Photo Challenge: Fiction – Spectre of Death #amwriting #fiction #death


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo prompt: 

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Credit: “Minutes to Midnight” – http://www.hunternif.deviantart.com

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Time’s clock is forever ticking above death’s throne. The clock’s glass face absorbes the colours of the landscape where death resides. The greyish-green of the stone mass, a floating island, and the pinky-red fire of the sky above and below, reflects on the clock’s face. 

The figure of death sits soberly in his throne. The stone carved form a perfect fit for his lanky tall body. Beneath death’s left and right hands, the leering skulls of his first two victims sit. They are from our first two ancestors, people who lived exceptionally long compared to the humans living in modern times. Adam and Eve had tried to evade death, even though they knew he was coming for them. They had been ignorant and had no idea what death actually meant until they breathed their last. 

Their souls he’d had to let fly in heaven, gold birds with giant wings exploring their freedom and return to painlessness. He had kept their skulls, though one day he knew he would have to return them. For now, Adam and Eve’s skulls peered eerily out onto whichever soul was before death seated on his throne. Together with the dying person, death watched their last seconds of life tick away. He towered over them in his realm and let their soul sour to heaven or to hell, there was no inbetween except him. 

Some souls who stood before him were not afraid. This always amazed death. He was an imposing figure, giant and fearsome, his red hair as consuming flames, and his eyes burning coals. Some humans gazed up at him with what frightened death as wisdom, something they had gained, which few knew, not even him. Their souls flew away and he knew he would never see them again. Other people crumbled before him and he took time to torment them whether they went below or above. He was death after all, a fearsome being. 

Yet, he had no control where a soul went. Death had no power to choose or to do as he wanted. He had a job, a task. He was death, he killed; but he was not merely an end. He was also the beginning. What he valued most of all, freeing those souls trapped in decaying bodies or in bodies injured profusely. Death was a contradiction of terms, both good and evil. Souls of faith went above and souls of disbelief went down to hades. Even death was afraid of what lay far beneath him in the abyss. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

November Notes: Poem – Day 29 – Septolets – “Love Bigger Than The Pines” #poetry #amwriting #novembernotes #music 


Today’s song prompt is “Hunger Of The Pine” by alt-J.

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“Hunger Of The Pine” – alt-J

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Credit: Aspen Snow Photography – http://www.pinterest.com

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Hungry trees, 

Flesh, bone,

Graves for —

Some.

Others, 

Jump from

Branches; they

Fly, liberated. 

Words echoing, 

Clench heart, 

Safe keeping, 

Locked. 

Hungry, 

Thieves, conspiring, 

Evil found, 

Hold me.

—-

Spirits flying, 

Running, screaming, 

Terror finds, 

Us.

Hurdling, 

Uniting bodies, 

Pillows absorbed, 

Warmth’s lack. 

—-

Hungry pines, 

Needles deadly, 

Grabbing greedily, 

Wanting.

This, 

Connection stubborn, 

Maddening laughter, 

Protecting me.

Pine’s hungry, 

We’re quicker, 
Sliding sagely, 

Loving. 

Deeper,

You’ll find, 

Us bends,

Your mind. 

—–


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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

November Notes: Poem – Day 20 – Rondel – “Better Than Your Worst Days” #amwriting #poetry #novembernotes #writing 


The song for this days song prompt was “Floodgates” by Colbie Caillat

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“Flood Gates” – Colbie Caillat

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http://www.pinterest.com

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Everyone’s felt broken, with force knocked down;

Leave your floodgates open, sad tears douse fires. 

Learn to love when someone hurts you, when you drown —

In tears, the sweetest nector, they inspire. 

There’s great might in being weak, don’t meltdown, 

Pick-up the pieces, work with it –aspire. 

Everyone’s felt broken, with force knocked down;

Leave your floodgates open, sad tears douse fires. 

There is strength in you, a hero renowned, 

You’ve more terror than the fire demons respire. 

Beat, belittled, your relisiant admired. 

You’re better than your worst days –you’re profound

Leave your floodgates open, sad tears douse fires. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: The Headless Horseman Returns #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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The sky was black and the woods silent. Even the stars seemed not to glimmer. 

Rev. Jones was sweating hidden in the bushes. He could feel the shudders of fear coursing through his body. He held onto the cross at his throat. 

Swish. Right near Rev. Jones head, an axe swung. Rev. Jones didn’t bother to look and see who was trying to behead him, he knew and he ran for the covered bridge, stark terror overcoming him as he tried to surpass the headless horseman.

It was to no avail, the horseman in his armour popped down from the top of the covered bridge as it ended. He twisted his axe, showing off, letting Rev. Jones know, there was no way to escape him.

Rev. Jones screamed as the axe hit his throat and his head was lopped off his body, eyes blinking a few moments afterward.

The headless horseman picked up Rev. Jones’ head and placed it in his bag. His mistress had three more heads for him to collect that night, and so he would.

