She sat among her own.
Around her were other historians of the old, the ancient, in spoken word alone. Some old, some young, all in awe of the hoarfrost woman, the eldest of the griots.
Eyes of stone that easily flashed in compliments or condemnations, were a study in consternation as she gazed among those gathered. Especially the young who dared challenge their way.
“Only mouths are we who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things!”
Bent and cane dependent, she moved boldly nonetheless to the youngest among them and held out a gnarled, aged hand. He had tried to hide the offending item he carried, but as always, she knew.
He handed her the scroll. Their history on vellum.
He saw it as the beginning.
She knew it for what it was: the beginning…
…of their end.
dVerse Poets Pub | Prosery: Here’s the thing about existing
At dVerse Sanaa tends bar and welcomes us to another round of Prosery where we are asked to write a very short piece of prose that tells a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end, in any genre of our choice.
Since it is a kind of Flash Fiction, there is a limit of 144 words. It must include a complete line from a poem in the story, within the word limit.
Punctuation can be changed, but it is not allowed to subract or insert words in between parts of the original quotation.
This week’s quote:
“Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things?” – from Rainer Maria Rilke, “Heartbeat.”
