On A Summer’s Eve

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“There is goes again,” Katie said, stepping onto the back porch.

“Maybe there’s a fault in the motion sensor,” Troy said.  “I’ll check it in the morning.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I saw something move myself this time,” Katie said squinting into the moonlit night.

“Yeah, but there doesn’t seem to be anything there now,” he said in a comforting tone. “Anyway, it’s probably just a fox or something.”

“I suppose so,” she said stepping back inside and throwing the latch on the French doors.

At the edge of the hedge row the Green Man held his breath.  After a moment he stepped from the backdrop to which he had blended in and leaned over the hedge to address a cowering hirsute figure.

“Woodwose, I thought I told you to be careful,” the leaf covered man scolded.

“Sorry.  I must have set it off when I tried to shoo away a moth.  I hate it when they start nibbling.”

 

Padre

 

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #71

 

Apple

An apple, Medieval people did say

In the Bible caused people to stray

Gilgamesh into the sea did dive

In search of the fruit

To make Enkidu alive

For an apple of gold three goddesses did contend

Tempting Prince Paris

Bringing great Troy’s end

The apple’s importance, thus, is hard to deny

But the fruit also makes a lovely pie

 

Padre

 

dVerse Poetics: Apple

 

The Face

woman touching her ear

image Unsplash

Manny King was a top mechanic and the most good ol’ of all the local good ol’ boys.  He had been the captain of the high school football team, and held the local record for how many beers he could chug down in three minutes.  Ever since their sophomore year he had dated Helen, the head cheerleader and homecoming queen.

Two weeks ago however when she was waitressing at Big Red’s Truck Stop, things had all gone wrong.  Some college fella, called Troy, or some such, stopped in, driving his BMW and flashing around money and a perfect smile.  Worse still, he openly flirted with Helen, and she reciprocated.  At the end of her shift, Helen left her apron and Manny’s class ring with Big Red and took off to the city with flashy frat boy.

When Manny finished at the garage he went to pick up Helen, only to be told what had transpired.   He was furious, but didn’t know what to do.  He therefore went to see, his older brother, Aggie for advice.   Aggie knew exactly what to do.  He rounded up all the good ol’ boys, and a convoy of over a hundred pick-up trucks headed towards the city to retrieve Helen.

You might say Helen was the face that launched a thousand Hicks.

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Based on Menelaus and Helen.

Sunday Writing Prompts “Myths and Love”

 

Like A Dryad Out of Water

CCC#49

Silvanus couldn’t believe his luck.  The human with the chainsaw didn’t cut him in half as had happened with his Aunty Drynia.   No this guy fancied himself to be some sort of Michelangelo, freeing the spirit of what was within, not just chopping and cutting aimlessly.

So there Silvanus was, exposed to the light of day, and the cruel dryness of the air.  It was not only a frightening experience but painful as well.  He could barely breathe this thing dry stuff.  Where was the moist sap which had normally sustained him.  he was a Dryad out of water, well sap anyway.  There was only one thing to do.  Silvanus donned a mask and snorkel and channeled all of the sap he could into a tank.  He then set out to explore this strange wide-open world in which he found himself.

(142 Words)

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #49

 

The Inhabitants

Warwick Castle, Fort, Warwick, Castle, Heritage, Tower

Image by Kevsphotos from Pixabay

We have always lived in the castle.  Not me personally, mind, but our family has been in the castle as long as there has been one.  Before even.

We were on the site when Boyda and his people raised the wooden palisades upon our hill.  Those were pleasant times, and we lived in harmony with the newcomers.  They treated us with respect, and the Druids brought us little treasures and laid them before our spring.

Then those coarse Latins arrived.  They tore down the lovely oak walls and raised ramparts of stone.  Some of these foul men disrespected us, and they didn’t think to thank us for the clear water that flowed from our spring.  But they learned – oh, how they learned.  My great-grandmother was but a girl then, but she remembered her mother making the water sour and many of the legion-men falling ill.   The gifts soon returned, I can tell you.  But these hard men left and our family lived quietly on our hilltop home among the decaying stone.

New visitors came, they called themselves the Folk, but they were not unlike the Romans or the Celts before them.  They rebuilt the walls and dug a well next to our spring.  Grandmother was not pleased with that and in her fury again tainted the waters and some of the newcomers fell blind.  They left our hill!

The castle builders came when my mother was a girl.  They robbed the stone from the hilltop and made new walls with high round towers and a gate with an iron portcullis.  They dug another well further down the hill, and used pipes to flow it to the keep.  They largely left our family alone, but mother remembers one day when a young man and woman sat looking longingly into each other’s eyes as they sat at the edge of our spring just outside of their walls.  Their love filled her with joy and she granted them a long life and happiness together.  It is their great-great-great-great-great grandchildren that sold the castle to the wool merchant.  I was a girl then, and his family were kind to us.  They loved nature and built the parks and gardens below the hill.  See how pretty they are.  I kind of like the statue they placed next to our spring.  It looks much like your grandmother when she was young, though it is silly that they put butterfly wings on the back of a Water-Sprite.

It was just before you were born that the present bunch came here.  They turned the castle into a hotel.  They built the two bungalows outside the walls and the little path to our spring.  Honeymoon cottages they call them.  I think it is lovely that the young couples come to enjoy our spring.  It is up to you now, my daughter, to protect the waters though.  These humans are such unpredictable sorts.  It was like when that man with the strange hair wanted to build a golf course here, I had to see him off.  You may have to do the same, he doesn’t seem to ever learn his lessons.

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Christine’s Daily Writing Prompt: We Have Always Lived in the Castle

Written in the Sky

Image result for cassiopeia

Space.com

“There’s a big “W” in the sky,” Tilly said looking up in wonder.

