horror
The girl had been sheltered all her life, on a grassy knoll to the north. She had been fed a delicate diet of honeysuckle and mare milk. Staying small, she never grew beyond the height of a small blueberry bush.
Her keeper was a sad old man, bringing her meals in small earthen wear bowl. He would brush her soft hair and plait it, mend her dresses and talk to her about bright things. He never seemed to get much larger, or much younger.
The girl was never allowed to go to the village. Her keeper made this too clear, too clear for her curiosity to be quelled.
She wandered into the village on her own, stupid little thing she was.
Despite her best dress, shiny hair and innocent eyes, none could see past her deformities.
The old man wept the day his half-kraken daughter was murdered in the town square.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
4.
wonder
The shop was full of gems. Bright and small, they dazzled me in the warm sunshine. The windows were thrown open, dappled light pouring in through the trees that crowded the small building. A small white cat lounged in the sill, green eyes open to slits and staring at me.
I was astounded by the sizes and shapes and colors of all of the stones. A bowl full of milky white stones shot with color called to me, and I meandered over to them.
At ten years old, I knew to mind my mother. She would get very cross when I did things she told me not to, including shoving my hands into a bowl of expensive items.
As she was bartering with the owner of the shop, she didn't really notice me. The owner was an old woman, her pale yellow hair pulled back into a severe bun and one dark eye was lazy and seemed to follow me. She smiled when she saw me turning the stones over in my hands.
My mother, glancing one at me and then staring hard, hissed my name.
The old woman laughed and said, "Oh no Molly! He's a bright lad. Opals are the stone of love, luck, money and great healing." Her eyes both trained on me now, ancient and wise. "If he's drawn to them, he'll be something special some day, mark my words."
In my foolish youth, I gazed at her with wonder and did a very stupid thing.
I believed her.
The shop was full of gems. Bright and small, they dazzled me in the warm sunshine. The windows were thrown open, dappled light pouring in through the trees that crowded the small building. A small white cat lounged in the sill, green eyes open to slits and staring at me.
I was astounded by the sizes and shapes and colors of all of the stones. A bowl full of milky white stones shot with color called to me, and I meandered over to them.
At ten years old, I knew to mind my mother. She would get very cross when I did things she told me not to, including shoving my hands into a bowl of expensive items.
As she was bartering with the owner of the shop, she didn't really notice me. The owner was an old woman, her pale yellow hair pulled back into a severe bun and one dark eye was lazy and seemed to follow me. She smiled when she saw me turning the stones over in my hands.
My mother, glancing one at me and then staring hard, hissed my name.
The old woman laughed and said, "Oh no Molly! He's a bright lad. Opals are the stone of love, luck, money and great healing." Her eyes both trained on me now, ancient and wise. "If he's drawn to them, he'll be something special some day, mark my words."
In my foolish youth, I gazed at her with wonder and did a very stupid thing.
I believed her.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
3.
celebration
There was color. That was my first thought.
Pink, blue, green and yellow. The deep green of the ground, the unending cobalt of the sky. The colors were swimming together, my eyes were watering and unfocused. My head was still reeling from the blow delivered earlier, I could feel the blood running down my collar.
Stumbling forward, propelled by the brawny men behind me, I stepped right into the middle of a large celebration. A great fire roared in the center, the flames flashing green, blue, pink and even black in great swirls as a variety of women tossed handfuls of bright powders into the heat. They were dressed in patterned skirts with different flora and fauna on them. I could pick out the bright pink of a tulip and the great antlers of a deer.
The firelight reflected off of my pale skin and threw strange reflections on my guards, who had come up to either side of me. Their skin was the darkest of all the revelers, nearly pitch back. It absorbed the light and gave none back. I felt a hint of coldness.
My rumpled white shirt and plain brown britches made me wiggle with embarrassment. My vision cleared and I stood up straighter. I tried to walk forward, only for one of my guards to grab my thin arm with his giant, meaty hand. I turned my head up and gazed into his sour features.
He and his companion were much the same. Both had greasy black hair slicked back into twin queues, nearly to their trim waists. Strong features, they had identical jawlines and noses. I looked closer, flicking my eyes back and forth. If not twins, then brothers at the least. Their eyes, no longer resting on me, were dark. The sclera was a pale blue, even in the firelight. I had seen no such coloration in an adult before, normally it was only young children who claimed such. Their bodies were large, muscular and riddled with scars. Their clothes were stained and patched with different swatches of fabric. A tunic belted into loose fitting shorts, with crudely made sandals seemed appropriate in the remaining atmosphere.
