Hermit Brother #WeeklyWritingPrompt

hut-1267670_1920

Brother Aden had lived alone for so long that he had lost count of the years. He knew time had passed because he had aged. He could see it in his hands; brown with too much sun, wrinkled and dry with not enough washing and too much hard work. He could feel it in his body; back bent, slower footsteps, pain in his knees and arms.

His hut was in the middle of the forest, far from everywhere else and that was how he had come to like it. When he had arrived and spotted the two room wooden building through the trees, he had gone in and discovered it abandoned. He had made it his shelter though he couldn’t escape the horrors of the night that had caused him to flee here.

Even now, when the winter nights were dark and wild with storm, his faded memory would show him events of the past. He was an young monk learning to read and copy the scriptures. He was attending four prayer services a day and more on Sunday. He was looking after animals and crops. It was a hard life but he understand the Calling.

Midnight, the danger bell was ringing and the Abbey being stormed by The Cursed knights. There was fire, blood and bodies everywhere. Brother Aden had grabbed whatever he could; books, relics, supplies and fled away. He had selfishly only been thinking about his survival. He hadn’t know that then, had not been thinking clearly in the chaos all round. He had just wanted to live and not die by magical sliver and gold swords.

Fleeing into the winter night, snow melting on his hot face, the forest had seemed to welcome him. The trees sheltered his senses from the battle and he had stumbled onwards till morning. It sometime afterwards that he found the hut.

In the days that followed, he had time to think and decided. Brother Aden realised he could never return to the Abbey, he would be exiled for his actions. He had left the Abbey without permission or proper cause, he had removed relics and books, stolen food and had gone into hiding like a coward. And all that was if there was even an Abbey and Brothers to go back too.

So, he had decided to stay and allow the forest to provide for him. The guilt, emotions and wondering about what had happened haunted him all the time in those first few years. Slowly, that had faded as he tried to survive day to day, season to season. He had grown use and comfy to things. The desire to try and return to the Abbey or anywhere else vanished.

This was his life now.

 

(Inspired by; https://secretkeeper.net/2018/09/10/weekly-writing-prompt-158 with thanks).

 

Advertisements

Clock #FridayFictioneers

The huge, elaborate wooden glockenspiel clock dominated the living room. It was going to be hell taking it off the wall.

‘Leave it. Why do want that monstrosity anyway, Penny?’ my brother, Dale asked.

‘Grandpa made it,’ I reminded him, ‘my finest work whilst in Germany, he said.’

Dale scoffed and carried on packing up, he’d never believed that story.

I tried to remove the clock but it wouldn’t budge. Dale give me a hand but the clock was nailed up.

‘Sorry, Penny. It’s staying,’ Dale declared.

I burst into tears.

‘All right, I’ll try and unscrew it. I’m not making any promises though!’

 

(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/09/12/14-september-2018/ with thanks).

Stocking Up #TwitteringTales

September payday arrived, Kim had worked overtime to have enough money for her shopping spree. At the till, she watched the cashier cashing up everything.

‘That’s a lot of books!’ the cashier said, counting eighteen total.

‘It’s my winter stock pile,’ Kim replied, grinning.

 

(Inspired by; https://katmyrman.com/2018/09/10/twittering-tales-101-11-september-2018/ with thanks).

Turning #WritePhoto

The seasons where turning, Rachel noticed. The mountain which had been green all spring and summer was becoming a dull brown. In two or three months, Rachel knew it would turn white with snow. A foreshadowing for the other mountains, valleys and the towns within them.

The leaves on the trees were switching colours; the reds, yellows and browns like a dappled painting, framed by windows. Soon, those trees would be bare and Rachel disliked looking at them then. Maybe, someone would hang Christmas fairy lights in them like last year and make them pretty again?

Rachel really hoped that did happen as she spent yet another morning looking out of her bedroom window. It had become something of a habit for the eight am to twelve pm nurse to wheel the chair there and leave.

‘You have a lovely view here! You should enjoy it!’ the nurse might say or else it was, ‘Here, look at the rain,’ or ‘watch the sun light up the mountain this morning.’