“That’s Cassiopeia,” Aunt Helen replied.

“Cassiopeia?  That’s a funny name,” Tilly said mulling it over in her mind.  “Do you spell Cassiopeia with a W?”

“Not exactly,” her aunt explained.  “You see a long time ago there was a beautiful queen named Cassiopeia.  She was really, truly beautiful, but she was also brash and conceited.  She was so caught up into her own looks, that she looked down on the beauty of others.  She even went so far as to brag that she was more attractive than the goddesses or the sea nymphs called the Nereids.  This angered the Sea-god Poseidon who was married to one of the Nereids, so he sent a sea monster to punish her for vanity.   In the end she was cast into the sky as a punishment.”

“That’s terrible,” Tilly said.

“Yes, but Queen Cassi got the last laugh,” her aunt observed.  “See she’s still with us,  her name in the sky.”

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Her Name in the Sky

FOWC with Fandango —Brash

Luna and Lupa

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Found on picsart.com

Arat shivered at the sound of the wolf howls in the distance.

“Grandfather,” she queried. “Are we in danger?”

“No Little One,” the old Shaman replied.  “They are howling at the moon.”

“Why do they do that?” the lass asked.

Long ago, the first wolf, Lupa roamed the wilds on his own.  He was lonely and sad, and when the sun set each day he was plunged in darkness, and his loneliness became all the greater in the gloom.   He longed for companionship and in his desperation, he concocted a plan.  He would hide on the edge of the western horizon and await the ending of the day.  Then when the great Sola, the sun,  was at her weakest and also her nearest to the Earth, he would suck in her brightness into his mighty lungs.  Once darkness came he would breath out her light, so he would have a companion in the darkness. Which is exactly what he did.

“What happened,” the girl asked intrigued.

When darkness fell, Lupa ran to the eastern horizon and let out his breath with a mighty howl,  As he did, the diminished light of Sola raced into the sky trying to rejoin the rest of her.  But as Sola had already passed beyond the Sky-boundary to the west, the light captured by Lupa could only chase after the rest of her.  

The lesser light became panicked and frustrated.  It was then that Lupa spoke.

“Why are you rushing away so?  Why not slow down and enjoy my company?” the great wolf asked.

“But I must catch up with my body,” the light responded.

“Why? When you are so beautiful yourself?” the wolf complemented.

 The light slowed, and thought about the comment.

“But I must return,” she finally said, though the flattery had affected her deeply.

“If you must, you must,” Lupa responded. “But I for one would will miss your splendid silver sheen.  Oh, it is so much more pleasant that Sola’s harsh brightness.”

The light paused yet again.  It was torn by both the desire to return to Sola and to have glory of her own.

“I hope we meet again sometime,” the wolf said with feigned sadness and turned to pad into the forest.

“Wait,” said the light.  “I think I might tarry a little while.”

Lupa smiled to himself.  He knew then he had found a companion for the night.  

“I am Lupa,” he at last said. “And how shall I address your beautiful self?”

The light thought for a moment then said, “Luna, my name is Luna.”

“And that Granddaughter, was the beginning of the great friendship.  The wolves to this day howl to welcome Luna upon her return.”

The girl smiled and stretched out on her blanket and looked up at the moon.  In her mind she let out a howl. Welcome back Luna.  She then rolled over and fell fast asleep.

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Photo Challenge #280

In Meadow Nymph’s Eyes

Inspiration Calls

The pastureland and adjoining meadow were peaceful.  The boundary oaks and poplars slowly darkened as they transformed into silhouettes against the setting sun.  It was Epimelidia’s favourite time of the day.  She reclined upon an apple bough at the edge of meadow and watched the flocks of sheep gently settling.

How many times had she watched over this scene?  How often had her protective gaze helped the lambs to securely lay down their heads.

But something was not quite right tonight.  Epimelidia could feel it.  Was it Pan or some other Satyr trying to unsettle her?  No, there was nothing of a spirit about this.  It was clearly a disturbance made by mortal men.  As she watched she could just make out the line of warriors traveling wearily towards her.

“Aspius,” one called back down the line. “There is meat for us tonight, my friend.”

The column of soldiers altered their direction and then split.  Half of the troop approached her slumbering lambs, and the other group was heading directly at her sacred apple tree.

This will never do! she fumed.

Suddenly glittering golden lights danced throughout the meadow and pastures.  At first the warriors thought it was some type of glowing insects, but it soon became clear that hundreds of little sprites and fairies had answered the mental call of the Meadow Nymph.  Some of the soldiers struck out at the flashing apparitions.  Those who did fell instantly blind.   Men began to scurry about falling over each other in the confusion. Others grabbed hold of sightless comrades and led them back to the roadway.

Epimelidia’s lambs would sleep well that night.  And as for Aspius, there would be no meat this evening, but only stale bread and water, and a futile hope that his sight might return.

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Inspiration Call: Flash Fiction Friday

 

 

 

Prometheus’ Gift

Fire, Heat, Bonfire, Energy, Yellow

Image: Pixabay

Prometheus’ gift –

Was it blessing or curse?

Our homes to warm –

Or destroy.

 

Our meals to prepare –

Or unleashed to scare –

Our very beings with its –

Vengeful fury.

 

Be it a Pudding Lane Bakers-

Who charred London by acres –

Or O’Leary’s cow with –

Chicago’s most unfortunate kick.

 

The fires kept coming –

And even now with new plumbing –

We’re still not fully in control –

Of  Prometheus’ tricks.

 

Padre

 

Haunted Wordsmith Prompt  “The fires kept coming.”