Through The Turquoise Door

A little something I wrote last year. I had joined a writing club, for all of five minutes. It was on at lunchtimes and I always felt embarrassed sneaking off and I ended up late to my afternoon lessons, so I stopped going. Wished I’d kept it up though.
The date in my notepad reads 19th September 2018, so it was four days after my birthday that I wrote this. I’ve decided I’m going to alter some areas because it’s honestly so terrible, hardly worth redeeming, but whatever.

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Photo by Jonny Lew on Pexels.com

Soft, slow music wakes me. Dreams still dance behind my eyelids as I peer around the dark enshrouded room. The full, yellowed moon glowed in the velvety sky. My window is left open to the balmy summer air, the sheer curtains flutter in the breeze. The music continues to play, tentative and melodic. And suddenly, shock waves are sent outwards, from the centre of the room, the air pulsating and rippling electric blue. Now a door stands in the darkness, beginning to let out slight rays of tentative golden light. Leaving the warmth of my bed, I go to investigate, rubbing my tired eyes. The wood is painted a vibrant turquoise, like tropical waters, but is peeling and worn. Its antique handle is fashioned from dull brass. Tiny wasps dart about in the shafts of light, dancing around my head. Reaching for the handle, buzzing with energy at my touch, I gently pull the door open. It swings open without a creak, and I am met with a wall of cool, sweet air. Gingerly, I cross the threshold, and the door shuts silently behind me. Stretching out before me in grandeur is a vast cavern, walls encrusted with crystals and gems twinkling in rainbow hues. Stones as pale pink as rose petals shine, dense clusters of lavender hues catch my attention, as does the dazzlingly clear quartz. As I travel deeper, the colours grow darker and richer, rubies glistening like blood, obsidian as black as night, and emeralds gleaming. Golden orbs float in mid air, hundreds of them filling the space with light. As if in a trance, I continue walking, shoulders sagging under the unearthly heavy atmosphere. I follow the enticing sounds of music, through the network of chambers, the melody growing evermore intense as I go further. It could have been hours wandering the passages, gazing in awe at the magnificent sights. Soon I see a darkness at the end of the cavern, black and endless.
At the division between light and dark, I step into the void. Countless stars twinkling like diamonds bombard my senses, billions and billions of them, at a sheer number I could never comprehend. There seems to be no solid floor or ceiling, there are no borders, simply a thrumming empty matter cocooning itself around me. Here, the music sweeps over me like waves lapping onto shore, lulling me into deep tranquillity. Each note twists and expands, stretches across time, immortal, free and infinite. A minuscule, vivid yellow wasp flies past, wings crackling with energy. Like a cloud of lightning a swarm of wasps sweeps past, droning and vibrating. There are echoes of disembodied mewing voices, spinning a song to fill the emptiness. I move through the blackness, sluggish as if I’m swimming in sticky honey. The atmosphere hangs motionless, neither warm nor cool, filled with scents of salt and aromatic spices.
A pair of eyes appeared out of the dark, burning embers boring into my soul. I extend my feeble hand, grasping at nothing. Was this death?
Dizzying colours swam across my vision, I swayed, and began to fall. The threads of the universe melted together and I tumbled into the screaming black.

 

(By the way, I always intended for the music to be jazz. Click the link please, you’ll not be disappointed, I promise.)

Woodlands

Ok, so this one’s a bit wack, but I haven’t really got much content on here so I’ll just put up whatever. It follows a similar theme to the previous post, meaning it’s got Pagan undertones. I wrote this on the 28th of January this year, I distinctly remember writing  in the dark of my room with one candle lit. It’s all about the ambience, darling.
‘Woodlands’ is the prompt I used, I just took that and went crazy. It’s mildly terrible.
Read and think what you will.

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Photo by Vincent M.A.Janssen on Pexels.com

The rhythmic beat of the drum echoes and reverberates in the still air. It sends sparks and crackles of energy vibrating in pulses, twisting in and out of trees. Tugging at each and every soul, it fills veins with blood racing, flowing enthralled. Hypnotised in reverence the masses move together as one, involuntarily limbs dance to the calling beat. Thrumming, sounds engulf minds, twisting them into submission. Eyes roll back, heads face up into the starry heavens. Invisible patterns are carved deep into the earth, stamped by eager feet.
Liquid, meandering notes of the pipes fly on the wind, weaving in and out of the dancers. Pan stands in the shadows, hidden within the undergrowth, imbuing the celebration with vitality and spirit. His beasts linger too, watching the revelry in wide-eyed wonder. The Green Man, submerged in the mossy emerald ferns laughs to himself, his oak crown resplendent on this blazing summer night.
The stars above shine down their celestial light, singing their own lonesome song. In the boundless darkness of the sky, Lady Moon, burnished silver, reaches out her slender hands to paint the tops of the trees gleaming. Her light scatters across the woodland floor, dancers gilded in glory.
Trees stand like giants, ancient guardians of the land, spreading their arms and enveloping. Branches are draped with fountains of greenery, perfect velvety leaves dripping in excess. Their gnarled faces tell stories of the sights they have seen, rooted where fate has planted them. Ghosting across the dazzling sky, a pale barn owl swoops down into the trees, whilst a tawny lets out its rapturous, haunting cry.
Golden roots of eternity spread under the earth like lightning, paving the way for centuries. The life force within this sacred place flows as water into a chalice, sustaining and giving. The dance will go on forever more.

