Light #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

snowy-dawn-ivinhoe-and-ashridge-111

 

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.

Clarity #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

clarity

 

Once we walked along this shore, through these dunes, you and I, hand in hand, when the world was young.

Now, our children stand tall and strong, and they and their mates look just like us, as we were.

So you see, dear love, despite all the mistakes, sometime the doubts, we saw through our future with much clarity, as the waves told us we would, once, there, along this shore, long ago.

Footprints #writephoto

Footprints

footprints

 

We love the long walks, along the shore, the closeness of the sea, the flying birds, the wet land and the immense skies. I watch your steps, the wind blowing your hair, I see you as one with the earth, the waves, the clouds.

I know we will be tired at the end of the day, and yet, we stop and watch: the reeds spelling their ancient story, the cries of seagulls, the bright colours of sand poppies.

For we know: once, long ago, we came from the sea, and our footprints in the wet sand just remind us of that long love story.

Bleak #writephoto

Bleak

glaston4-258

 

We walk, hand in hand, to the shore,

up to the small promontory, and we see our island:

it is cold today, but we don’t feel it.

Our bare feet slide over the rock,

Your empty eyes turn toward me, my love,

asking me, in silence,

if I am ready to start our voyage.

I smile, my frozen heart reaching yours,

for I know we belong there,

you and me, for ever, under the heavy stone,

below the chapel,

where once, long ago,

they burned us at the stake.

On a far away shore… #5words

Inspired by the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing prompt #109

Andromeda-yefremov-cover.jpg
Some time ago, when I was still convinced I’d win the battle for that first novel, I wrote a scene, on a distant planet, with my hero standing on the shore of a violet sea, as she comes face to face with a human being, as she, but travelling on a stretch of time merely parallel to hers. Writing this was a treat, as otherwise I was struggling in attempting to finish the story. It just flew effortlessly, from a mixture of memories of youth, and ancient reading. Unfathomable mysteries of inspiration…

Image: Fair use, Link – front cover art for the book Andromeda: A Space-Age Tale written by Ivan Yefremov. The book cover art copyright is believed to belong to the publisher, Foreign Language Publishing House, or the cover artist, N. Grishin.

Obelisk #writephoto

Thursday May 4

obelisk

 

I must have lost consciousness for a long time. I don’t remember who I am, I don’t know where I am. Was I travelling? Where did I start my journey?

I look up, alerted by the sound of waves. It is dusk. Is this desolate shore my final destination? On whose orders did I come here? Or have I just materialised here, from nowhere, other than a maddening nightmare?

I look up and see the obelisk, the sentinel… In my mind a message is forming: “You were expected long ago.” Expected? By whom? When? Was I on a mission? Have I failed?

On the horizon, the golden globe is sinking. Is this my world? Am I alone? I hear a low humming floating in the air. The temperature is quickly falling. The sound seems to be coming from the monolith…

Is this an alien world?

Shore #writephoto

shore

Inspired by Sue’s Thursday photo prompt, April 20

I opened my eyes, and immediately rehearsed the mission: locate the enemy’s base along this shore, and destroy it. Step by step I checked the multidimensional map, the weapons’ readiness list, and finally my own fitness stats. I was ready; I looked at the rollers, at the white foam forming at the top of the waves as they hit the blond sand. It was low tide. As I slowly walked towards the sea, my personal radar showed nothing. However I knew – somehow – that the enemy had many tricks in its repertoire. I scanned the water running at my feet, as drawn to the depths.

There, somewhere, was my target. I reran the film I was shown, shortly after my arrival, across the portal, when I was given my identity, and briefed on my mission. I had memorised the ugly shape, and the deadly traps that surrounded the structure… In fact I had memorised every detail I needed to help me achieve my goal.

I was now underwater, soon swimming expertly and invisibly from the surface. The gradient was a sharp drop in front of me, and I could see the rocky ground through the clear water. I just felt perfectly prepared for the mission: a sleek killing machine, well briefed and armed… and happily ignorant of her past.

Then the radar alarm in my ear buzzed: I was no longer alone…

Horizon #writephoto

horizon

 

I had to know, and I thought obscurity would help me to hide, retrace my steps, and find the wreckage. If they were any other survivors, someone might have left a message there?

From the walled garden, in the dim light of sunset, I followed the river, past the bridge, then on, along the bank to the estuary, and, finally, the beach. It was low tide, hesitantly I walked, from memory, toward the wreck. There was nothing, only the sound of small waves crashing on the dark rocks, and the far away cries of sea birds.

I paused, I may have walked too far, or, perhaps, the poor remnants of our craft had been washed away by the tide? I knew it was not plausible. After all I had been away only for two nights – or was it three? For the first time in days, I looked at my wrist, my watch had stopped, of course, it must have been the impact. The impact? Yes I remembered it well, the shock in my heart, the sudden spark of bright light…

I looked again around me, and I saw: something had changed, I had now perfect night vision, I could see the details of the shores, the small pebbles, the shells… I could hear too,  the small noises of the early night, voices…

I looked at my hands, at my arms, there was no trace of injuries, not even scratches, just the pale skin… Pale skin? But I had been on holiday, sun-bathing every day, how could I be so pale now?

I looked at the skies, soon the moon would appear behind the clouds. What time was it in this world?

Inspired by Thursday photo prompt – Horizon #writephoto