

I do, I know the argument, humans are being phased out, it all started long ago. And, now, it’s difficult to work out the difference, to know who’s “real”, and what isn’t. Our reality has shifted. The others live among us, and who is to say it cannot go on.

Still, she’s there, she’s to stay. There is no-one else.

 

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