Thursday photo prompt
We are at the crossroad, there is no way back, we have to chose: darkness, or greed, or the Truth. If we chose the Truth we will have to fight. If we chose darkness we will be, finally, hunted down like rats – and we’ll deserve it. If we chose greed, we will be billions. And we will die, miserable putrefying ruins, in the middle of our riches.
So, Truth it will be. Then, along this most arduous of all paths, we will have to fight, against darkness, and against greed. The Archangel will guide us. For this fight began long ago.
But for Truth to triumph, over darkness and greed, we will have to sacrifice ourselves, like Him.
Thursday photo prompt
Often we walked in those woods, you and me, when the bluebells shone, and the sky reminded us that Easter was close by. Today, the air is clear, the ground soft to our feet, as it was then.
“What is the difference?” we could ask. But we don’t. We both know. Our bodies have no shadows, we meet no-one, or rather, no-one meets us. We are invisible, though we still love these woods, the valley below, the old Roman villa nearby, the memories of our lives.
We hear voices too, far, far away: are they people we once knew? Or are they the dreams of ancient ghosts, like us?
Prompt, April 20
“There are no ghosts here,” the old man said, as a matter of fact. “You will find a few old stones, but nothing worth spending much time. They rebuilt the city as they pleased: no reference to its past, its soul, its heroes…”
We took a few more steps through the nondescript city center, we could have been anywhere in a dozen European cities. “But have a look at the river bank,” my companion continued, “I won’t walk with you, but it’s the only place deserving your time…”
The river was twenty minutes away. All along the water luxury mansions faced the tree-lined alley. Gone were the cheap take-aways and the congested streets. Here was real wealth, and good taste. People here did not bother about the fate of other parts of the city: they had bigger fish to fry.
Then I looked at the record of flooding, on the wall of an old tower, standing there, as a warning…
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
It’s no surprise “they” hate you, the establishment, the unctuous banksters, all those who have betrayed the people for many decades, destroying our dreams, our homes, killing us. They will use all their weapons to vilify you, and those close to you, they have a long tradition of this: it’s just that this time, many of us listen to you rather than to them.
Yes, you need our help. We understand this over here: honesty, and bluntness, can be so easily rebuked, truths denied, falsehoods erected as gospel: war is peace, freedom is slavery. It has all been written long ago.
Yet there is a chance. The old continent is stirring. Those criminals in our streets won’t roam free for much longer, and those liars who negotiate with them will meet their fate. And they won’t like it.
Sunshine filters through the young leaves, bright eyes looking for bright colours.
In the grass, at the foot of small bushes, there they are, half hidden.
The Bunny has done a good job: not to hard to find, but still needs a little effort, and plenty they are…
Mother has given the children small bowls, for them to collect the eggs,
Their little feet trample the green carpet, soon it will be tea time.