Thanks to my dream catcher I now live in a world ruled by moonlight A soft glow that knocks the hard edges from the world Oh, I hear you say, we need sun To grow food and much more Here, under the moonlight, magic weaves warm days Rain too, if you wish it In a world coloured by your desire Blue feels like I have stepped into a warm ocean Yellow would be a world of sunlight Dark ochre, winter is on its way I sleep safely under the moonlight Thanks to my dreamcatcher…
Let the records show I am indissoluble. I would survive a sudden dipping in lime. Some people come up smelling of roses. I am one of them. I am anodyne, I would not like to offend anyone. Better I were pulled through a gathering backwards. Where I pull my hair, trying to wake. Ahead, I see a three-sided symbol with a yellow dot in the centre I feel my body sway with the low sound of drums. A strange triple style beat The echo rings back to my sleeping mind Where I stare at my profile in the mirror Wondering where the other of me has gone…
What would you do if a strange door popped up in your bedroom? A weird twilight moment There are no signs, yet I feel it screaming, stay out, do not enter. How many of us can resist the temptation? Slowly, I push the door open, stepping into the dark space. In the blink of an eye, I find myself in the centre of London. Standing in Trafalgar Square, Nelson towering over me, Four black lions standing guard, tour buses, on their way to show eager eyes the Queen’s House with its high black gated railings Smart soldiers stand ready while the Queen sleeps, Flag flying high on the pole. There is plenty of culture for those who wish it. Street art drawn with bright coloured chalk. Step inside the History Museum, see how small you feel against the giant dinosaurs. Sit on the pews of St Martins Church Take a rest before going on to Piccadilly, where Eros stands with bow and arrow in hand Ride the London Eye, high above the River Thames. Take a red bus to where you left the strange door, hoping it’s on the tourist route…
I never thought these words would drop onto my keyboard. I am convinced I have killed someone. I don’t remember why, or who he was. My memory, half hidden in a fog, We both held the knife. I remember he was left-handed. He lunged first, twisting away. I received a deep stab to my left thigh. He fell past me, I spun around, my knife lodged in his back. He fell on my kitchen floor. Trouble is, there has never been a dead body on my floor. The two-inch scar on my thigh tells me there should be. I have no explanation for the mark he left. A childhood accident has been suggested. Others say it could be an old memory From a past life we carry forward Once in a while, the scar itches Reminding me of something I cannot fully remember…
For visually challenged writers, theimage shows a sheer drop from old stone… a bridge, perhaps, or the battlements of a castle… there is no way to tell… Below is deep, dark water, swirling, fringed by autumnal trees…
Don’t stand and stare, The dark water may drag you deeper to a place you do not want to go Throw your coin, make a wish, do not linger. The autumn tree to your right, Never moves into summer. If you want to see another sun filled day, Move on swiftly. This stretch of dark water has a reputation For calling sad souls to let go of life To enter the world below Those that have slipped below the water, Lie in wait, lonely, needing new heartache To feed their dark world Let your wish be, to bless the water. Send those sad souls on their way…
The image is from aw-landscapes at DeviantArt.com.
Snow filled wonderland. A painting that only winter can play out. Tiptoe your way through. Will you find Narnia, stay awhile? Meet the wild unicorns. Carefully navigate your way Through the crisp snow lace patterns That shift and change, turning darker. Menacing sounds from behind you Do not turn your head. Do not look back, no pillar of salt here. Keep walking, find the light. Where the snow is starting to melt Into pools of water, reflecting moving clouds. Bird song, sweet sound of normal life ahead Ignoring the warning whisper in your mind That nothing is what it seems In the strange woodland Did you walk on, or turn around? See what should not have been seen? I pray you did not, for if you did. The woodland spirits would not let you go…
Journey 2, Penllyn picks up where the first installment, Dead of Winter: Journey 1, Forlorn Peak stopped. The supernatural warning, “Winter is coming!” continues to haunt Emlyn. Her father has heard her utter those words, and he is displeased to say the least. In fact, her family situation in general is becoming more perilous.
As if visitations from ghosts weren’t enough, another entity has started coming to her. She isn’t sure whether he is a spirit or something else, but he gives her the same prophetic warning.
Now Emlyn’s father has begun to behave strangely.
Join Emlyn on this strange journey to the neighboring village of Penllyn. Try not to look over your shoulder…
About the Author
Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene lives in a “high desert” town in the Southwest of the USA.
Teagan had always devoured fantasy novels of every type. Then one day there was no new book readily at hand for reading — so she decided to write one. And she hasn’t stopped writing since.
Her work is colored by her experiences from living in the southern states and the desert southwest. Teagan most often writes in the fantasy genre, but she also writes cozy mysteries. Whether it’s a 1920s mystery, a steampunk adventure, or urban fantasy, her stories have a strong element of whimsy.
Founder of the Three Things method of storytelling, her blog “Teagan’s Books” contains serial stories written according to “things” from viewers. http://www.teagansbooks.com
Major influences include Agatha Christie, Terry Brooks, David Eddings, Robert Jordan, and Charlaine Harris.
The second part of Dead of Winter begins with a mysterious old woman, trying desperately to remember something.
Something important.
I immediately wanted to know who she was, for the warning from the first journey echoes in her confused mind too, but she is unable to remember why.
Emlyn is having disturbing dreams, where a strange man whispers the warning in her ear. When she wakes, it would seem the man had been real, sitting on her bed. She is well used to spirits turning up and doesn’t think this visit strange, but the warning is becoming all too terrifying real.
As this complex story gets under way, there are many questions and mysteries, but the major one for me is, why is Emlyn’s father so disturbed at the mention of winter?
Emlyn has much to keep secret, so is this why her father is planning to send her away with the Deae Matres, the Society of women who travel the world searching out and collecting knowledge?
February 4, 2021, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that features a substitution. How might a character or situation be impacted by a stand-in? Bonus points for fairy tale elements.
I woke late this morning, feeling less than my usual self. As if a part of me had run off during the night. I showered, dressed, tried to hurry. Walking through the office saying Good Morning with no replies Had they all become blind? Patting myself down, the way some people pinch themselves. Did I do something to be sent to Coventry? I couldn’t think. Reaching my desk I could see God knows what. A shadow that had taken my place, holding my cup of coffee My colleagues chatting, nothing seemed wrong. I had been replaced by dust particles…
I am lifted by gentle hands. Carried to the attic. There, they turn spiteful, throwing me into the air I wait for my body to hit the dark attic floor. No thump came to wake me. I am suspended. A puppet with no strings I feel hands stroke my hair. I see time moving. Outside the small window A whispered voice close to my ear Not all things go bump in the night. I do not panic, believing I will wake soon. Better than thinking I am a plaything For an invisible force…
