Prompt 167-172
Would you believe Firefox won't accept British word spellings? No "grey," no "humour" or "colour".... Pathetic.
By the way, I really have to stop doing this all in huge posts.
In the darkness of the tunnels, there was yet enough light to catch the faces of the others, ashen faces tinted even greyer in the gloom. One returned his glance, pale hair silvery in the dim light, falling forward in smooth streams around a face made androgynous by the darkness.
He could see other faces following suit, turning towards him in an unnerving ripple of motion. Faces that light would have shown as fearful, blanched or blotchy from tears were cast into smooth grey stone, ageless and inhuman.
"Move forward," he whispered into the dead air, and he could hear silent hissing echoes, as they turned away from him, let the word move through the crowd. Then the crowd moved forward, a large, ungainly creature, unsure and uncertain.
Surrounded, he might have wanted to stay behind, to see truly how many there were, but he was swept up by the steady, slow beat of footsteps against rough stone. He could hear stumbling, silent gasps, but the mob drew inexorably forward.
He found himself being pushed forward in the crowd, until he stood before an endless mass of humanity, disappearing into the gloom far behind them, but he could not stop to see, to try to look, because they would not stop. He was pushed forward by inexplicable force.
He led them forward, slowly, horrified, a small, dark beacon in the caverns.
In the manner of their people, they did not mourn his death.
They took a year, perhaps, to build their monument to him, a slim, sleek vessel whose build denied its immense size, a far greater gift to their leader than any Egyptian pyramid. They filled it with the trappings of wealth he had won for them, things that had wasted away their shine in the gloom of treasure houses.
They laid him unceremoniously on the deck, swathed in velvets and silks that he had no use for in his life, draped on fine woods, mahogany and seasoned rowan to keep away the curses of the sea.
Then they set him on fire and watched him depart on his greatest voyage.
For seven days he sailed, the captain of the finest ship ever built, as salt caked on his face from gentle breezes that blew his faded beard and hair around. For seven days he was the richest man in the world, for seven days his body left its mark on fine clothes that were worthy of monarchs and lords.
The eighth day they took him for good, because he had never truly seen the ocean.
"Don't Panic."
She stared at him. "What?"
"I told you. Three words. Don't panic."
"That's two words."
"What?"
"I told you. Two words. Don't panic."
"It's totally three words! Do not panic, one two three!"
"You used a conjunction."
"So? The meaning is still three words."
"Oh, shut up."
(Written in the style of a creationist myth)
When the world was born, God gave it to his children, the sun and the moon, to share between them as brother and sister.
He told them, "You are my daughter, my son; and though I give the earth to you as a gift you must take care of it, for it is new, a baby, and cannot care for itself."
Sun and Moon told their father, yes, they would care for it, and he departed to rest from the effort of creating the world.
For many days they shared equally, mindful of their father's dictate. But Sun, who is fiery and warm, and delights in passion and loses his temper very easily, grew sullen and jealous.
"Why," he said to himself, "should I have to share this toy with my sister, Moon? She is pale and calm, and can only reflect my light. Why, I am bright and strong, and I bathe the world in light. I am beautiful and fiery; should I not be the one to have the earth?"
Sun's anger and jealousy only grew stronger as the days went on, and slowly he began to steal more time from his sister Moon. Moon was calm and serene, and thought to herself, "This is only in passing; my brother, Sun, often becomes very angry and then becomes cheerful and contrite very soon. I will wait for him to cease."
But Sun did not stop, and when Moon did not take him in hand for stealing her turn, he grew even greedier, until Moon could not play with the Earth at all, and Sun had all the time to himself.
But the people on earth were surprised, and unhappy, for without Moon to shelter them from Sun's bright glow, they could not sleep or rest.
"What are we going to do?" they asked one another. "Sun is baking our lands until they are dry and cracked. We cannot sleep, and our plants are dying."
The magic man, Ima, said to them, "Gather your tears and do not let them fall onto the ground, wasted. They will only kill the plants. Give them to me, and I will bring Moon back."
So the people gave Ima their tears, and he put them in his big pot and boiled them. Soon steam began to rise from the pot, and he took his magical staff and stirred the steam until all the tears had become a huge cloud. Then he pointed with his staff, and the big cloud flew into the sky and spread over the land so that Sun could not reach through.
