Thursday photo prompt
“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.”
Lighter than feathers the notes of the piano float through the room, as you play, your gaze from time to time turning to me, radiant.
The evening is perfect: the rain falling on the terrace, now in darkness, can just be heard, and the sound of the fire crackling in the chimney, lighting this room, a perfect setting for the prelude to love.
Your white dress hardly conceals your perfect body, as your flawless hand hangs lightly above the keys, as if time was suspended…
You smile at me, and your smile is that of an angel, as I turn the pages of the book I pretend to be reading.
And for an instant my mind flies into the future, that far away shore where we have become the grey ashes of this glorious present.
- Five Sentence Fiction- Flawed (itsjennythewren.wordpress.com)
Their legions had swept through the universe, cruel, invincible, enslaving all humans and other creatures on their path.
The harvest of souls would have continued if it had not been for one of their slaves, One with a power that they could not comprehend, the power of Love.
They crucified Her, as they had done to so many others, pitiless, torturing Her small body as She hung, dying.
But then Her call was heard, Her God responded, because She was Love, and She knew Her Daughter was true.
So the Archangels came, lowering Her fragile remains from the cross, and, in Their turn, harvesting the monsters, burning the atoms of their ashes.