Sunday December 22nd, 2013

The exercise:

We're just three days away now. So start today's writing with the opening line from It Came Upon The Midnight Clear which, fittingly enough, is: It came upon the midnight clear

My parents arrived safely this afternoon, so now all of the gang that shall be here is here now. Max had a very busy day of throwing balls around the house and visiting Calgary's indoor farmers market, but unfortunately he seems to be coming down with a cold.

We're all hoping that a decent night's sleep will set him right again.


It came upon the midnight clear, emerging from the darkness of the surrounding woods like oil spilling from a punctured barrel. Slithering toward the encampment in the meadow, it blinded the men on guard duty before smothering those who thought themselves watched over. Considered themselves protected. Safe.

The horses stamped their hooves, an action usually resulting in clouds of dust. But none appeared. They swished their tails as they turned their heads this way and that. There can be a sad difference between knowing something is wrong and being able to pinpoint that problem.

They were spared, at least. Unlike all of their masters. Well, not quite all of them.

I do not understand why I was allowed to live.


Greg said...

It sounds like Max has been having lots of fun, and giving you all plenty of entertainment in return! I hope his cold is just a sniffle and doesn't linger over Christmas.
Hmm, now I'm wondering what it was that has emerged from the night and consumed the humans! Lovely, creepy writing, and as usual, a neat little punchline that makes the reader wish that you'd not stopped writing just yet.

It came...
It came upon the midnight clear, though Uruk had no way of knowing that it was midnight. The dungeon had no external light source to provide a guide to the passing of time, and the occasion where he'd liberated a platinum timepiece from a dwarven mine stuck in his mind only for how drunk he got from the proceeds of selling it. What was fixed firmly in his mind right now was the Frost Dragon that had emerged from some side cavern and was pacing across the floor towards him. Its toenails, as thick as his own torso, were yellow flecked with black and scraped the stone floor of the hall up, explaining where the grooves came from. An icy cloud billowed from its nostrils, and its eyes, each as big as the midnight moon, were a green that you didn't much see in nature.
"Crumbs," whispered Uruk to himself. "How on earth is that managing to survive down here?"

Marc said...

Greg - the cold never got excessively bad, but it's still lingering a little bit. He's basically healthy again though.

And I think your last comment helped inspire me to link tomorrow's writing to this one...

Love the description of the dragon. Also: 'Crumbs' is a neat little interjection.