Mellifluous (Part 1) #atozchallenge

woman-girl-technology-music.jpg

Mellifluous; sweet and smoothly flowing sound.

It was her favourite thing to do after work. She would sit back, put the headphones over her ears and find some music to suit her mood. Sometimes it would take a few tries, but then she would hit a smooth song that would be sweet to her ears.

She would relax and let the sounds carry her far away. She’d leave everything behind; her troubles, her thoughts, her dreams, her body. She would drift on a cloud of notes, high above everything, where nothing could touch her.

And there she would find it; nirvana.

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River

Green Trees Beside Body of Water

The river was so reassuring in it’s constant movement. The sound of water flowing over rocks and tree roots as it passed through the forest was like the drum beat that kept everything else going. It was in fact the core of the circle of life but it could also symbolism so much more. Power, determination, cleansing and unity. The river did not seem to care about it’s small beginnings or it’s eternal joining of the sea, it just followed the set path before it and allowed it’s voice to be heard by anyone who would listen.

In The Forest

Person, Forest, Outdoor, Standing, Back, Looking, Wood

Only in the forest did she feel at peace. Crunching over too dry grass and old leaves, she wandered on. Bird song vibrated the air and the scent of pine hung heavy. She hugged herself, feeling a strange, small chill. Even though it was almost summer, this deep amongst the trees it was still cold.

Spotting the fallen log she always sat upon, she went over. Sinking down, her jeans protected her from most of the rough bark. She noticed a small burnt patch on the ground to her left and decided that someone recently had light a small fire. She put her hands between her knees to try and keep them warm.

She shut her eyes and began mediating, letting go of everything with each exhale. At the back of her mind, she knew when she opened her eyes again she’d feel better.

Postcard 18

Postcard, London, Big Ben, Phone Booth

Dear, L. I hope this message finds you well and alive. London or what is left, is in total ruin. Red smoke covers the sky all the time and if you don’t wear your gas mask the toxic air gets to you within minutes. I try to remember the good days when we were all together and happy, but they are fading fast from my mind. Life goes on in the camp, but it can’t even be called that, its a battle to survive everyday. I hope you are at peace whatever you are doing now. I pray for your safe return or else to see you on the other side. Love always, Boo.

The Swimmer

As Dan swam another length of the swimming pool his mind began to empty. It was too early for much cohering thinking and his body was running on auto. The splashing and movement of water had become a backdrop as well as the other people that surround him. For a fleeting moment, he prayed to have a pool all to himself then he shut his eyes and swam on.

Completing another lap, Dan grabbed the cool lip of the pool’s edge and let his feet rest on the bottom. He scrubbed his fading tan face and pushed back his short black hair. Bobbing in the lapping water, he watched a massive woman stepping down the ladder. He give thanks that she was in a covering swimming costume that safely hide much of her bum and belly.

He watched her get in and some of the water escaping out as she did so. Her boobs were so huge his eyes couldn’t help but be guided towards them. She turned and smiled at him. He quickly, smiled back then twisted away. Had she seen him staring? He couldn’t tell. He looked across slyly and saw her start swimming away using the frog technique.

He grinned and leaving her be, looked around at the other swimmers whilst he caught his breath back. The only other person in his lane was a very attractive young woman. Her blonde hair was tied back and she had on a sports swimming suit. Dan admired her, but had overheard that she was married.

In the fast lane to his left, two old timers were racing it out. Perhaps they had both been swimming champions and now, still addicted, they came every other morning to battle it out. The problem was, Dan always noted, that they looked like shrivelled up conkers in the water. With that image in mind, he couldn’t take them seriously.

In the slow line to his right alongside the massive woman, were a withered granny, a fat twenty-something man and a middle-aged woman. Dan watched them all swimming in the large oval shape that the pool signs demanded. He tried to switch his mind off again, but now it was too wake and couldn’t help but think dirty thoughts.

Shoving them away, he took a deep breath and got swimming again. As the water raged around him, he thought about the presentation he was giving at the boss’s meeting today. Had he made it interesting enough? It was bursting with facts that was for sure! He swam another few lengths then did a last slower one.

Ducking under the lane rope, he headed for the ladder when a shy female voice called to him.

Dan turned expecting to see the sporty woman or the middle-aged one, since the voice was clear not old. Instead, though the massive woman was standing behind him.

‘Yes?’ he asked politely.

‘I was just wondering if you’d like to have a drink with me sometime,’ she said softly.

Dan had to lean into catch half of the words as she seemed so quiet, ‘Well….Erm…’

‘Not today of course,’ she spluttered and looked at the water.

Dan saw her cheeks blushing. He shot a look at her heavy chest, ‘Sure. Why not.’

‘Thanks. See you soon,’ she rushed and went back to swimming.

Shaking his head, Dan got out of the pool and went to get dressed. Was he crazy? Maybe…

Peace

I stand on top of the hill and watch the world end. It fell apart bit by bit as the ground shook beneath my feet and the sky turned fire red. Buildings disintegrating around me, filling the air with a deafening noise and chocking out dust. I watch the closest structures splitting as if cut by a God’s sword and their guts spilling out. The people went down with it, though their screams and cries were nothing to that of the buildings. I feel ash touching my face as the wind sweeps over me. It was my fault. I started the end.

 Eighteen years earlier

 They put me in my mother’s arms still covered in birth blood and wailing. She smiled at me for the very first time and I missed it because my eyes were squeezing out fat tears. I was cold and wet, I didn’t care. Her voice hushed me as she rocked me in her arms. Her fingers touched me then a student nurse burst into the room yelling it had been declared. World peace was official.

Peace, my mother sighed, that’s what I shall name him. Peace.

