Writing Challenge ~ 15th - 30th March 2011

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ MARCH 2011 ~ PART TWO​

This month’s second prompt…


You can involve the prompt itself in your piece and make your link to the prompt as obvious or as subtle as you like or use it simply as inspiration for something else. You can use part of the prompt, just one aspect of the image, or use it in its entirety.

The word limit for this challenge is 2,000 words and your submission can take whatever form you desire – poetry or prose, complete story or a vignette. Erotic or not, serious or light hearted, it’s whatever you want it to be!!

Post only your submissions in this thread, constructive comments and reviews are to be posted in the appropriately named – Writing Challenge Review Thread

The deadline for this month’s challenge is Tuesday 30th March 2011, to allow readers time to get through everything before the first challenge of April starts!

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

The Last Sunrise

The sun's solemn ascent signals the banishment of night. A pair of crimson-tinged eyes stare unswerving at the light, though they know it brings destruction once that orb has reached a certain height. Pale skin of alabaster, made of marble; knows no age, save the one that it was bound to on that distant, fated day. Fingers tainted by the murders of a thousand little deaths, and also by the larger sort, play idly in the waters overspilling through the fens of Scottish moors. A dress of deepest black and embroidered filigree soaks the muck of sitting in the marshes from hem to bended knees, though naught is noticed nor regarded but the rising of the golden glow set firmly in the east. And as light finally spills over hills, snaking through the valleys; eyes alight upon the castle that had housed immortality, though with one less letter would be closer to actuality. Memories of lives lived, taken, given, stolen; ages worth of grief, and not a single one was full of any love, any passion, any relief. A gaze full of regret meets the morning, no tears present but clearly is it mourning. Lips that hold no color move in silent elegies, singing long forgotten songs to those no longer being. The creeping light forces shadow to retreat, causes day to be replete, casting dawn upon the scene. Time seems to stand still; in the newborn light those crimson eyes are amber gems, those fingers are delicate as porcelain toying with the dress' hem, and those lips seem to be curving in a sad smile despite the pain and new-formed cracks in them. This is peace and it is penance, it is a self-decided sentence, and it is the only way to make amends left now.

It's all over in a matter of seconds, nothing to mark her passing but the slowly scattering ashes blowing in the morning breeze, and a dress of deepest black and embroidered filigree.

A Lovers Dream

Orange and yellow
the sun sets
looking over the castle
with a visage so pure
not untainted
water shining
a lovers fantasy
so unbinding

Fitful rest

"This is it?!"

That had been the general feeling among the men when they'd first set eyes on the castle. It was utterly unspectacular, wasn't owned by anyone of real importance, didn't have strategic value, didn't hoard treasure somewhere within its depths. For all intents and purposes it was just a bunch of stones situated in one of the worst positions to attack.

Logic apparently had no place in military strategy though, so now the men were cold, hungry, damp, and much smaller in number than when they'd first laid eyes on the castle. For a time the castle had ceased to seem unspectacular, it had become a nightmarish creature, always looming and silently laughing at the futile efforts of the men who crouched around the waters edge. For a few of them it had come to haunt their dreams, the shape becoming more nebulous around the edges and morphing into a hell-spawned creature to torment the mind. Many men had woken in a start, hearts pounding, wild-eyed before their reason returned and they hesitantly attempted to return to the world of sleep.

Now though, that time was in the past. It was no longer the figure sent to torment them, it was a monument to their frustration. There was no reason that assault after assault had failed. The apparently shallow water concealed a soggy marshy bottom that was rumored to have no true end to it. The surrounding land was also boggy and filled with knotted roots that blocked heavy equipment. The structure was what they cursed, cursed by, and muttered dark oaths against when the fires had burned low and the shadows curled around the dully glowing embers.

It was neither of these things that broke their resolve, not the haunting terror, nor the abject misery. It was the unexpected beauty of it.

Today, as the sun rises and its rays begin kissing the landscape the men will see the simple beauty and contrast it with the loss of friends. Today it will be too much for them, the whole unnecessary thing will collapse around them and they will leave. They might fight with others who cannot see the truth, but in the end they will leave. The beauty they have seen today will drive away the nightmares, and when they speak of this in the future it will only be of the senselessness of the fight, not of the dreams or the sullenness that plagued them. The same rumors that inspired the ill-fated excursion will not be whispered this time.

This time it will not be disturbed as it slumbers.

