Wednesday December 31st, 2014

The exercise:

On this final day of 2014, write about: finding my/the/your way.

Had a nice time at the early evening new year's eve party with other parents of young kids, now we're back home in our warm'ish house. It takes a long time to warm this place up when the overnight temperatures drop so low. The cold gets into the walls, it seems.

Hanging around tomorrow before having dinner with Kat's parents and brother, then we're heading back to Kaleden tomorrow night. Thankfully that place warms up much faster, what with all the baseboard heaters.

Wishing you all the best in 2015 in whatever undertakings you... undertake.

I should go to bed.


The woods are filled with noises
Made by creatures out of sight,
And gnarled tree roots grab ankles
In the deepest black of night.

I stumble on with only
Rare pauses to catch my breath,
For I know that each shadow
Just might be concealing death.

Scratches cover my body
And I feel like hunted prey;
It's all part of the process,
For I am finding my way.


Greg said...

Heh, a New Year's Eve party that doesn't actually see the New Year come in? I understand the reasoning, but it still doesn't seem quite right :) Still, it sounds like you had fun! And I'd just like to point out that if you find dragons when you're digging a basement then you solve all your heating problems as well. Just observing that, nothing more :)
Your poem suggests that you think the New Year ahead might be an interesting one. I like that though it's technically dark there's a lot of hope in there really, and the narrator is less worried about the circumstances of now than about what the future will bring. it's rather lovely, actually, and a great way to welcome in 2015!

Finding a way
Harris stepped over the threshold and stopped, his breath catching in his throat. Helen Montgomery, who was sitting in a high-backed chair at a mahogany writing desk with clawed feet and an actual quill pen sitting in an inkwell, smiled. She watched as he looked around, taking in the arsenic green of the wallpaper, the rough weave of the carpet, the mullioned windows to the outside world; the black-and-white television set in one corner, with a screen diagonal of maybe 7 inches, and the rubber plant in its brown plastic pot, shiny green leaves attached to a thick fleshy stalk that reached desperately for the ceiling. On the wall opposite the door, above and to the left of the writing desk, were three clocks, each set at ten past 7. They ticked, their pendula swung, but the hands didn't move even a fraction.
"Welcome to 1972," said Helen.
"Uh." Harris was aware that this didn't sound clever, but he didn't know what to say. Even the air smelled different, colder somehow, with a hint of cabbage.
"I know. It surprises everyone at first. It takes a lot of energy too, but time is held back here. This is actually still 1972. If you turn the television on it will show programmes being broadcast then. You can sit and listen to the news from then." There was pride in her voice.
"Right, but you can't hold time back forever," said Harris. He felt hot, and there was sweat springing out on his forehead. "That breaks the conservation of energy."
"When do you think it is, now?"
"2015. New Year's Day."
"But here it's 1972. It's been March here for the last 18 years."
"Time will find a way," said Harris. He started coughing, his hands trembling as he lifted them to cover his mouth.
"No, it won't," said Helen.
"Too late," said Harris. As he collapsed on the floor the hands of the clocks on the wall started turning.

morganna said...

This post is appropriate in more ways than one. For the last few months, I have been working on a new poetry book, a post-apocalyptic novel in poems. It sounds awful put that way, but it's not really. :) So I've been slowly finding my way through this world and putting what I find down on paper. It's a slow process. And here is a first draft of another poem for the book, inspired by the prompt. (Meter and poetic form are fairly lacking in rough draft form, I'm afraid.)
After he found them
His whole life lying in ruins
He couldn't stay in the smoky, reeking ruins
His whole life had been (was) in this sky riser
He stumbled out the front door
Just enough aware to know he mustn't look like prey
What if those who did this were still around?
He paced carefully down the deserted street
Watching his feet and noting every crack in the hard surface
Still hyper-aware of every shadowy movement
It seemed an eternity 'tis he reached
The sky-riser belonging to his mother's clan
He knocked the secret knock
The door opened to a noisy, normal evening clan gathering
He collapsed right there in the entry,
His mother's brother catching him And laying him out for all to gather
Round in curiosity.

Anonymous said...

I hope you guys stay warm! Our heat went out a couple of days ago and it was a very long day waiting for the repair man to make his way to us.

Finding your way:

If there was ever a moment when she needed a light to save her, it was now.
She could feel the darkness, the blackness that never strayed too far from its home within her barreled chest, encroaching nearer and nearer to her heart. She stared into the grave, suppressing every flash of memory that flittered through her mind like dead leaves on a gust of wind in the hopes that the pain within her would be dulled to raw hammering within her rib cage. Each breath came as a struggle for her. Each blink of her witch hazel eyes was a war, her lashes battling against the moistness that gathered there to carry her away.
However, she would not suffer only to let the darkness finally claim her soul. Instead, with fists clenching the pearl beads of the rosary into the fair skin of her palm, she made a vow to survive this inescapable disaster. Unlike those before her, she wouldn’t surrender until she had accomplished everything that was within her power to set right the grievous atrocities decaying beneath her scuffed black heels.
A prayer barley had escaped her pink frosted lips before she allowed her closed hands to release the rosary onto the pile of fresh dirt.
Hell was brewing and only one without a soul could stand up to the flames before her.

Marc said...

Greg - hmm, dragons are seeming like a better and better option every time you mention them!

Thanks for the kind words on mine :)

Fascinating little story. I'm curious to know what happens to Helen, now that time is marching onward again.

Morganna - oh, how very exciting for you! I hope it comes together for you, that you're happy with the end results, and I look forward to seeing it for myself!

If they all (or even some of them) connect together I'd be quite eager to read the one that ends up following this one :)

Ivybennet - good to see you again! I hope the holidays went well for you (other than that unfortunate business with the heat, obviously).

Great details and descriptions in this piece really bring it to life. I can feel the emotions (suppressed and otherwise) and think that whatever comes next would be well worth reading!