 

 

The Call

This is one I wrote at the beginning of the year, actually on the 25th of January. I remember the day, a Saturday, grey and miserable. I had gone for a walk, putting off doing the washing up, and had decided to do some writing. The prompt ‘Call’ was actually taken from a scholarship past paper, because at the time I was preparing for an entrance scholarship exam and was using it for revision. As it happens, on the Creative Writing exam I got a 78%, which I think is pretty good considering I hardly ever do any writing (and I mean hardly ever, I used to only ever write in the summer holidays, only once or twice even then. For someone who wants to be a writer, you’d think I would write more. I do now, but not by much). So it was January, and I was looking forward to the spring, and I thought, let’s write a story about about spring then. It was five days before Imbolc, that funny pagan sabbat, so I imbued some of that in here. You’ll probably easily realise the woman who appears in this is the Goddess, I was inspired by Brigid, the maiden of spring.
Go ahead and read it, but bear in mind this was written months ago, and my ability as a writer has improved, so a lot of this is fairly terrible.

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Photo by Gareth Davies on Pexels.com

Should’ve stayed in bed. Why’d I think this was a good idea? Right now, I could be curled up under several warm blankets, blissfully asleep. S’pose it’s too late now.
I keep on walking, trudging up the hill, the god-forsaken hill, I should say, excessively steep, the uneven surface littered with potholes. And I had to do it in the blighted cold, chilled to the bones. The village was sleeping silent, curtains drawn over windows, cast in grey and groggy light. In the shadows of the morning, a grumpy looking cat sat in a driveway, its eyes staring accusingly. As I drew near it scampered away, its mangy tail sticking up in the air. Rolling my eyes I wandered on, my dog grunting and tugging me along, up the hill. I was sick of this already.

Finally, we got up the stupid hill, carrying on down the lane. The road was damp and flooded with puddles from the night’s rainfall. The sky, vast and grey, was heavy with overbearing clouds. Bare sticks in the hedges stuck out, making miserable black silhouettes against the dim sky. The hedges had been cut haphazardly, branches broken and bent, the foliage stripped back to reveal hordes of litter. There was the usual, crisp packets, empty cans, cigarette buts, then there were the odd items, a pair of sunglasses, and for some bizarre reason, a whole unpeeled orange. A thick layer of mud was spread across the sides of the road with tractor prints running through it. As I walked, mud kicked up and splattered on my trousers- and I’d only washed them yesterday. I nearly tripped over in a pothole as I looked down at the mess in disgust. I just wanted to enjoy this walk as much as I could, considering it was so bloody early in the morning.
Stomping along, I shivered in my thin jumper, wishing I had brought a coat. My breath unfurled like smoke into the air, icy mists swirled over fields. Everything dripped with mud and water, disappointingly there was no glittering frost or ice. It even seemed like the birds had given up this morning, there was bleak silence except for the harsh caws of jackdaws. They hopped about in the sodden fields, arguing with each other.
For possibly the thousandth time, my dog stopped to sniff a patch of ground. Groaning, I dragged her along, deciding this walk couldn’t end any sooner. I’d just go to the end of the lane and back, it was decent enough.

An ambling figure appeared on the horizon, fumbling along the lane. The figure was hunched and tiny, bundled in a ragged black cloak, carrying along a twisted, gnarly staff. I squinted into the sun coming over the hills, wondering who on earth this person was, when suddenly the sun shot up into the sky in a radiant arch. Dazzling white light swept over the land and across every field. The spectacular flare shrunk back into itself and once more the world was visible. Rays of light stretched out, gold and plentiful. The mists now swirled in dazzling rainbows, sparking and twisting. A pair of ravens soared in the explosive blue sky, and doves flew over one by one. A joyous melody of bird song rang out, robins, blackbirds, thrushes and more, could all be heard adding to the chorus.
The leaves on the trees began to sprout, a beautiful fresh green. Shining yellow celandine and pure snowdrops unearthed themselves, delicate perfumed violets blossomed in the hedgerows. Out of the puddles in the road, toads and frogs sprung forth out of masses of squirming, wriggling tadpoles. The sunlight was warm and the breeze cool and flowing, bringing with it tantalising hints of sweet floral scents.

