Precipice

She stands at the precipice.

The dark blue of the ocean stretches out before her, so calm and deep.  The first whispers of the breaking dawn, in the far off horizon. Even the Baracelanra wind, usually brisk this early in the season of Karisnaan, is gentle.

Far off sounds, hidden in the early morning mists of the Asiv forest, loomed nearer.

She couldn’t decide which was worse.  The nightly terrors of the forest, of which she had never encountered before this waning night, the known dangers of the same untamed, dense forest in the daylight, or the far off sounds which she knew better than her own heartbeat.

She breaths deeply of the air, heavily scented of the marlesh blooms native to the nearby mountains.  Even in the near dark the presence of the Mount Lanig could be felt.

For centuries, her people attempt to cross over the near razor sharp edges of the mountain; many die in the attempt. For centuries, her people attempt to pass through the mountain; many die in the attempt. For centuries, her people attempt to till the land at the foot of the mountain; all flora and vegetation except the marlesh died in the attempt. Her people have learned that the Lanig will not be easily crossed over, passed through or tilled on.  Yet, the marlesh thrives.

She listens again to the sounds breaking the quiet of the dawn.  She has time yet to enjoy this view, and sits on the still dew damp grass of the precipice.  Her feet mere inches from the sheer drop to the ocean below.

She had been born on this precipice.  She had frightened her family to no end during her early youth, with her constant wandering to this place; at least until she grew older were certain she would not go over its steep edge.    Here in the Second Coming of her Etol N’gavet she still cannot fathom her attraction to this place.  Like the Lanig – it just is so.

The once far off terrors of sound are now fully upon her and she slowly rises to face its source.

No words are spoken between them.  The time for words had long since passed, when she tore through the horrors of the Asiv itself in her attempt to escape the inevitable.  The expressions exchanged between them however spoke volumes.

Submit!

Never!

What choice have you?

She glanced at her surrounds.  The ocean, an unnaturally brilliant blue in the rising sun of this new day, is to the right of her.  The Lanig, to her left with it beautiful flowers and jagged edges, glinted in the sunlight. The Asiv behind her? She had barley survived her flight through as is trying to reach this precipice.  She knew she would not make it to the terrors of the forest this time, let alone through it again.  And finally, that which she could not escape, unabashedly enjoying this moment of triumph, waited patiently to claim her.

What choice did she have? The alternative was equally final and eternal as far as she was concerned.

Sighing deeply, resignedly, she feels her soul depart from her body as she takes the final step towards her fate…

And leaps…

She relishes in the screams of frustration coming from above her as she sails through the air to the rocks and ocean below, she couldn’t help but smile.

It was a beautiful place to be born, and a beautiful place to die.

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The Daily Post
The Daily Post | Daily Prompt – Precipice

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On her knees, she reflects on her days up to these moments of her life. Say what they may now – she has earned this. The slurs of her heritage were a weight heavily carried on her back.  The vitriol flung her way because of the lower caste into which she was born, a constant susurrus in the back of her mind, no more. The drive to disprove the mocking stereotypes subjected to her kind a crown of thorns that gave cold comfort. Some let the burden of them wear them down. Today she would show a different way to wear those labels – with pride.

She bows her head one last time, as the mantle of the choices that brought her here become a different kind of weight. Lifting her head, she rises from her knees before the vicar with grace, as he proclaims her to all. She begins her life anew with the only appellation that mattered now, Queen.

To what you answer
Will always outweigh the things
To what you are called

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Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt

dVerse ~ Poets Pub: Open Link Night #192

senseless

Nine and seven years
You abandon us here
In this world
Mad with anguish

Skipped to the words
Take them
Spoken in hate
Go away and die
Because of him

The need to spite
Mattering more
Than to live for us
Your own daughters

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A week before Mother’s Day. Trying to make sense of the senseless. She had been saying for months that if he kept pushing her she’d leave him permanently. We were all praying she would. None of us thought it would be like this. Leaving a note and two daughters.

