Ah, you're rhyming prompts now? We've have plight, and now blight, so tomorrow we'll have wight? Or perhaps plebiscite?
We're into the Epilogue now, so it's the last two or three days of the story. I expect you're relieved :)
The blight The sun was rising over Finca Vigia and golden light was bringing the house to life. A subtle warmth crept through it, that never seemed to happen when War was at home, and the furnishings seemed to glow slightly as though the sunlight was feeding them. E. Kevin Gway turned over in bed, pushed the duvet back slightly before he got too hot, and stretched his arms out to the side while we wondered if he was ready to get up yet. He was comfortable, and not hungover, and he’d had nearly three weeks of solitude that he found he really enjoyed. Perhaps, he mused, running a finger over his moustache to check its length, he could spend another hour dozing. “Honey, I’m home!” roared War from somewhere outside the house, and the sunlight’s warmth was chased away by the chill of the Horsemen. There was a clatter and some odd grunting and sniffing and Kevin pulled the spare pillow over his head. For nearly a minute that muffled the sound enough that he started to relax again and was even beginning to drift off, and then something heavy landed on the pillow and it started to suffocate him. He struggled, his hands forcing the sides of the pillow up but whatever was in the middle held it firmly down so that he just turned the pillow into a basket for it. He tried to turn his head to the side to where there was air, but the weight was too much and the pillow was starting to force its way into his mouth. Little stars started to form in his vision, and at the edges it darkened, slowly turning into a tunnel. His chest heaved ineffectively, trying to suck in air through the pillow and simply not succeeding. “Hilda, get off,” said a voice that was muzzy and blurred. The weight lifted from his pillow suddenly and his arms, though weak, hurled it into the air. He managed a single, desperate gasp of air before the pillow fell back and hit him in the head, but that at least was enough to clear his vision and he could knock the pillow aside. Panting, he hauled himself up into a sitting position, and found himself staring at Scuffles. “You should probably wear something in bed,” said Scuffles, and Kevin pulled the duvet back over his legs and lower torso. “War wants you around this afternoon,” he continued. “He’s got a story for you. He thinks you should call it A farewell to harm but I told him that authors like to pick their own titles. He didn’t look too happy about that, but that’s your war to win now.” “A farewell… to harm?” Kevin looked perplexed. “I… it’s not a bad title. But what has he done now?” “War will tell you all about it,” said Scuffles. “But you should check Famine’s dialogue with him yourself. I wouldn’t trust War to get that right if I were you. Breakfast will be served in half an hour.” Kevin leaned back against the wall as Scuffles left the room. The door swung shut behind him, and Kevin’s chest finally stopped heaving from oxygen deprivation. “It’s not a bad title at all,” he mused, his finger once again running over his moustache. “I wonder how he came up with it?” From somewhere downstairs, War’s voice shook the house again: “Who’s blighted the cheese? Like I can’t guess!”
Greg - I actually had quite the list of rhyming prompts at this point, but then got distracted and things went in another direction. Sorry to disappoint with a lack of plebiscite prompt.
Hah, War returning home is a delightful start to the epilogue. And you know damned well I will miss these guys once the tale ends.
Morganna - powerful imagery here. I like this a lot.
3 comments:
Ah, you're rhyming prompts now? We've have plight, and now blight, so tomorrow we'll have wight? Or perhaps plebiscite?
We're into the Epilogue now, so it's the last two or three days of the story. I expect you're relieved :)
The blight
The sun was rising over Finca Vigia and golden light was bringing the house to life. A subtle warmth crept through it, that never seemed to happen when War was at home, and the furnishings seemed to glow slightly as though the sunlight was feeding them. E. Kevin Gway turned over in bed, pushed the duvet back slightly before he got too hot, and stretched his arms out to the side while we wondered if he was ready to get up yet. He was comfortable, and not hungover, and he’d had nearly three weeks of solitude that he found he really enjoyed. Perhaps, he mused, running a finger over his moustache to check its length, he could spend another hour dozing.
“Honey, I’m home!” roared War from somewhere outside the house, and the sunlight’s warmth was chased away by the chill of the Horsemen. There was a clatter and some odd grunting and sniffing and Kevin pulled the spare pillow over his head. For nearly a minute that muffled the sound enough that he started to relax again and was even beginning to drift off, and then something heavy landed on the pillow and it started to suffocate him. He struggled, his hands forcing the sides of the pillow up but whatever was in the middle held it firmly down so that he just turned the pillow into a basket for it. He tried to turn his head to the side to where there was air, but the weight was too much and the pillow was starting to force its way into his mouth. Little stars started to form in his vision, and at the edges it darkened, slowly turning into a tunnel. His chest heaved ineffectively, trying to suck in air through the pillow and simply not succeeding.
“Hilda, get off,” said a voice that was muzzy and blurred. The weight lifted from his pillow suddenly and his arms, though weak, hurled it into the air. He managed a single, desperate gasp of air before the pillow fell back and hit him in the head, but that at least was enough to clear his vision and he could knock the pillow aside. Panting, he hauled himself up into a sitting position, and found himself staring at Scuffles.
“You should probably wear something in bed,” said Scuffles, and Kevin pulled the duvet back over his legs and lower torso. “War wants you around this afternoon,” he continued. “He’s got a story for you. He thinks you should call it A farewell to harm but I told him that authors like to pick their own titles. He didn’t look too happy about that, but that’s your war to win now.”
“A farewell… to harm?” Kevin looked perplexed. “I… it’s not a bad title. But what has he done now?”
“War will tell you all about it,” said Scuffles. “But you should check Famine’s dialogue with him yourself. I wouldn’t trust War to get that right if I were you. Breakfast will be served in half an hour.”
Kevin leaned back against the wall as Scuffles left the room. The door swung shut behind him, and Kevin’s chest finally stopped heaving from oxygen deprivation. “It’s not a bad title at all,” he mused, his finger once again running over his moustache. “I wonder how he came up with it?” From somewhere downstairs, War’s voice shook the house again:
“Who’s blighted the cheese? Like I can’t guess!”
Black spots appear on each leaf
So quickly they seem to be leaping
Leaves crumbling, falling to dust
The rose garden is gone
Greg - I actually had quite the list of rhyming prompts at this point, but then got distracted and things went in another direction. Sorry to disappoint with a lack of plebiscite prompt.
Hah, War returning home is a delightful start to the epilogue. And you know damned well I will miss these guys once the tale ends.
Morganna - powerful imagery here. I like this a lot.
Post a Comment