For Sale

Call Zydrate for more info!
888-555-9999

*gone*

Back Home

He’d finally made it home. They’d been riding for days. Having been in the North for so long, he’d nearly lost memory of the scene before him. The sun rising over the loch with his ancestral home still dark and silhouetted against the early morning sky had for him always been a favorite image. Early on along with his thoughts of her there waiting for his return it had been one thing that had kept him going. He’d always been happy here. Now it seemed it had been too long since he felt that emotion.

He wondered how she would be. How had their years apart treated her? How would she greet him? He’d gone to the North to join the conflict as was his duty. Their parting had been gut wrenching for him and it obviously had not been easy on her. She’d loudly wailed releasing her pain and anguish from the main tower at his leaving. He’d heard it for a very long way as he led his troops north toward the war. He’d awakened many nights from bad dreams hearing her wailing in his dreams. Often there were other nights when he was awakened, he realized by the injured and wounded crying out in the night from the lonely field of battle or for the lucky few from the surgeon’s tent within their encampment.

He’d never fancied himself as a soldier or warrior. He’d seen himself a farmer, landlord and husband. But with the passing of his father, he as the eldest son had become the laird of the manor. With that role came many things that were truly not who he saw even now in the mirror in the morning.

Thankfully the tide of the conflict in the North had turned in their favor and a truce had been struck and then a treaty. The new government of the reunited island country would be in the South. A national army would be manned to enforce the treaty. With the ceasing of the hostilities he and his men were released to return home. The new government also the end of the foreign monarchy’s rule and more than some of the old oppressive feudal ways would in time be gone. Of that he was not fainthearted nor was he saddened.

All he wanted now and to some degree dreaded was to be at home. It had been too long since their parting. Every night as he tried to sleep, he’d missed her and had so often wanted some bit of comfort from nothing more than her warmth in their bed. In the morning he missed her sparkling eyes and bright smile as he relived how they had started their days together. The conflict had disrupted so many things and the most devastating for him had been their young marriage. There had not been too many opportunities for them to communicate to each other. He was not at all certain of the number of his letters which had made it back home to her. The letters from her that had miraculously found their way to him had been few but were deeply treasured by him. He carried them inside a silken pouch under his blouse. He had managed to fashion it from a piece of fabric he’d come upon in a war-torn manor in which he and some of his men had taken refuge in the middle of a huge storm. The fierceness of it had forced ‘God’s truce’ in the battle for a deserted village along the frontier and given them some welcome hours of respite.

He was often tempted to read the letters over and over again. But he’d willed himself not to do so, lest they disintegrate from wear. He feared that they would be lost forever to him just as he feared she might be lost to him. There was a special few that he knew by heart and would recite the most endearing and romantic parts of them to himself when sleep was eluding him or despair was heavy on him. At some rare times of peaceful contemplation he could still imagine her sweet voice reading them to him. He had been saddened though that the clear memory of her voice was fading with the passage of time away from her.

But now he was almost home to her and yet he was afraid. He was afraid that she’d not be there and even more afraid that she’d not take him back without the arm he’d always draped over her shoulder as they walked across the moor at dusk or as they sat quietly in their rooms reading or just being quiet with each other. Lord but he had missed the quiet moments with her.

As the column made the turn in the road that headed toward the main gate he heard the loons on the loch and then the sentry’s cry from the main rampart announcing their appearance on the road. Life was suddenly becoming evident with the lighting of lanterns and torches. There was obvious movement among its inhabitants as the dark edifice began to come to life. He turned and nodded to his lieutenant and the tattered banner with the family crest was unfurled and was gently opened into the morning breeze. A loud cheer of recognition and welcome arose in the crisp morning air from the ramparts over the gate. The heavy gate was swung open and the forms of several inhabitants of his ancient home began to fill its opening. The closer they rode toward his home the louder the din of greeting and cheering grew.

As much as the welcome raised the spirits of those making it home with him, his heart was afraid that she and he would never be as they had so happily been. But there she was in the middle of the throng respectfully separated a bit from the throng. She was covering her mouth with one hand and waving the other high over her head. Their gazes locked upon each other as he drew nearer. As the column came to a halt his men eagerly dismounted and those afoot tossed their weapons to the ground and they all rushed forward to their families. He remained astride his horse for a moment and in the growing light, he could make out the glistening streams of tears running down over her matured but still beautiful face. All fear within him was fled in that moment. He was truly home.