Daily writing prompts since June 9th, 2008
Fading the song to Another, spinning Tracks, Happily working the Excited Room, making money to support his son.
And, not on the prompt topic, but continuing Melanie & Esme's story, after they jump into the box, if anyone is interested.Melanie opened her eyes. She was lying on sand. There was a rhythmc crashing noise near her. She raised her head and was splashed with water. She tried to roll over and realized she was still clutching Esme's hand. She let go and rolled over. Esme didn't move. Melanie sat up and rolled Esme over onto her back. Esme's eyes opened and she moaned. “Where are we?” she asked in a faint voice. “On a beach.”“I've never seen the ocean before. How exciting.” Esme sat up.They sat in the light of the setting sun for a few moments, admiring the crashing waves and recovering from the shock of the sudden movement from the cabin to this beach. Footsteps crunched on the beach and they turned their heads. A tall man was coming towards them.“Hello, ladies. This beach isn't safe at night. Please come with me away from the water.”They stared at him suspciously. Who was he, to be concerned about their safety?Melanie spoke. “Thank you, sir. We are comfortable where we are.”“With all due respect, you do not look at all prepared to spend a night out of any beach, let alone one where dangerous creatures come ashore in the dark.”Melanie and Esme exchanged alarmed glances. Dangerous creatures on the beach at night?“May I ask who you are, sir?” Melanie spoke with dignity.“I am a ranger. We patrol the area and guard travelers. I can take you to our traveler's rest, where you will be comfortable for the night. We can supply you with any travel needs you may be lacking, as well.”Esme rose and offered a hand to Melanie. “It sounds like a good idea, m'am.”Melanie acquiesced and rose with Esme's assistance. “Lead on to the inn, sir.”The traveler's rest proved to be a short walk inland. It looked like a comfortable farmhouse, with a rowan tree by the front door.
@Morganna: I like how you used the acrostics both yesterday and today to add an extra dimension to your poetry. I know I keep saying this, but you're very good at it! It's also nice to see where Melanie and Esme have ended up -- the beach seems like a very pleasant place (except maybe at night...) and I'm impressed with how they keep managing to find friendly people to help them.@Marc: I hope you're willing to read a continuation of yesterday's after the way it ended -- I know you're never that happy when these particular characters turn up in my writing :)Father DJ"Jared?" Her voice wavers just a little, but she's proud that she isn't screaming. She's safe, the windows up here are reinforced and they definitely don't open. Even so, it's not nice seeing one of them up close like this, not knowing what they sense. This is an unformed one: it hasn't stolen any senses from anyone yet, so it's probably young. The old ones are the ones you have to watch for, the ones that have stolen senses -- eyes, ears, noses, tongues. If one steals touch then it steals away the rest of appearance, your skin-tone, hair, odd lumpy bits that you dress to conceal. Gertrude's seen one once who'd only stolen touch, they had looked normal until she'd seen their face: head smooth as an egg but somehow attentive, seeking a victim to take their sight, their hearing...."Jared's talking to Kettlin," says Father DJ. He comes in and sits down in a white-leather armchair which creaks as it accommodates him. He's wearing a dark shirt and a white dog-collar but he's still in jeans. He looks like he was interrupted changing for mass."Ilmatu," says Gertrude. She gestures at the window and Father DJ looks over."It can't get in," he says. "And we can't chase it off. Just draw the curtains."Gertrude does so, hearing the swish of the curtain rings against the brass rail. Even with them closed she's sure she can feel the presence of it on the other side, yearning to be inside where there are people."Should we pray for them?" she asks, her mind protesting that these things live as well and perhaps they should be pitied.Father DJ's lips press together and his face hardens. "No," he says after a moment, the word spitting out with emotion. "They are not God's children.""Only God can create though," says Gertrude. "So where did they come from?""I used to ask that myself," says Father DJ and she notices that his hands are gripping the arms of the chair firmly now. "Then one day I saw a child. It was running -- toddling really -- down the street to catch up with its mother. I think he was a boy, actually. As he passed me I looked again because something seemed wrong, and he looked back at me. His nose was misplaced, his lips were askew and his ears were different heights. It was like I'd been struck by lightning; I actually gasped and staggered backwards because I hadn't know they could take children as well. And then... then he took his mother's hand. She stopped walking, and as she collapsed to the pavement I saw his face rearrange itself. The demon-child somehow used that poor woman's life to fix himself so that he looked like a real child. And then he knelt by her and started bawling, calling for for 'mummy' and asking why she wouldn't wake up. And then I knew, God spoke to me directly, he wanted me to see that. They are soulless, they are the angels that lost the war, cast out of heaven and deprived of God's light. They strive to return to it, and they do it by stealing from God's own creations.""But you cannot deceive God," says Gertrude."They have nothing to lose," says Father DJ."I've spoken to Kettlin," says Jared. He's standing in the doorway, and his voice is smooth, normal. Fixed.
Morganna - another lovely little haiku :)And thank you for the continuation! Always appreciate hearing more from your tales.Greg - yes, well. It's highly disturbing stuff, but done so very damned well. So... you know, screw you :P
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