Some say they reign in fire
Some say in ice
From what I’ve seen of warm desire
I hold with those who fly with fire
But if I had to choose twice
I know enough of evolution
To say I’d follow ice
Though deepest yet is the intuition
That lightning must suffice
For from the moment we are born
There is no shelter from the storm
Inspired by Robert Frost and Pokemon Go.
NaNoWriMo is my most favorite time of the year–it’s an insane challenge to write 50,000 words in one month, and instead of writing a single story this year, I’m writing thirty. (Or at least, that’s my goal–if the stories become too long, I might not write as many as I’d like.) Ultimately, I plan to share each of these stories here, so what better way to share this experience than by sharing these stories right away?
But they’re not at all ready for public eyes, so every time I finish a story, I’ll post just the first line and the last–and hopefully you’ll be as excited for the final story as I’ve been to write it!
This first story belongs to my Kaidh mythology and predates the Silent Sun trilogy.
There was on the southeast shore of Athua a small kingdom called Sol. Bordered chiefly by the ocean on all sides but two, they had found themselves greatly endowed with resources and never had much need to venture outside their thin borders. Nor did many others find cause to enter theirs: They were nestled between a vast woodland to their north, and to their west, a range of stout but largely unremarkable mountains.
Then the flames touches her flesh and Erowen started to scream.
Inspire my next story by clicking here.
Neil crouched with his camera tilted high, snapping pictures: puffy white clouds tumbled through the heavens, somersaulting in shades of pink and vermillion, silver linings curved around voluptuous breasts and fingers stretching through the sky to touch them.
In his dark room, Neil dipped blank pages into one solution after another, their liquid tombs undulating as they sank to the bottom, splashing along the sides of every bin. Soon he hung them on a taut piece of string strung from one side of the room to the other like a thread of lightning marrying the heavens to the earth. The saturated paper dripped, splashing like raindrops beneath him. Soon this wouldn’t be the only rain he could create.
Why did I have to come out here today? Sarah thought as she pummeled through the rain, mud splashing on her boots as she ran along. There was a rundown shack at the edge of the field, just before the trees began, that she was running for. She just hoped the door would open–and that no animals had taken roost inside.
Sarah skidded in the mud and ran right into the door. It wobbled, and then she pushed it open. It swung inside with a loud creak that seemed louder than thunder, but the sound didn’t stop her, and when the door swung shut behind it, she was plunged into darkness.
INT. UNFINISHED PENTHOUSE – NIGHT
JOE MESSIAH, 34, sits in the center of the disheveled living area staring at an easel holding a stark white CANVAS. In one hand he holds a PAINTBRUSH; in the other a PALETTE full of stale paint.
Silent Soliloquy 