The figure stood before me now, a maiden glowing with brilliance. She was resplendent in shimmering white robes, her cascading golden hair tangled with flowers. An emerald green serpent broke out of the earth, slinking its way over to its mistress, coiling tight around the wooden staff clutched in her hand. The maiden, rising it high in the air, began her song, calling forth the coming spring.

Then, I could see the spiral path before me, made up of countless interwoven roots humming with energy, writhing and twisting an ancient tale.

If I could live in this moment for eternity, I would be contented.

The call was made, and the quickening began.

The Land That Lived In Darkness

 

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Photo by Muffin from Pexels

All was quiet. Oil lamps creaked above, swaying to and fro. The tiny flames inside flicked and spluttered, light burning out of the misty glass. Dark cobbled streets glowed dimly, and as people walked by, heeled boots clicking on stone, dust kicked up in grey clouds. Shops were clustered and packed together, doors opened welcomingly, candles lit in windows. Inside, stacks of bound leather books teetered, pretty arrays of hats, shoes and luxurious garments were all lined up to be admired. In some, precious gems sparkled persuasively, dazzling rubies, emeralds and sapphires. Tantalising smells wafted up the streets of freshly baked breads, charming little cakes and brimming pies. Boiled sweets like jewels awaited in pristine glass jars. Everything seemed so enchanting.
People walked about the shops with sappy smiles stuck upon their faces, indulging themselves in treats. And I hurried along, noting individuals wandering along in their own self-absorbed bubbles. Their shadows passed by in a continuous stream.
Sweeping along different paths, I advanced towards neat rows of houses, each with a quaint chimney wheezing out puffs of smoke. Some curtains were closed, floral dense fabrics illuminated with yellow light. Others were open, advertising lavishly adorned rooms inside, each a perfect domestic scene decorated with a cosy fireplace and a couple of children. Every house had a fenced off garden in the front, grass immaculately cut short, hedges shorn and clipped, a painted metal gate shutting it in.

Alone in the dark, my eyes dreamily roamed the sky above: an obsidian sky, blank and solid, a constricting dome over hundreds of slated rooves, just as it had always been. Hanging in the black was a pearly slither of a moon, as it always was.

In one sudden moment, just like an egg, it cracked. Fissures appeared, mapping their way across the sky. An almighty sound, like boulders smashed and split open, rang out, roaring in my ears. Shafts of bewildering white light fell upon the town, and as the cracks grew into gaping holes, the light spooled out. The blackness that had smothered us for so long was severed in half, the world I once knew was now a dazzling blur.
Crowds of people stopped in awe to gape at the happening. Faces of abhorrence, twisted and contorted with disgust turned away. Many, filled with repulsion, ran, bolting themselves inside their homes, the last trace of sanctuary they had. Others covered their faces with shaking hands, frozen as rabbits in terror. Flinging themselves upon the floor, they wept and begged, shaking heads, hands clasped in agony. Torrents of fear-ridden people scrambled about in turmoil.

But I looked to the light, saw its apprising rays upon the world. The reality I had once known shirked away. There was the new future, beckoning. Gladly, I embraced the golden light of truth.

Death of a Blackbird

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Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com

Silvery flakes drifted downward, glittering in the bright light of the harvest moon. The blackbird soared…

He landed in the black skeleton trees, powdery snow scattering in the icy wind as the branches rattled. A girl stood in a shaft on moonlight, her hair gleaming like molten silver. Her head was turned upwards towards the moon, serene and blissful. Cherry red lips curving into a smile, she fluttered open her eyes, ghostly in the darkness. They sparkled like cold blue gems adorning her delicate heart-shaped face. Flakes of snow drifted around her in a howling whirlwind. Immune to the wind, she was draped in a thick white fur cloak.

The blackbird above sang its lonesome, melancholy song, echoing and reverberating through the silent wood. A purple mist snaked a path between the trees, venom to everything it touched. Heavy black clouds passed across the moon in its starless sky, the world now choked in darkness.

The girl tilted her head towards the blackbird still singing his song, regarding the bird with cruel eyes, a wicked shadow passed across her face. Raising her hand slowly to the heavens, she brought it down with a vicious swipe. The bird stopped singing. Its lifeless body fell to the floor below. Turning, the girl dissolved into the mists.

Lying at the base of a tree, the bird was left stone-dead, his beak still open, pouring out a grim, bloodied melody.

Prompt taken from Experts Paper.