"What is this?"roared Sun, when he saw that the world was shielded from him. In his anger, he burned brighter and brighter, trying to break through the clouds.
The people saw his light shining through the clouds, and grew very frightened, beginning to cry. But Ima said to them, "Do not let your tears fall onto the ground! Give them to me, and I will make more clouds!" So the people cried into his big pot, and he covered the earth with more and more clouds as Sun grew hotter and hotter.
Sun grew so hot that finally he could not stand it, and dropped to his knees, exhausted and singed. Then Moon, who had been waiting for him to calm down, came to him and bathed him with her cool light until he felt better.
"Sister Moon," he said, "I am sorry for stealing the earth away from you. But now they have no light at all, for I am too weary to shine on them."
So Moon went and shone on the people, and Ima took away his clouds and made them into the ocean.
Sun had learned his lesson, and shared the earth with Moon. But in the summer, when it is warmer, Sun forgets his lesson and begins to creep onto the days. But Moon is waiting for that, and next time she will snatch the days back.
Rosette hated to wait, and she barreled through time desperately, like a meteor bound inexorably towards one destination.
And the ticking of a clock was like death, the movement of a heartbeat that could never be reclaimed, eternal, inescapable, terrifying.
--- ---
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Each little sound tick, as merciless and tock indomitable as life, thundered tick by, faint as the flapping tock of a butterfly's wings tick. The clock played out a tock singsong metronome, a heartbeat into tick all eternity.
to-
She breathed.
--- ---
Stop.
--- ---
Grey.
It was grey, and featureless, and all the furnishings of the little room were blurred as if far away.
She stared out thet window, at the cold uniformity of snow and trees. Her mind was awash in a drift of apathy, a sea of blankness.
--ck
The movement was sharp and instinctual, like a wild animal's, when she rose and bolted out of the room.
The woman, face covered by draping folds of heavy fabric, took a clock from insider her robes, and began to wind it.
The sound, hopeless, each tiny click reverberating like a death toll, like the heavy sound of gongs, followed Rosette until she collapsed, breathless, against the wall.
There was really nothing to do but wait.
tick tock tick tock tick--
"Hey--"
"What?"
"Are you going to follow me everywhere?
"...No."
I said it, but no one believed me. Well, damn.
By the way, I really have to stop doing this all in huge posts.
In the darkness of the tunnels, there was yet enough light to catch the faces of the others, ashen faces tinted even greyer in the gloom. One returned his glance, pale hair silvery in the dim light, falling forward in smooth streams around a face made androgynous by the darkness.
He could see other faces following suit, turning towards him in an unnerving ripple of motion. Faces that light would have shown as fearful, blanched or blotchy from tears were cast into smooth grey stone, ageless and inhuman.
"Move forward," he whispered into the dead air, and he could hear silent hissing echoes, as they turned away from him, let the word move through the crowd. Then the crowd moved forward, a large, ungainly creature, unsure and uncertain.
Surrounded, he might have wanted to stay behind, to see truly how many there were, but he was swept up by the steady, slow beat of footsteps against rough stone. He could hear stumbling, silent gasps, but the mob drew inexorably forward.
He found himself being pushed forward in the crowd, until he stood before an endless mass of humanity, disappearing into the gloom far behind them, but he could not stop to see, to try to look, because they would not stop. He was pushed forward by inexplicable force.
He led them forward, slowly, horrified, a small, dark beacon in the caverns.
In the manner of their people, they did not mourn his death.
They took a year, perhaps, to build their monument to him, a slim, sleek vessel whose build denied its immense size, a far greater gift to their leader than any Egyptian pyramid. They filled it with the trappings of wealth he had won for them, things that had wasted away their shine in the gloom of treasure houses.
They laid him unceremoniously on the deck, swathed in velvets and silks that he had no use for in his life, draped on fine woods, mahogany and seasoned rowan to keep away the curses of the sea.
Then they set him on fire and watched him depart on his greatest voyage.
For seven days he sailed, the captain of the finest ship ever built, as salt caked on his face from gentle breezes that blew his faded beard and hair around. For seven days he was the richest man in the world, for seven days his body left its mark on fine clothes that were worthy of monarchs and lords.
The eighth day they took him for good, because he had never truly seen the ocean.
"Don't Panic."
She stared at him. "What?"
"I told you. Three words. Don't panic."