From some of the comments below I see I need to clarify something. The above poem is from my muse, taking the view point of the two daughters. The pain feels real to you, because it is real to me. This past Monday night/Tuesday morning,  I lost a friend, the girls lost a mother to suicide.

dverse

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille 8: Skip

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The Daily Post | Abandoned

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Real Toads : The Tuesday Platform

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge : Two Writing Teachers

The Daily Post: Secret Santa

Today’s The Daily Post is a good one:

You get to choose one gift — no price restrictions — for any person you want. The caveat? You have to give it anonymously. What gift would you give, and to whom?

No price restrictions? For me, this prompt is such an easy one as I literally had this conversation with another friend just yesterday.

My best-friend lives in a one-hundred plus year old, five-story walk-up that is owned by her and her family. Its age has caught up with it and the building has been in some date of construction/renovation for the past three years or so. Every apartment unit in the building is in or needing some state of repair. Not to mention maintaining the building structure itself.  It’s all necessary work, but lack of funds and family like her 90-year-old mother still living in the building during it all it has been a really stressful few years for the entire family trying to get anything done piecemeal.

In an ideal magical world, everyone would move out en masse, she would gut the building, have it renovated bottom to top and then everyone could move back in to an issue free residence. The major problem being where would everyone live during it all. Without the magic of  one hell of a mega/power ball type lotto where she could afford to arrange temporary housing for all the tenants and the rebuild itself, the ideal magical world is never going to happen.

Essentially, the gift would be move-in ready, elevated apartment building. Every one in the current building would simply move in to the new one.  It has been a dream of mine to do exactly this for her if I ever hit that mega/power ball type lotto any way, so it is absolutely perfect. Yes, I know this benefits more than just her, but family is everything to her. The ability for her to be able to provide a stable, issue free building that she would not the daily worry of Oh God what now? for her and her family would be such a tremendous gift. Even though she would never know I had anything to do with it, the ability to remove that worry from her would mean so much to me.

The Daily Post: Secret Santa

Come see how others are slicing it up for the week at Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life – Two Writing Teachers

 

The Daily Post: Ready, Set, Done!

<trigger warnings – bodily fluids>

I am going mad.

A feeling not entirely out of the realm of possibility given the circumstances, truth be told. Surely if any place could inspire the fragmenting of one’s mind, this dark abyss would be so.  The ongoing series of low moans seeminly reverberate about the cramped space further emphasizing the horrendous state.

When was the last time we had fresh air? Saw sunshine?

Normally a gentle roll, the summer storm turned the normally gentle rocking of the ship into anything but a comforting lull. Several found their insides unceremoniously gushing out as a result of the lurching.  I tried not to think about it, but it was more near silent susurrus, a subliminal messaging of sorts to which I would not pay heed because this sin’t happening to me… This isn’t happening to me… This isn’t happening to me…This isn’t…

The man directly behind me starts speak when I feel hi body convulse and warm liquid strike my head and trails down my neck and back. I realize the first words were the beginnings of an apology he now completed, his stomach empty, butI ould not offer him the comforting words of understanding asthe stench and sheer repulsionstarts to overwhelm. Feeling itI reflectively try to back away from the warm body in front of me.  But like the man behind is bound to me and the stranger in front of me is chained to the man before him, I am just as shackled and cannot move when the ship lurches.

“I am sorry my brother”

And release…

Cross section of a slave ship 1828-1829.

Click for full size

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Ready, Set, Done! is a ten-minute free-write where you tap away on whatever comes to mind, no filters attached. You are free to edit later, or do as I have and just publish as-is. I have NO idea where this came from. I typed the first sentence, kept going and this was the result. The image was found after the fact.

One Word Photo Challenge: Bronze

20130302_174820

My entry for Jennifer Nichole Wells’ One Word Photo Challenge: Bronze challenge was found while walking around my home town of New York City. I am constantly finding new and often unusual things when I step away from the beaten path and this was one such thing.  I liked that these figures were scaling the wall of 24 Bond Street as though rising up from depths below.

Thanks to my bud G-Unit (with a nod to Google for extra info), I have learned that this is the work of Bruce Williams. A software developer and artist, who lives on the 2nd floor of the building which hosts a dance studio on the ground floor. The  first of the sculptures (The Dancers), arranged along the fire escape were added to the exterior in 1998. The dancing statues had to be retroactively approved by the NYC Landmarks Preservation Commission when the building became part of the NoHo historic district in 2008.  After an unsuccessful attempt to have the original set of dancers removed, Williams having won the hearts and minds of the Commission, extended the statues to vertically span the left side of the building in 2010.   The dancers are whimsically arranged, and no two figures are the same.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Writing Backward – Old Man

“Good bye old man.”