Then the nurse would go off to do the tasks on her or his list; changing the bed, preparing the medication, cleaning the equipment etc. Sometimes they would come back to check Rachel was okay, do some vital checks, take some blood, change her tubes if needed.

Most of the time though, Rachel was left staring at the mountain, not being able to move herself or ask the nurse to. And how she wished she could! She hated that mountain and wanted never to see it again but it haunted her.

At night, Rachel would dream of the accident. She was climbing with friends, they were laughing, enjoying the first spring hike up the side. They were camping, cooking, singing, drinking, friends being together. They did this every year, it was normal but this time something was different. The snow hadn’t melted all the way, there was an avalanche. Everyone was screaming, running, falling, flying, dying.

The doctors said Rachel was lucky, she alone had survived somehow but she would never move again.

What kind of life is this? Rachel always thought, I’d be better off dead. I wish I’d died too. God, how I hate that mountain! I can’t bare to see it any more!

 

She would shut her eyes and try to moan. Sometimes that work and the chair would be wheeled away to another part of her bedroom or other part of the house.

The image of the mountain was burned into her eyelids and just like the sounds and sights of the accident, she could never escape.

 

(Inspired by; https://scvincent.com/2018/09/06/thursday-photo-prompt-turning-writephoto/ with thanks).

Misty Veil #FFfAW

The mists were down heavy, covering everything with a white cloud blanket that wasn’t as pretty as snow’s. It was too dangers to go jogging, though I had attempted it but after being almost hit by a car, I had retreated home.

Running on my treadmill inside my attic instead, I saw something merge from the mist; the ghostly outline of a manor house on the hill. I stopped and stared, knowing full well there was nothing there.

It was just my eyes and brain playing tricks on me, or was it?

 

(Inspired by; https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2018/09/03/fffaw-challenge-181st/ with thanks).

 

At the Fork #100WW

Building with faces painted on the side

The sisters hadn’t wanted their home to be at the top of a split road, then again they hadn’t wanted their fourth generation family house to be knocked down either. So everyday, they cast warding spells in the morning and evening to keep the devil away.

One morning, the oldest sister decided that by painting themselves on the side of the house and casting an everlasting, unbreakable spell upon that would be an easier thing to do. The sisters set about that one summer and their art piece remains still, protecting the house evermore.

(Inspired by; https://bikurgurl.com/2018/09/05/100-word-wednesday-week-87/ with thanks).

 

 

Edge #3LineTales

three line tales week 136: camping

Everyone morning, she got up, walked out onto the makeshift porch attached to her tin home and watched the sunrise over the green and brown land, not seeing anything else for miles around and that was how she liked it.

Out here on the edge of the world, she didn’t have to hide from anyone because there was no one to see her true form, however that was all about to change.

Her hands stroked her huge stomach, she felt a small kick from the baby, it was almost time and then she wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

(Inspired by; https://only100words.xyz/2018/09/06/three-line-tales-week-136/ with thanks.)

 

Artificial #FridayFictioneers

The unreal moon rose, full and dull white, shining in a too sea wash blue sky. I moved the netted curtain and opened the window. There should have been the sounds of the town; the cars, the people, the too loud TVs and crying children, but there was hardly anything.

I looked out, wasting more seconds, as I vented silent hatred over how this had all come about. The Government said it was for our own good, war was on, everything was being faked for our protection. I didn’t believe it, but what could one man do against all of this?

(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/09/05/7-september-2018 with thanks).

 

 

What Is Real? #TwittingTales

House Hundred shouldn’t exist, yet it seemed to. However, get closer and it vanishes, proving what a weird world we live in.

Twittering Tales #100 – 4 September 2018

 

 

Postcard #49

leaves-57427_1280

Dear Lilac,

I was lucky to find this postcard in an antique shop and I thought you’d like it. No one living now can remember season changes, it’s always summer. (Of course, you know all of this!) How is your museum of the Old World doing? Busy, I hope! I’ve found a few things for your collection but I can’t post them to you whilst I’m flying! It’s letters only. In a few days, we will have reached the Drown Tropic Islands and then I can find an airship who will deliver.

Always remember the Elders are watching,

Pot.