—–

Ichabod Crane stared at the headless body at the front of the covered bridge.It was really dark last night, (the stone mason who had found the body said). But he was sure this bridge was the place of the murder. Ichabod had done all the appropriate medical tests, and figured out Rev. Jones the Vicor, had been beheaded around 1:00 am last night.

It was no surprise, prominent members of the community were dropping like flies. But Ichabod wondered as he had before when this nightmare last occurred, who was controlling the headless horseman now? 

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Based off of one my all time favourite movies Sleepy Hollow with Johnny Depp and Christina Ricci.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Wrapped Refrain – ” Innocent Missteps”


Thanks to The Daily Post for the word prompt misstep.

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http://www.saintandrewstwinflame.com
 

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Counting steps up the narrow stairs,

Games, children play so unawares,

Tall steps and short legs, possibly mean,

Tumbling fall, missteps unseen.

Watch where you step little one, off the given path,

Dangerous sights behold, adventures calling, laugh.

—–

Down through the trees and the bushes,

Walking past creatures, no ‘shushes.’

Imagination overtaking,

Vivid thoughts, young spirit awakes,

Missteps taken, no words to say, yet grinning.

Turning round the beaten path, which way? Spinning.

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Child alone on empty forrest way,

Terror pronounced evil, child fey.

Innocent one, not so innocent.

Ready to pounce, so indifferent.

Terror worse then, lion, tiger or bear; pointed teeth.

Counting steps, hunter of the midnight hour, she’s unleashed.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Cinquin – “No Regrets.”


A Cinquin is an unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines. It was developed by the Imagist poet, Adelaide Crapsey.

For more information visit Shadow Poetry here.

 

http://www.superiorplatform.con
 
I thought,

Snow falling would,

Would cover the evidence.

But the cops are not stupid they–

Found him.

——

Gasping, 

I wonder when,

They will come to my door,

And take me away and finger print–

My hands.

—–

They’ll search,

In my dresser,

They’ll find something of his,

The gun he carried trying to–

Force me.

——

I fought

I wouldn’t let–

Him hurt me, not my body.

He injured me with his body first.

I cried.

—–

Lurking,

I saw him here,

He wanted me again, 

So, I picked up his gun and I,

Shot him.

——

They’ll lock,

Me away when, 

They identify him, 

No one knows how he hurt me first.

He’s dead.

——

I’ll go,

To prison because he,

Was a monster and I,

Killed him when he tried again, I’ve

No regrets. 

—— 

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Fire in the Sky


“Oh misty eye of the mountain below . . . ” words of the song that Tolkien wrote; the desolation of smog made the town burn, and fire reigned in the sky, a dragon’s evil. Or, maybe evil in real-life?

” Fire in the mountain . . .  we see fire burning the trees . . . if we should die, then we’ll all die together and raise a glass of wine, for the last time.”I repeat these phrases in my head. I wonder if Tolkien thought about fire burning lives to pieces in reality. 

You see in life their are many dragons, they put afire everything, the town is like the buildings we put in place to prop up our lives, to live in peace supported. But not even shelter can save us. 

When those supports burn, where are we then, just fodder for smog and his smokey breath. Buildings are wood and wood goes to ash. Where’s that one little spot on the dragon we can hit, a missing scale, a little nick, bring down terror to his knees. 

But in life our dragons are fiercer then smog. They are thin as vapour and kill us with smoke. We cannot see them but we know they are there, an evil dreaming the Devil’s nightmares. If we see them, God give us hope. 

Does good overcome in real life too? Or do we die as dwarves, and Elvan folk do? Do we cry as a woodland creature over our loves? Do we go off to battle to forget our problems? Are we so surrounded and submerged by evil that we cannot see, daylight and peace in the morning breeze?

Do we offer jewels from the sky, to keep us alive? Promises to this and that if only we can keep on fighting; or do we raise that glass of wina and plan to fall today? No strength in us, though strength was what we found when we thought there was none. 

Misty, eye? You look troubled. Do you know the threat in a mountain full of gold? The troubled breath of a mouth of fire? Rage and deception to keep all that’s gathered. Cursed bits of our souls, like cursed bits of gold. Coin upon crown, upon necklace, upon throne. 

What keeps us together while our supports burn? When the coffers are empty, when we have no cheer? Do we sing lovely songs while we die by trial? Do we come to the aid of perfect strangers? Battle makes friends out of enemies. And dragons fall from their places of gold and emeralds. 

They’re are dragons in Paris, a place I’ll see one day. Terrorism brings fire, makes the ancient town burn. One-hundred people fall in a concert venue and more across the city, people held hostage.  A form of Smog, that vindictive evil kills the innocent.

In ‘The Hobbit’ many died, and Bilbo found out that even a Hobbit can do a lot, though he is small. But bodies lie dead where the armies have fought, no invisible ring to save you from a shot. The terror is real, he comes in so close. Not in stories but in real life. Terror from the sky, terror haunts us in real life. 

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“The Hobbit” JRR Tolkien