"That's two words."
"What?"
"I told you. Two words. Don't panic."
"It's totally three words! Do not panic, one two three!"
"You used a conjunction."
"So? The meaning is still three words."
"Oh, shut up."
(Written in the style of a creationist myth)
When the world was born, God gave it to his children, the sun and the moon, to share between them as brother and sister.
He told them, "You are my daughter, my son; and though I give the earth to you as a gift you must take care of it, for it is new, a baby, and cannot care for itself."
Sun and Moon told their father, yes, they would care for it, and he departed to rest from the effort of creating the world.
For many days they shared equally, mindful of their father's dictate. But Sun, who is fiery and warm, and delights in passion and loses his temper very easily, grew sullen and jealous.
"Why," he said to himself, "should I have to share this toy with my sister, Moon? She is pale and calm, and can only reflect my light. Why, I am bright and strong, and I bathe the world in light. I am beautiful and fiery; should I not be the one to have the earth?"
Sun's anger and jealousy only grew stronger as the days went on, and slowly he began to steal more time from his sister Moon. Moon was calm and serene, and thought to herself, "This is only in passing; my brother, Sun, often becomes very angry and then becomes cheerful and contrite very soon. I will wait for him to cease."
But Sun did not stop, and when Moon did not take him in hand for stealing her turn, he grew even greedier, until Moon could not play with the Earth at all, and Sun had all the time to himself.
But the people on earth were surprised, and unhappy, for without Moon to shelter them from Sun's bright glow, they could not sleep or rest.
"What are we going to do?" they asked one another. "Sun is baking our lands until they are dry and cracked. We cannot sleep, and our plants are dying."
The magic man, Ima, said to them, "Gather your tears and do not let them fall onto the ground, wasted. They will only kill the plants. Give them to me, and I will bring Moon back."
So the people gave Ima their tears, and he put them in his big pot and boiled them. Soon steam began to rise from the pot, and he took his magical staff and stirred the steam until all the tears had become a huge cloud. Then he pointed with his staff, and the big cloud flew into the sky and spread over the land so that Sun could not reach through.
"What is this?"roared Sun, when he saw that the world was shielded from him. In his anger, he burned brighter and brighter, trying to break through the clouds.
The people saw his light shining through the clouds, and grew very frightened, beginning to cry. But Ima said to them, "Do not let your tears fall onto the ground! Give them to me, and I will make more clouds!" So the people cried into his big pot, and he covered the earth with more and more clouds as Sun grew hotter and hotter.
Sun grew so hot that finally he could not stand it, and dropped to his knees, exhausted and singed. Then Moon, who had been waiting for him to calm down, came to him and bathed him with her cool light until he felt better.
"Sister Moon," he said, "I am sorry for stealing the earth away from you. But now they have no light at all, for I am too weary to shine on them."
So Moon went and shone on the people, and Ima took away his clouds and made them into the ocean.
Sun had learned his lesson, and shared the earth with Moon. But in the summer, when it is warmer, Sun forgets his lesson and begins to creep onto the days. But Moon is waiting for that, and next time she will snatch the days back.
Rosette hated to wait, and she barreled through time desperately, like a meteor bound inexorably towards one destination.
And the ticking of a clock was like death, the movement of a heartbeat that could never be reclaimed, eternal, inescapable, terrifying.
--- ---
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Each little sound tick, as merciless and tock indomitable as life, thundered tick by, faint as the flapping tock of a butterfly's wings tick. The clock played out a tock singsong metronome, a heartbeat into tick all eternity.
to-
She breathed.
--- ---
Stop.
--- ---
Grey.
It was grey, and featureless, and all the furnishings of the little room were blurred as if far away.
She stared out thet window, at the cold uniformity of snow and trees. Her mind was awash in a drift of apathy, a sea of blankness.
--ck
The movement was sharp and instinctual, like a wild animal's, when she rose and bolted out of the room.
The woman, face covered by draping folds of heavy fabric, took a clock from insider her robes, and began to wind it.
The sound, hopeless, each tiny click reverberating like a death toll, like the heavy sound of gongs, followed Rosette until she collapsed, breathless, against the wall.
There was really nothing to do but wait.
tick tock tick tock tick--
"Hey--"
"What?"
"Are you going to follow me everywhere?
"...No."
I said it, but no one believed me. Well, damn.