Turning my view to the rest of the proceedings, I observed that the men were dressed mostly the same as my cohorts, with little color variation. The women, however, were dressed in bright, patterned linens. Low bodices and flowing skirts that showed a majority of thigh when they danced, dark legs slick with sweat and scented oils...
One girl with deep chestnut hair to her waist caught my eye with hers and moved her hips provocatively. Her skirts were patterned with owls and moths, her large abalone necklace reminded me of the moon. She swayed to me and spoke in a strange, thick tongue to the twins. They released me and gave me a push towards her.
The instant her warm, dark hand touched mine, I was lost. I forgot about my family, the large pack of wares left where they fell in the forest, the wound throbbing at the back of my head, I even forgot my own name.
She led me to the fire and gave me a rough pouch filled with ocher-colored powder. I watched the fire reflected in her eyes and was not afraid. She gave me a slow smile and lead me closer to the fire. She took a pinch of her own powder, a light lavender with a hint of glitter, and bade me do the same. Together, we threw the powder on the fire, and it turned a brilliant green.
Without warning, she pushed me into the emerald flames.
I screamed, I think, but then I did not burn. I felt myself changing, the skin crisping and darkening, and my hair gradually burning away, but I felt no pain.
My world seemed to change as I watched through the fire. Visions of my old life, my job and my family, seemed to melt away, and be replaced by grand carnivals and days of travel. I could see the lovely woman gathering poorly patched clothes, regarding them and then retrieving a much smaller size, and smiling at me through the flickering barrier.
With ease, she reached into the fire and pulled me out.
Everyone cheered, and congratulated me. I understood what they were saying, and I still could not remember my old name. They said that this was common, and would fade with time.
I stared at all of the bright colors, but could not bring myself to join the celebration.
*took me forever to get motivated on this one. D: Over an hour, at least, just on writing*
There was color. That was my first thought.
Pink, blue, green and yellow. The deep green of the ground, the unending cobalt of the sky. The colors were swimming together, my eyes were watering and unfocused. My head was still reeling from the blow delivered earlier, I could feel the blood running down my collar.
Stumbling forward, propelled by the brawny men behind me, I stepped right into the middle of a large celebration. A great fire roared in the center, the flames flashing green, blue, pink and even black in great swirls as a variety of women tossed handfuls of bright powders into the heat. They were dressed in patterned skirts with different flora and fauna on them. I could pick out the bright pink of a tulip and the great antlers of a deer.
The firelight reflected off of my pale skin and threw strange reflections on my guards, who had come up to either side of me. Their skin was the darkest of all the revelers, nearly pitch back. It absorbed the light and gave none back. I felt a hint of coldness.
My rumpled white shirt and plain brown britches made me wiggle with embarrassment. My vision cleared and I stood up straighter. I tried to walk forward, only for one of my guards to grab my thin arm with his giant, meaty hand. I turned my head up and gazed into his sour features.
He and his companion were much the same. Both had greasy black hair slicked back into twin queues, nearly to their trim waists. Strong features, they had identical jawlines and noses. I looked closer, flicking my eyes back and forth. If not twins, then brothers at the least. Their eyes, no longer resting on me, were dark. The sclera was a pale blue, even in the firelight. I had seen no such coloration in an adult before, normally it was only young children who claimed such. Their bodies were large, muscular and riddled with scars. Their clothes were stained and patched with different swatches of fabric. A tunic belted into loose fitting shorts, with crudely made sandals seemed appropriate in the remaining atmosphere.
Turning my view to the rest of the proceedings, I observed that the men were dressed mostly the same as my cohorts, with little color variation. The women, however, were dressed in bright, patterned linens. Low bodices and flowing skirts that showed a majority of thigh when they danced, dark legs slick with sweat and scented oils...
One girl with deep chestnut hair to her waist caught my eye with hers and moved her hips provocatively. Her skirts were patterned with owls and moths, her large abalone necklace reminded me of the moon. She swayed to me and spoke in a strange, thick tongue to the twins. They released me and gave me a push towards her.
The instant her warm, dark hand touched mine, I was lost. I forgot about my family, the large pack of wares left where they fell in the forest, the wound throbbing at the back of my head, I even forgot my own name.
