SNIPPETS OF WRITING: a game of catchup from the last few months

Thursday, June 04, 2015

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(disclaimer: I've been meaning to post this for over a week, but my computer was having issues opening documents. I have written since then, but those snippets will be included in a later post - read on!)

I mentioned in a letter recently that now the school year is finished, I'm eager to get back in the swing of writing. My work over the past semester was almost strictly platonic, but with long free afternoons at hand, I'm ready to cement the thoughts and ideas into words and people.

Before I get there, however, here is a look at some of the sporadic work that happened over the spring semester!

"Summertime came late that year. From the smoke-ringed mountains in the east to the tawny fields of the southwestern islands, a chill had settled in that did not like to be moved, and like those barren landscapes, many eyes were sallow and empty longer than usual; longer than necessary." -Psithurism

"She recoiled from him, saw how dark his skin was against her own and took it as an omen, reaching back her hand, poised to slap him. For a very brief moment everything was blurred; a blueish light flickered in the window behind them, adding to the haze of the overcast day." -Psithurism

"The sky was dark, but inside the tavern it was warm and welcoming. The flicker of the hearth stuck in his mind’s eye relentlessly, waving like an army’s broad colors, a constant filter over the rest of his memory. The flames danced queerly.
Tables were half-full as they often were, men in scattered clusters about the sagging place, their clothes and shoes caked in dirt and stinking of fish, for they spent their days on the riverbanks as a living, catching fish to sell in the marketplace.
“Edeson!” someone had called, and Adair watched himself stroll over to the table, his clean hands a contrast to the filth of this young boy.
“Ajax.” His lips formed the queer name slowly, or perhaps it was only his memory." -Psithurism

""Are we not gathered to fight, to ally against a power the Southern Region has long resented? Why now do you cower and frown and tell me to quiet my tongue, as though I were naught but a boy? This is the day we have awaited for the years over: we are at the cusp of the prophesies, and you bid me hold my tongue?” For a tense moment Adair did not speak; his hand was shaking even as he stabilized it against his belt-loop, and he glanced around the room to be sure they were, truly, alone." -Psithurism

"He said no more, and his wings were still, yet the feathers spread like dove-fans, fluttering and rustling and always moving. Ara wondered at them; how curious that they should move so! How brilliant the colours! It was in her heart – her head – her body that she should stay here forever, for here it was warm, a warmth that made other warmths seem only a shadow, where this filled her eyes and ears and tongue with the taste of it. It smelled, it heard, it was deep and it was wide: it made any other warmth just a faint imagining." -Psithurism

"“I don’t know,” she whispered, just above the air, for she didn’t want to break the mist that clung in dewy particles to the folds of her clothes. They would roll down, mixing with the fabric and making dark spots, marking their places, but they would dry in time too. Perhaps it was so with the blood on the stones – perhaps, that too would dry, and be washed away with time." -Psithurism

"“And if I had much to offer?”
“Still I would take none.” Here a beaming smile grew on the lady’s fair face, and Ara was confused as to her purpose. “It is my joy that I may help others; not my job.”
She did not know what to do. Should she sleep, she may not again wake for two days. Still, she knew to travel would be to call for certain death. She feared the touch of this curious old woman, and what healing it brought; for surely, only bad can be wrought from a woman who does not request pay?
“Do not be afraid,” the woman whispered at last, and there was earnest in her voice. Why did she care so much for a girl she’d never known, a girl who’d shown her no kindness?
“There is yet more to be done; do not give up. Your path may be tangled; but there, who’s is not? For the sake of this child at least, on whom you have a hold I do not try to understand; for her sake, struggle on. There is morning, always coming.”
Ara was still confused by this woman’s riddles, but one thing was made very clear to hear, sharp and present and sluicing across her vision. The woman was true."

1 comment

  1. Wow. You have such beautiful and real descriptions. I love them!

    The second to last one. Oh, wow. I like that one the best I think.


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