Alone On A Beach

Sharp rocks Rykardo DeviantArt.png

(Credit: Rykardo on DeviantArt)

The wind brought in a fine spray from the sea, which settled on her bare arms and made them sticky and salty. After a long day of beachcombing, she withdrew to a small cave, where she roasted crabs and apples over a fire and licked the salt from her lips as seasoning.

She was cautious when she climbed further inland, and she never went into the water. The rocks were slippery with algae and most of them were sharp enough to cut flesh.

However, she did not resent the traitorous rocks.

They kept the people away.

Layers

peeling_paint_by_darkcrystal1209

(Credit: darkcrystal1209 on DeviantArt)

Scratching at the paint with a red lacquered fingernail, I wonder whether I will ever see the original wood again.

Notwithstanding the flaking, the desk is white all over, and maybe it is even white all the way through. Could it really be that there is no wood, only layer upon thick layer of paint and varnish?

I am determined to find out, even if only a woody skeleton will remain in my study.

With foaming Ajax, I attack with first a sponge, using the rough side, then steel wool. Powder is washed from my hands, but I ignore it even when my nail breaks. Sweat makes mascara run into my eyes, but it is only a small distraction. A small distraction from something that I have wanted to do since forever. Or at least since I gave it my own layer of paint.

I feel that I am getting closer with every layer lost.

Closer to that real, original thing, which must be there.

The carpet soaks in water, paint and make up.

The legs grow thin, as my lipstick smears.

I must be getting there and soon.

The small drawers are already gone.

My hands and knees dissolve.

Is that my hair?

What is left?

I am.

Nothing

 


With help from www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts

We Meet Again

My old nemesis writer’s block has reared her ugly head.

Do you know any good writing exercises which might help me chase her off?

Or maybe some inspiring artwork?

Please let me know.

An Empty Speech Bubble

reflection_of_the_galaxy_by_alierturk-deviantart

(Credit: alierturk on DeviantArt)

I made an empty speech bubble

And tried to fill it with stars, I found swimming in a night sky.

But it was only a reflection in still water, which had tricked my eye,

And I slipped on the smooth stones.

Drenched, I shivered, as the cold gnawed at my bones.

And I tried again to fill the bubble, this time with fish wrung from my hair.

But they died, gasping for air,

And my shadow rose up behind me and laughed at me,

And my silly notions of filling the emptiness. ‘Like piss in the sea,’

It told me. ‘But the sea is full of life,’

I thought, as I cut the shadow from my feet with a knife

And stuffed it in my bubble.

Tired

I was so tired the first of January that it spilled over into the second.

So when I finally sat down to write Monday evening, I was too tired to notice the fairy hiding in my bookshelf. When I turned away from my computer for a second, it swooped down and gobbled up everything I had written.

Don’t believe me? I drew a picture of the thing

fairie-more-contrast

See? You have to believe me now.

Not Forgotten, Just Gone

cat_women_by_heyktupq

(Credit: HeyKtupq on DeviantArt)

We met in the laundrette on Sedgwick Street. I don’t remember how our first conversation began, but I met her there every Thursday for almost a year. She brought a small bag of liquorice, which she shared with me while we watched our clothes tumble, and I brought bottle caps for her, after she told me she collected them.

She always stood up and on the balls of her feet, as if she were ready to run at any time. Once I asked her whether she liked running and she said: ‘I’ve become very good at it.’ and her eyes looked so sad, it made my heart hurt.

There was something feline about her. It was something in the fluid way she moved and how her eyes sometimes followed things, which weren’t there, or maybe I just couldn’t see them.

It’s not that I’ve forgotten her name, it’s just gone. Every time I try to remember it, I get a faint taste of liquorice in my mouth and my head goes empty. Her face has grown blurry too even though it’s only three weeks since I last saw her.

I hope she got away from whoever’s after her. I considered going to the police, but without a name or even a face, what are they supposed to do?

What am I supposed to do?

Storm

sea_wave_storm-wallpaperscraft

(Credit: wallpaperscraft.com)

White horses gallop at the tops of the waves. They surge up, tumble into each other and crash against the rocky shore.

Black branches claw the sky and the sky fights back with pelting hail.

The wind howls a cacophonous symphony with thunder at the bass drum.

Everything stands out clearly in the flashes of lightning:

The chaos

And the beauty.

God Jul

Or Merry Christmas

Or happy holidays

Whatever you like to call it, I hope you have had a lovely time with family and friends, and that you have been warmed as much by love as by your fireplace.

Wolf Haikus

 

Grey ghosts in the woods

Deer run over moonlit snow

Snarling, white turns red

gray-wolf-snow-nationalgeographic

(Credit: kids.nationalgeographic.com)

Howling fills the air

Tumbling cubs at their centre

United and strong

wolves-howling-fact-fixx

(Credit: factfixx.com)

Lazy den morning

The cubs gnaw bones and catch mice

Half-closed eyes watch them

The Seeress With the Birds

Music can be a wonderful source of inspiration.

The first time I heard “Seersken” by Valravn, I got an idea for a scene with a scene with a seer, which evolved into an idea for a whole novel. I’ve given up the novel (at least for now), but every time I hear the song, I still see the seer in my mind’s eye just as I imagined her that first time. Even if I never write that novel, I promise myself I will write something, which includes her one day.

The lyrics first in Danish then a translation in English:

Det er seersken med fuglene
Der griner når vi ter os
Det er seersken med fuglene
Der hvisker slip lænkerne løs

Se ham i øjnene
Grøn, brun og blå
Se ham i øjnene
Se iris, se dig, se mig,
se selv

Det er seersken med fuglene
Der skærer illusionerne
Det er seersken med fuglene
Der går rundt i sneen og skriver gåder

Attarinarina attarina attarina…

Se ham i øjnene
Grøn, brun og blå
Se ham i øjnene
Se stående, værende,
gennem det der sker

————————————-

It is the seeress with the birds
Who laughs when we misbehave
It is the seer with the birds
Who whispers let go of the chains

Look him in the eyes
Green, brown and blue
Look him in the eyes
See iris, see you, see me,
See for yourself

It is the seeress with the birds
Who cuts the illusions
It is the seer with the birds
Who walks around the the snow, writing riddles

Attarinarina attarina attarina…

Look him in the eyes
Green, brown and blue
Look him in the eyes
See standing, being,
Through what is happening

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