She led me to the fire and gave me a rough pouch filled with ocher-colored powder. I watched the fire reflected in her eyes and was not afraid. She gave me a slow smile and lead me closer to the fire. She took a pinch of her own powder, a light lavender with a hint of glitter, and bade me do the same. Together, we threw the powder on the fire, and it turned a brilliant green.
Without warning, she pushed me into the emerald flames.
I screamed, I think, but then I did not burn. I felt myself changing, the skin crisping and darkening, and my hair gradually burning away, but I felt no pain.
My world seemed to change as I watched through the fire. Visions of my old life, my job and my family, seemed to melt away, and be replaced by grand carnivals and days of travel. I could see the lovely woman gathering poorly patched clothes, regarding them and then retrieving a much smaller size, and smiling at me through the flickering barrier.
With ease, she reached into the fire and pulled me out.
Everyone cheered, and congratulated me. I understood what they were saying, and I still could not remember my old name. They said that this was common, and would fade with time.
I stared at all of the bright colors, but could not bring myself to join the celebration.
*took me forever to get motivated on this one. D: Over an hour, at least, just on writing*
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
2.
muscular arms
I ran my hands over and under the span of his arms. He was a rock to me, a guiding force in the war. Though the skin was torn and bloody, I could still feel the firm muscle of his arms protecting me.
"Honey," I whispered, reaching up with my small frame to press my lips closer to the shell of his ear, "Honey, they're coming. Please, you have to get up. We won't last much longer with you laying here."
The captain of his squad, lined with fur and chain-mail, heavy gilded plates of metal weighing down on me, he took a shuddering breath. I felt something warm and sticky on my face, and burying myself into his arms once more. I encouraged him to move, pressing up against his armor and beginning to panic. I could hear the heavy footfalls of our enemy coming closer to our tent.
I pressed my face into the heavy fur around his collar, breathing deeply of his musk and sweat for what might've been the last time. I had been there, when he had killed this bear. The meat was unusable, but the fur had become his cloak and our blanket.
This man had fought for me. Three villages back, I had been a prostitute, unwillingly. Sold to even out the debt of my father, I had been too young, too vulnerable at the time. Years of work had tempered me, made me sad and unresisting. I was not favored, but neither was I ignored. Not expensive, but not cheap. Average.
Then he came, my captain. Slaughtered all in the village, all of the scum and vermin. All of those who had treated me unkindly. My savior with the giant arms, he caught me looking at him from my second story window with the dirty glass. He did not see fear in my eyes, and took me under his care. Under his attentions, my dull hair became bright, my figure became full and lush once more. I held love for him in my eyes, instead of indifference toward my fate.
I was his lady, plundered and pillaged only by him. The best lover I ever had.
And now, on the floor of our home, he was dying and I was trapped by it. I wrapped my arms around him and closed my eyes.
With a heavy breath, he spoke. His deep baritone rung in my heart, as always. "Dear heart, do you remember what I taught you? How to swing, where to hit? The chinks in their armor?"
I nodded against him, the tears starting to pour out of my face. "I do, my captain. I remember all of the training, and how to wield the sword."
He groaned and pushed himself off of me with his last breath. "Kill them, Isa. Kill them all." His giant sword, jeweled and worked with love and blood, fell from his large hand.
Reaching down, I straightened my plain linen shift. Leaning over, I closed his eyes. "I will, my love, I will." Under his care, I had also learned the art of death. My muscles had grown strong enough to wield his sword, and I lifted it now. Clasping his cloak around my shoulders, I spaced my legs apart and waited.
The first man who opened the tent was leering, expecting the captain's infamous whore. What he got was a warrior queen who killed him with no remorse in her heart.
Time: an hour with breaks.
I ran my hands over and under the span of his arms. He was a rock to me, a guiding force in the war. Though the skin was torn and bloody, I could still feel the firm muscle of his arms protecting me.
"Honey," I whispered, reaching up with my small frame to press my lips closer to the shell of his ear, "Honey, they're coming. Please, you have to get up. We won't last much longer with you laying here."
The captain of his squad, lined with fur and chain-mail, heavy gilded plates of metal weighing down on me, he took a shuddering breath. I felt something warm and sticky on my face, and burying myself into his arms once more. I encouraged him to move, pressing up against his armor and beginning to panic. I could hear the heavy footfalls of our enemy coming closer to our tent.
I pressed my face into the heavy fur around his collar, breathing deeply of his musk and sweat for what might've been the last time. I had been there, when he had killed this bear. The meat was unusable, but the fur had become his cloak and our blanket.