Hand still on the headstone; Delilah lifts her face to the light rain that has fallen intermittently all day. She has as umbrella, but does not want to use it. Well aware she will likely pay for this by catching one heck of a cold as she is slowly soaked, she does not care right now. It feels oddly soothing. The cool rain mixing in with the hot tears that continue to run down her face try as she might to stop its flow.  They all knew the old man was in his final days, still knowing Death is coming does very little to lessen the blow of the final strike of his scythe once he arrives.

It is fitting, she thinks. It is fitting that it has rained most of this day; it matches her mood as she opens the car door, when they pull up to the cemetery.  Taking her hand as she exits the vehicle, her husband Henri gives her a reassuring hug. A gentle reminder of his presence though he is otherwise silent, leaving her to her thoughts.  She knows he understands, she needs this visit to the old man’s grave.

The rain damped lawn yields gently as they walk back over the grass to the waiting car. A bittersweet smile crosses her face as she remembers how the old man walked her down the aisle on her wedding day.  Showing signs of his advancing age, he was just starting to become unpredictable in his behavior. She had let family convince her that it was perhaps better if she walked down the grassy aisle on her own. But in the end how could she deny him this? She was happy she stuck to her guns, having faith in him knowing how important this was to her. That he would do his very best.  And he was what he had always been, regal, charming and such the perfect gentleman.

The same gentleman he was when Henri, in front of the entire family, showed him the engagement ring and asked his permission to marry Delilah.  The old man gave a good-natured protective growl, but then his playful bark of approval, soon followed. Even her own father laughed hard at that, as Henri then inquired the same of him, fully knowing Henri had asked permission in the correct order.  Eventually, he got around to actually asking Delilah herself to the delight of everyone.

The old man was sitting by her side as always the day she met Henri at the outdoor café.  New to the city, he was lost. He placed a map in front of Delilah asking directions, without really looking at her nor the old man. She smiled removing her shades as she pointed to the then not so old man and teased that Henri was better off showing the map to him. Only then did Henri notice the harness, realized Delilah was blind and began to apologize profusely at his “oversight”. Delilah laughed at his use of oversight and introduced Henri to Oberon, her fourteen year old, canine service companion.  Delilah smiled as she heard Henri squat down and give the dog a friendly scratch behind the ear.

“Well hello there, old man.”

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Weekly Writing Challenge: Writing Backward

Daily Prompt | What A Twist!

Daily Prompt: Second Time Around

Tell us about a book you can read again and again without getting bored
— what is it that speaks to you?

I list Piers Anthony Incarnations of Immortality series first because his On a Pale Horse was the first book that I read, finished and came back to happily for several years after its release.  As the remaining books of the series were released  (Bearing an Hourglass, With a Tangled Skein, Wielding a Red Sword, Being a Green MotherFor Love of Evil, And Eternity, and finally Under a Velvet Cloak), the wash, rinse and repeat process would ensue.  I know I reread at least one book from the series every couple of years.  In fact, now close to – if not past, some twenty years after my reading it for the very first time, I think I’m ready to enjoy On a Pale Horse again.

Anthony’s Incarnations of Immortality world is set in a future, but parallel earth where magic is as accepted as technology.  Thanks to various mythologies we are familiar with the personification of the concepts Death, Time, Fate, War, Nature etcetera, all of whom are immortal. The twist here is that the beings that hold these positions only do so for certain amount time depending upon their “office” and they are very human indeed.  For example Chronos (Time), lives his life in reverse to the rest of the incarnations, his future is actually their past and holds office only until the day he is born. Thus, if he is say 49 years of age when he takes office, he can only hold the office for 49 years and then must pass the job to his predecessor.  Each incarnation’s struggles/exploits with themselves, with the world at large and with each other as humans and as office holders to these supernatural positions make for some very interesting reading.  Imagine God as an office that you’re voted into. Gives you a little something to think about there doesn’t it? I concede that the world, society in general, has grown much more sophisticated in the passing years since these books were written. Purposely a little light-hearted at times, yet still thought-provoking, the books may not hold up to the more jaded, serious-minded adults, depending on literary tastes, but many will still delight in them.

