Idol Mini: "Muireall"
Muireall
Idol Mini | week 4 | 260 words
Uncanny Valley (The point at which something realistic becomes wrong enough to be disturbing)
x-x-x-x-x
Rory dreamed she came from the sea.
Her hair gleamed like burnished chestnut
as she waited on the shore,
her clothes dripping on the sand-
a summer storm for him alone.
Their eyes met across the distance,
he the question and she the answer.
A held-in breath, a leaping heartbeat,
and Rory felt his fortunes change.
He’d never wooed and never wed,
but found the courage to bring her home.
There, he fed her, warmed her, held her
until their searching was no more.
Words stolen by waves or the journey,
she understood naught but his earnest love.
He called her Muireall, for the ocean
that had swept through his very heart.
The surf thundered and the wind blew hollow
while each mapped the other’s ebbs and tides.
He was constant and she was playful.
They were magic spun from sea-foam and light.
For weeks, they lived as lovers
in his cottage by the cold North Sea.
Rory dared to dream of marriage,
of children- of bliss until the end of time.
But then one day, her eyes shone true:
black and depthless, they were not human,
and Rory could not hide a shiver.
He saw her realize that he knew.
She snatched her cloak from the door
and ran outside, his sad entreaties
(Muireall, it does not matter!)
slowing nothing in her stride.
She fled down to the water,
too far to hear his desperate cries.
Then she wrapped herself in her cloak (her skin),
and slipped silently back into the sea.
His sorrow filled the empty sky.
--/--
If you enjoyed this story, you can vote for it along with many other fine entries here
Idol Mini | week 4 | 260 words
Uncanny Valley (The point at which something realistic becomes wrong enough to be disturbing)
x-x-x-x-x
Rory dreamed she came from the sea.
Her hair gleamed like burnished chestnut
as she waited on the shore,
her clothes dripping on the sand-
a summer storm for him alone.
Their eyes met across the distance,
he the question and she the answer.
A held-in breath, a leaping heartbeat,
and Rory felt his fortunes change.
He’d never wooed and never wed,
but found the courage to bring her home.
There, he fed her, warmed her, held her
until their searching was no more.
Words stolen by waves or the journey,
she understood naught but his earnest love.
He called her Muireall, for the ocean
that had swept through his very heart.
The surf thundered and the wind blew hollow
while each mapped the other’s ebbs and tides.
He was constant and she was playful.
They were magic spun from sea-foam and light.
For weeks, they lived as lovers
in his cottage by the cold North Sea.
Rory dared to dream of marriage,
of children- of bliss until the end of time.
But then one day, her eyes shone true:
black and depthless, they were not human,
and Rory could not hide a shiver.
He saw her realize that he knew.
She snatched her cloak from the door
and ran outside, his sad entreaties
(Muireall, it does not matter!)
slowing nothing in her stride.
She fled down to the water,
too far to hear his desperate cries.
Then she wrapped herself in her cloak (her skin),
and slipped silently back into the sea.
His sorrow filled the empty sky.
--/--
If you enjoyed this story, you can vote for it along with many other fine entries here