This man had fought for me. Three villages back, I had been a prostitute, unwillingly. Sold to even out the debt of my father, I had been too young, too vulnerable at the time. Years of work had tempered me, made me sad and unresisting. I was not favored, but neither was I ignored. Not expensive, but not cheap. Average.
Then he came, my captain. Slaughtered all in the village, all of the scum and vermin. All of those who had treated me unkindly. My savior with the giant arms, he caught me looking at him from my second story window with the dirty glass. He did not see fear in my eyes, and took me under his care. Under his attentions, my dull hair became bright, my figure became full and lush once more. I held love for him in my eyes, instead of indifference toward my fate.
I was his lady, plundered and pillaged only by him. The best lover I ever had.
And now, on the floor of our home, he was dying and I was trapped by it. I wrapped my arms around him and closed my eyes.
With a heavy breath, he spoke. His deep baritone rung in my heart, as always. "Dear heart, do you remember what I taught you? How to swing, where to hit? The chinks in their armor?"
I nodded against him, the tears starting to pour out of my face. "I do, my captain. I remember all of the training, and how to wield the sword."
He groaned and pushed himself off of me with his last breath. "Kill them, Isa. Kill them all." His giant sword, jeweled and worked with love and blood, fell from his large hand.
Reaching down, I straightened my plain linen shift. Leaning over, I closed his eyes. "I will, my love, I will." Under his care, I had also learned the art of death. My muscles had grown strong enough to wield his sword, and I lifted it now. Clasping his cloak around my shoulders, I spaced my legs apart and waited.
The first man who opened the tent was leering, expecting the captain's infamous whore. What he got was a warrior queen who killed him with no remorse in her heart.
Time: an hour with breaks.
Monday, April 26, 2010
1.
a pleasure pavilion
I approached the strange tent with all the foreboding of a man going to his death. There was the sweet scent of cloves on the wind, shadows of beautiful people playing on the painted silk.
I was plain of face and thick of girth, unsure why I was invited to this party, this pretty fort filled with pretty things. I imagined that my reputation for molding beautiful flowers out of the finest glass secured me an invitation, but I had no gifts to offer on my person. Hyacinths, crocus, daffodils, I could make any flower as hearty or delicate as I chose. I could not, however, make anything as lovely as the creatures within that tent.
Pulling back the layers of chiffon and satin, I pushed through to the pleasure pavilion.
Young, elegant people bejeweled with crystal and diamond, clad only just in the sheerest of fabrics. Gossamer and moonlight. Many were indulging in mind-altering substances, reclining on large embroidered cushions and blowing peacock plumes of smoke up and beyond. Several were indulging in each other, twined together on large round beds with ornate golden frames.
I wandered through this place, this wasteland filled with smooth surfaces and shiny eyes, pink cheeks and taunt stomachs.
Pained by the hollowness of it all, I closed my eyes and thought of my glass flowers. Somehow, they were more real to me than any of these young, stupid things.
I approached the strange tent with all the foreboding of a man going to his death. There was the sweet scent of cloves on the wind, shadows of beautiful people playing on the painted silk.
I was plain of face and thick of girth, unsure why I was invited to this party, this pretty fort filled with pretty things. I imagined that my reputation for molding beautiful flowers out of the finest glass secured me an invitation, but I had no gifts to offer on my person. Hyacinths, crocus, daffodils, I could make any flower as hearty or delicate as I chose. I could not, however, make anything as lovely as the creatures within that tent.
Pulling back the layers of chiffon and satin, I pushed through to the pleasure pavilion.
Young, elegant people bejeweled with crystal and diamond, clad only just in the sheerest of fabrics. Gossamer and moonlight. Many were indulging in mind-altering substances, reclining on large embroidered cushions and blowing peacock plumes of smoke up and beyond. Several were indulging in each other, twined together on large round beds with ornate golden frames.
I wandered through this place, this wasteland filled with smooth surfaces and shiny eyes, pink cheeks and taunt stomachs.
Pained by the hollowness of it all, I closed my eyes and thought of my glass flowers. Somehow, they were more real to me than any of these young, stupid things.
Intro
Welcome to Emily's Daily Drabbles!
I will be using http://www.magatsu.net/art/index.php to give myself a prompt with which to write a small story, no more than five pages, every day. I'm going to try it out for a year and see how it goes! I'm attempted to further my writing career, as in start it at all, and I think this would be a good way to start!
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