When I decide to take on a writing prompt challenge, I generally don’t put too much thought into what I’m going to write. I use this time to free write, you know, that stream of consciousness style writing. When I’m working on a screenplay I agonize over every word I put on the page and this exercise allows me the freedom to just write.
They are what they are – flash fiction.
Don’t forget that I enjoy reading the words you write too based on the inspiration you find here, so share away!
Great Mother
It was said there was a tree as old as the world itself. Traveling in the shadow of the great tree that stood before me, it was easy to believe that such an idea could be possible. This tree stood out from all the others around it. Suppose this was the mother of all trees? Her roots were thick and entrenched in the earth, and it created mounds of emerald green to dot the landscape around her. Her base had grown straight for years before bending to search for the light; her branches were many and had long been reaching for the sun.
It was the kind of tree you would seek shelter in. It was the kind of tree that offered a weary traveler refuge. It was the kind of tree that the wildlings must revere, and therefore, so must I. The eerie silence and the responsive nature of the earth beneath my feet let me know that I was indeed in a place of reverence. I did my best to avoid digging my walking stick into her soil, not wishing to leave my mark, although I did lean upon it and stare up at her in wonder.
Downed
First there was a lurch that made everyone grasp for something to hold on to. Then the lights flickered and screams echoed. Finally, the engines roared as they tried to compensate. I never heard the fighting outside. The ship was like a floating planet. It took a day’s journey to travel from one side of the ship to the other. It was rare to see a crewman from another level. I had never even seen the captain in my 10 years of service. I hadn’t seen much of anything beyond the metallic walls of my level.
We were rarely given shore leave, because a ship of this size did not have many a port to come into. There were also many components to be aware of in order to keep her running smoothly, and that is why I found the current situation so bewildering. There must be an explanation for why we were turning on our side? The walls moaned as they buckled under the pressure and the loss of velocity. It would take a number of failures to cause such a chain of events.
As I sat outside on the frozen planet, the rebel fleet overhead, I found myself overcome with grief as I stared at the state of her. She would never fly again.
~
The final WP is the Dragon Age related one I shared for my birthday. It’s a wonderful image for my fan fiction. I really wanted to write something for this, and although I haven’t completed that story, I wanted to play with an idea, so bear with me, as it might show up again later. 🙂
Also, it became so much longer than I anticipated, but as I’ve learned with these characters, I have lots to say. This is just a random snippet of what I actually wrote.
Reunion
All of Thedas knew the outcome of the battle in Denerim, and yet the fates of the Grey Wardens who slayed the beast were still unknown. Cullen’s stomach had been in knots for months since he had learned that the only way to defeat the archdemon was the sacrifice of a Grey Warden’s life. He knew she would do it. She would not hesitate. And he had hated himself for leaving her side.
What a fool he had been to think that he would better serve the Maker across the Waking Sea than with her. He was a warrior and he should have at least fought with her to ensure her victory, instead of running away with his tail tucked between his legs. He was no lion. He was a pup.
There had been no word, and he wallowed in his grief, often finding himself at the Chantry’s doors without even realizing it. He prayed to Andraste for comfort, for forgiveness, for closure – for surely she must have perished. He trained harder than ever, hoping to exhaust himself with the release of the anger that seared his flesh. He wanted to fall into his bed each night without a trace of energy or thought in the hopes of dreamless sleep. He did not want dreams filled with images of her. Sometimes he saw her limp body twisted beneath the talons of a dragon, while other times he saw her smiling sweetly up at him while twisting her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck. It did not matter the image, for each time he woke up drenched in sweat, terrified that he’d never see her again.
He hadn’t realized how much he cared for her until the moment he heard that the Blight was ended and the bitter taste that filled his mouth had nearly choked him.
And then there was light – a letter.
As he walked with hopeful purpose through the city, he caught the sunlight glint off unfamiliar armor. Cullen’s knees buckled under the weight of his relief. Her eyes swam with unshed tears despite the bright smile that lit up her face. “I wanted to surprise you.”
He barely heard the words because in the next instant he was taking desperate strides across the courtyard, ignoring the curious and strange glances of the onlookers. She followed suit, but her lithe body, not burdened by the weight of heavy armor, allowed her to run into his arms. He crushed her to him.
“I feared the worst.” He whispered harshly, the emotions stirring in him walking a sharp edge. He had been staring into a dark abyss for far too long.
She looked sad then, realizing that he had been mourning her until this moment. “Oh, Cullen. I am so sorry…”
There was nothing else to be said. She had survived. She was in his arms, alive and well and he didn’t care how it had happened. He would forgive her anything; even a pact with a demon, if it meant that she could be here, now.
Their kiss was desperate. Their relationship would always be complicated, for although she had given her heart to another, she found there was still room in it for her lion.
~
Happy Writing, my friends!
A scenery so beautiful, that has become lost over time, it hides many stories of those who walked it’s path. Maybe it was of lovers, who enjoyed it’s peace and serenity, creating memories to share with those to come. Or of those who were parted by destiny, yet met here to maintain their promises, or of those who revisited in remembrance of lost lovers. The secrets it withholds shall be tied within its ageing beauty, as the old marks fade, the new emerge.
To be a mage was to be a bit of a show off. While we cast spells, we are alight with magic. We flash with a rainbow of colors, imbued with powers from the Fade. We twirl our staves in a great display. For any mage, their staff is an extension of themselves. It helps to focus our hits, it directs with greater accuracy, but it also needs to bear quite a burden. I knew with each passing fight, I was not only developing new skills, but I was also capable of more than I had been before.
The Deal
The Signal
A Writer's Discrepant Memoirs and Other Tales 