She’s going! She’s going!

I was snatched from her, my crying unable to bring her back.

The end of the world

I never knew her. I didn’t have any memory fragments of her face or voice. When I looked at the photos, it was like seeing a stranger, only with my dark brown eyes, black tangled hair and dark skin. She looked happy, healthy. She didn’t know she was going to die. I clutch that one photo of her I have always cherished and watch the sky turn a deeper shade of red. Sirens of all kinds screech out alongside the still crumbling buildings. The ground quakes, pulling the earth apart into jagged lines which swallow anything they can get. The Hungry Earth.

 Fifteen years earlier

 I was laying in my crib half asleep listening to the thunderstorm rolling out above me. My face was turned to the window and I could see the flashes of yellow light. I cried, long and hard before falling into fitful screams. Arms picked me up and soft voices whispered to me. I was taken from my room and into theirs’, which was all ways a warm, safe nest that locked out the danger. I could still hear the storm. The loudness frightened me, I didn’t understand what it was. I kept crying, unable to draw any comfort from my foster parents.

  The end of the world

 That was it. My first actual memory. I had longed for it to be about my mother or anything else from the moment I had remembered it. I couldn’t write about my fear for my homework, so I wrote something else instead. My second earliest memory, in which I had been traveling somewhere in the car. I look further down the hill and wonder what everyone below me had been thinking on the cusp of their deaths. Some of them most have known they were going to die. Had they prayed? Cried out to their loving families? No one would ever know.

Thirteen years earlier

 My world consisted of a handful of places and people. I had yet to grasp the vastness of the space around me. I was enjoying exploring everything. I understood my name, but not what it truly meant. I got a younger sister, Grace in the spring of that year and felt jealous. She was ill all the time, dying, and my foster parents were doting towards her. She was their ‘miracle baby’ and I was just someone they had decided to save. Somehow, I always knew they had regretted it. They tried to un-adapt me, but felt too guilty.

The end of the world

 I sit down, feeling the heat of the explosions warping the air. Grace is dead now. Like our parents. They were the first I killed. The bomb ripped the house apart and I ran away. I wrap my arms around my legs and watch the city burning. It reminds me of Hell, though I’m there all ready. We all are. I thought there would be more to it, more colour, more apocalypse-ness. I imagined people going crazy in the streets and the world fighting against its annihilation. Yet, it accepts the fact as if it had always known this day would come.

Eight years earlier

 Doing that homework caused my foster parents to tell me the truth. In my bedroom, away from the half-blind eyes of my sister, they present a plastic blue box to me. Inside were the possessions my mother’s family had decided belonged to me when they surrendered to the authorities. There were the photos, a blanket, a teddy bear, some money and a bible.

She named you Peace because you were born just as world peace was declared. That makes you so special. You were the first baby to be born in that time. You’ll never experience war as long as you live.         

The end of the world

My foster mother hadn’t been wrong. In my short life all the world’s countries were at peace with each other. How it had come about was never known to me. They taught nothing about it in school, nor any other war, just that we had to love and care for each other. People were banned from talking about it. I didn’t care, I was just a kid. I still don’t really care now. The world is dying in redness and screams. Nearly all the buildings have collapsed and I can see people fleeing. Don’t they know there’s nowhere left to run to?

 Five years earlier

 I wanted to die and that was how it all began. My foster parents had brought me a computer a few years ago. It was an expensive Christmas present and something to babysit me whilst Grace took up all their time. I loved playing games and talking to people. However it didn’t drain my anger and I began researching things. I met someone online who taught me things only an expert should know. It excited me and I learned the ways of a hacker quickly, but it also set me on this path.

 The end of the world

I remember everything that happened that led to this moment. Only a fool would shove the past away. I raise my dropped head and look at the sky, it’s turning black with smoke now. Below me, everyone is aware of what’s happened. Somehow the news reports have gotten though. I can hear nothing from up here, the bombs and falling buildings have left me deaf. My ears are ringing, I feel the urge to reflect on my actions. Though I know I lost the power to stop this a while ago. The world cries for a hero, but I offer them the villain instead.

One year earlier

 It was too easy to hack in and set off the stored nuclear war weapons.

 The end of the world

The final bomb goes off just as planned. The world shakes under me and I know it’s all over. As the red, yellow and black clouds roll towards me, my last thought is will anyone will find this recording and know the truth?

Peace

beach december uk snow - Google Search

O’Malley shivered in his winter coat and hurried over to the almost buried car. Behind him, he could hear his radio in the tractor broadcasting another weather report. He didn’t really trust all the forecasts, but last night’s had been on the money. He wiped the frozen snow off a door window and peered inside. All he saw was darkness, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone inside.

He wiped a drift of snow of the front window and looked more closely. The car was empty. Letting out a relieved breath, he made his way to the next car. His boots sank into the snow, making a loud crunching sound. He removed the snow faster off this one and discovered it empty as well.

Smiling, O’Malley went back to his tractor and climbed inside. Starting up the engine, he set off again at almost a turtle’s pace. He glanced back in his mirror at the cars and noted that they were the fourth and fifth cars he had come across. Over the next hill he saw a church and knowing the vicar there, decided to call upon him.

Pulling the tractor up and cutting the engine, O’Malley jumped out and walked through the snow covered graveyard and to the door. Opening it, a blast of warm air hit his face and he could smell candle wax. Walking in, he found a group of people sat in the front pews, with the vicar and his wife tending to them. He nodded, knowing these were the people from the cars and that because the church had given then sanctuary in the night, they all had survived.

these were the people from the cars and that because the church had given then sanctuary in the night, they all had survived.