Monday December 15th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about: waiting for the storm.

All six packages were successfully acquired this morning, with minimal trouble at the border. Max is pretty excited about his new electric toothbrush. Or, rather, the idea of it. Not much of a fan of it when it's turned on.

We'll get there eventually. We need to do something, at any rate. He hates having his teeth brushed about as much as wicked witches hate water.

Looking forward to the photography shoot/lesson tomorrow afternoon. This could be the start of something big.

Mine:

All throughout the valley people are huddled in shelters. Families, friends, complete strangers. Coming together in a desperate attempt to survive.

Some are calling it the Storm of the Century. Others say it will be worse than anything that has come before it in recorded history. Father Matthias called it the End of Days.

Whatever you wish to call it, the storm will be here soon. Its rumble has begun reverberating around the mountain tops already. So folks hide away, count their supplies, and wonder if there will be anything to return to once the storm has passed.

Not me, though. I've got no family, no friends, no pressing desire to see another sunrise. I'm sure I could have still found a shelter that would have taken me in, I just wasn't interested. I'd rather be up here, with camera in hand.

Somebody's gotta capture Mother Nature's temper tantrum for those who come later and wonder what it must have been like and it might as well be me.

4 Comments:

Greg said...

Success with the shopping! Well done :) And Max'll get used to brushing his teeth eventually; at least his teeth are self-replacing at that age :)
Heh, with all that build-up the denouement is a little unexpected, but that's all in a good way. Your storm chaser seems intrepid at least, and I like his determination and approach to the whole situation.

Waiting for the storm
Aelric, Prince of Mostlybony[0], dodged sideways and the silvery blade of a Parradian-steel sword whistled past his head, so close to his ear that he felt the breath of its passage. He twisted, feeling the overlapping leather plates of his armour slide across his bare skin and then jerked back another step, just evading the backswing from the sword. As his opponent swore softly and regained his balance Aelric's sword, tarnished rust-red with the blood of innocents, lashed out in return. It glanced off his opponent's sword, seemingly impossibly pulled up into a defensive prime position, skittered along the edge of the blade throwing off jagged sparks of pure white light, and skipped over the guard at the end, just cutting into his opponent's wrist and drawing blood.
His opponent, the lay-Prince of Thurrock[1] hissed and retreated several steps, but the sword had already flushed fully red and Aelric's deathly white skin[2] had taken on a translucent, sickly glow, making him appear like a luminous maggot. The sword, Thundersnatch, seemed to growl as Aelric advanced, and high above them the dark skies darkened further as storm-clouds were summoned to the battlefield. Aelric looked up, and then stopped, standing tall and just looking over to the lay-Prince.
"Too scared to fight?" called the lay-Prince. He was a step-brother to Aelric by his mother, who'd been unusually well-travelled[3]. "You nicked me and now you're scared of the sight of blood? I shall lay you open and run each of your muscles along my sword like a kebab and cook and eat you!"
"No," said Aelric, and then, realising that the lay-Prince couldn't hear him, shouted, "No! I'm just waiting for the storm."
For a moment the lay-Prince laughed, and then his face froze, the laughter becoming a rictus of horror. He'd heard of Thundersnatch, the sword that Aelric had stolen from the prosttitute-priestesses[4] of the metal gods[5], as had most of the continent by now, and its unholy bloodlust and disturbing magics were things of legends. He looked up as the first bolt of lightning struck down. It hit the ground six feet from him, throwing up dirt in huge lumps, leaving behind a smell of something slightly fried, earthy and pungent. He took a step back, but the second bolt of lightning found him perfectly and he froze in place, his nerves burned out and his bones fused at their joints. A smell like barbecue permeated the air, and his eyeballs, cooked to gooeyness, dripped from their sockets.
Overhead, the storm broke.

Greg said...

Sorry about this; blogger wouldn't let me post it all together. Here are the footnotes!

[0] Mostlybony was a rocky, shore-line kingdom that, for want of much arable land, tended to expose its dead on the shorelines. Thanks to a lot of dead people (see Mostlybonypedia.com for history) and high coastal areas where the sea didn't drag the bodies or bones away the bones became petrified and encrusted until the kingdom was accurately described as Mostlybony and there was nowhere to have a cheerful, relaxing picnic.
[1] Also known at the Dark Empire, not because of any particularly evil practices that were performed there but because of the extreme lack of artificial light sources.
[2] Aelric was alabaster white everywhere except for the red birthmark that covered his left eye, cheek, neck and then flooded down the side of his body like a red-tide at Christmas.
[3] Yes, this is a euphemism.
[4] Not as much fun as they sound, and they're prone to offer you a price and extract a different one (along with your spleen, kidneys, and other organs that their gods desire)
[5] Not like AC/DC or Metallica et al. These are literal Deus Ex Machina. See Mostlybonypedia.com again under Autochthons.

morganna said...

Detective Wilkes gripped the phone tightly. The dock pay phone handset had a slightly fishy smell, but he ignored that as he braced himself, waiting for his superior's yell of anger.

But when his superior spoke, Wilkes was shocked, for the man's voice was soft, and if Wilkes hadn't known better, he didn't seem upset at all. "Well, it's too bad you just missed them. I'm sure you'll pick up the trail soon. Keep me posted when you find them."

As Wilkes hung up the phone, his brows drew together in a puzzled frown. If he didn't know better, he'd think something was wrong at headquarters. Perhaps he should go investigate?

Marc said...

Greg - I can tell you had a lot of fun coming up with all of that. Highly enjoyable reading :)

Morganna - ah, another entry in this epic tale! Excellent.

Hmm, that does sound like trouble at HQ. Who, what, why... so many questions that need answers :)