The Kushiel Legacy series by Jacqueline Carey is a different animal.   The novels are split into three sets of trilogies. In publishing and storyline chronological order are Kushiel’s Dart, Kushiel’s Chosen, Kushiel’s Avatar – the Phèdre Trilogy,  Kushiel’s Scion, Kushiel’s Justice, Kushiel’s Mercy – the Imriel Trilogy and  Naamah’s Kiss, Naamah’s Curse and Naamah’s Blessing – the  Moirin Trilogy.  It is set in a detailed, fully developed alternate world very akin, but not quite like our own medieval past. This is a world of alternate religious, lands and people hold some similarities to ours, but not.  Not one of the heroes or heroines is perfect, not even close it. What is moral for our world takes on a different context in this one. With “Love as thou wilt” as a blessed precept of course there are some damn good sex scenes tossed throughout, but the protagonist lives are very much full of war, political intrigue, magic and of course love.  Carey creates faraway lands with their own characters, flavors and intrigues that excites and frightens, that draw you in always wanting more, but never becoming so far out of reality as to disdain believability and that is what works for me. In spite of their amazing adventures the characters here remain so very real.

I discovered the series when the second book was released.  As I read Kushiel’s Chosen, I quickly became so enthralled with the characters that I bought Kushiel’s Dart because I just had to know the details of how it all began.  It was not that I curious and wanted to know about the characters …I. Had. To. Know.   I have missed many a train stop as I became entrenched in the stories.

I love the Kushiel Legacy series so much, that not only do I have the physical books at home, but I also have the digital versions as well.  I can now pull up and re-immerse myself into the world of the Kushiel Legacy whenever I like.  If you love the Songs of Fire and Ice (Game of Thrones) series, trust me, go to Amazon or Barnes and Noble and pick up Kushiel’s Legacy to tide you over until R.R. Martin finally sits down and finishes the next book.

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Daily Prompt: Second Time Around

Daily Prompt: Good-bye

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Early autumn.

Click.  Click.

He stands in front of the floor to ceiling picture window in the living room that faces the water.  Being near the apex of the hill gives him a nearly unobstructed view of the river, the bridge and the rest of the city spread out before it.  The glittering effect of the sun on the water is as picture perfect as the fluffy cotton candy clouds breaking the monotony of the azure sky above.

He does not see this.

Click.  Click.

The leaves are mostly green, but you can see the first of fall’s leaves on the lawns and sidewalks. A perfectly shaped, beautifully russet leaf lazily drifts from a tree in front of the brownstone to the street.  Even this early in the season you somehow know autumn is going to show off in a blaze of glorious color at its peak.

It does not so much as invite a shrug from him.

Click.  Click.

Children play on the sidewalk or in front yards enjoying the last vestiges of the day. Their occasional high peals of laughter break the relative silence of the late afternoon. It is a good hour before the streetlights come on and another half hour at least before the sun noticeably sets.

He does not notice.

Click.  Click.

The gentle swish-swish, swish-swish of leaves brushing against a window is somehow rhythmic.  It is the same gentle breeze causing the light curtains to sway in front of open windows as evening approaches.  Somewhere down the block just out of the line of vision the happy tunes of an ice cream truck are heard.

But not by him.

Click.  Click.

He has stood by the picture window long after the brilliant red, gold and indigo of sunset have paved the way for the now diamond studded navy night.  The grandfather clock in the front hall again chimes the passing hour.  The stereo is just barely audible above the regular sounds of the house.

The only thing he has heard and continues to hear in his mind is click.

Click.  Click. 

Click.  Click.

Click.  Click.

In reality, each click is no louder than of that of an old-fashioned typewriter key strike.  For him each is as loud as a cannon blast.

The sound of stiletto heels clicking against a marble floor of the foyer as they walk out of the door and his life.

Good-bye.

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Daily Prompt | What A Twist!