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Friday, August 27, 2010

WORD PAINT BLOGFEST_THE LIES LOCUST TELL_GHOST OF A CHANCE Interlude


{"Imagination is the eye of the soul."

-Mark Twain.}

Samuel Clemens, ghost, once more. Roland was the blogfesting-est fool I've ever seen.

Still, I had not the grit to stay with him until the end -- so I owe him to keep his word for him.


He entered the WORD PAINT BLOGFEST :

http://dawnembers.blogspot.com/2010/07/announcements.html

He was good in painting with words -- no time any more so than in this odd story of a fallen angel who awakens in a British asylum with no memory of how she got there.

The way he described how a fallen angel views life gave me the shivering willies.} :



The spark of an anguished soul flew past me in the night. I shivered as her light drew back the curtains of my mind.


I would have cursed her had she lingered. But Death was impatient. Words breathed through the mists of my awareness.


"Darkness yet in light. To live half dead, a living death. And buried but yet more miserable. My self. My sepulcher."


My mind roughly brushed aside the dry leaves of Milton's broodings. No time for self-pity.


Yet too much time for all eternity. Enough! I was here for a reason.


And as always that reason was death. Always death. The why was unimportant. There was always a logical why for Abbadon.


The where, however, was another matter. And when might illuminate the present darkness of my mind as well.


Keeping my eyes closed, though tempting, would but delay the inevitable. I opened them.


Only a peek through slit eyes. After all, my ears told me that I was not alone. I frowned. A hospital room?


I reached out with more than my ears. My spirit shuddered as the ragged claws of madness raked it from down the hall.


An asylum. A Sidhe inprisoned within a madhouse. How utterly fitting.


I ran my long fingers along the rough sheet beneath me. A state asylum obviously. Even better.


But what state? My awakening consciousness was stubborn in its ignorance.


I bunched up the sheet in my fist in hot frustration. A sharp intake of breath from the next bed. Her scent came to me.


I smiled. And the air in the room grew chill. Only a human.


And I?


What was I?


From the corner of my eye I saw the human in the next bed begin to shiver. No matter. The human was not important. Time and place. They were.


I flicked my eyes to the barred window. The glass. Thick, dense. Like the humans who made it.


I studied the face reflected in the barred window.


High cheekbones, seemingly intent on bursting up and out of flesh that shimmered as if coated with stardust.


A living waterfall of honey-wheat hair, looking more like a lion's mane than any other earthly word I could use.


My eyes.


I shivered looking at them though they were my own.

Large, slanted fae eyes chilling even me with their lack of warmth or mercy. Their color the burnt-out ends of ancient days.


Under my fingertips a pebble. I nodded. A mere speck of stone. But it would do.


The pebble shot from between my thumb and forefinger like a bullet. An electric circuit died, wailing its death song in tones higher than humans could hear.


I smiled like a wolf. We would have visitors soon.


More the pity for them.


I drew in a breath from the cold breeze bleeding from the wounded window. The sharp tang of Autumn.


Oak. Ash. Thorn. Decay.


Rotting leaves, mottled in bright hues of strangled life. The dark and bloody soil beneath them breathed out its lineage.


An aching sadness hollowed out my chest. The Misty Isles. Albion. England.


I whispered, the words feeling like dewdrops of blood on a wounded doe, "The lonely season in lonely lands."
***



22 comments:

  1. Their color the burnt-out ends of ancient days.

    I whispered, the words feeling like dewdrops of blood on a wounded doe, "The lonely season in lonely lands."

    This chick is scarier than Death! I love your descriptive phrases, especially these two. They're the color of a subtle shiver, like a shadow on the soul.

    Yep, you're a pretty darn good painter!

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  2. Words Crafter : You're a pretty good artist with words, too. Thanks for the compliments.

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  3. Internalization; very intriguing. This is hard to pull off in descriptive narrative, but you did it well. I get a strong sense of the Sidhe, and how it views the mortal world. I also sense an impending battle; its in the air, the scent of decay outside the window. The choice to compare to the predatory wolf.

    Hmm, something wicked this way comes . .

    Well done Roland.

    .........dhole

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  4. Your words always flow so smooth and liquidy in my head when I read it. My favorite line: "A living waterfall of honey-wheat hair, looking more like a lion's mane than any other earthly word I could use."

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  5. The prose at the beginning are very poetic. Amazing writing. I especially like the part about the curtains: "I shivered as her light drew back the curtains of my mind."

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  6. I agree with SH, poetic prose.

    One of my favorite lines:

    "The spark of an anguished soul flew past me in the night. I shivered as her light drew back the curtains of my mind."

    Did you create this specifically for the blogfest?

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  7. Theresa : Thanks for the compliment. I wrote this short story for a hurricane-displaced friend, who was teaching a temporary English class of equally displaced urban children.

    They howled when she tried to teach poetry to them. She emailed, asking for me to write a teen-engaging story that highlighted poetry.

    I wrote THE LIES LOCUST TELL : a story of alien invasion being countered by Evil, for Good was too busy with terrorist plots to even notice aliens had already landed among us.

    As a way of incorporating public domain poetry into the story for my friend, I had the protagonist be a fallen angel who was forced to use poetry to funnel her superior perceptions into crude human terms.

    I've been toying with the notion of serializing the story here in my blog.

    SH : I'm glad you liked the opening. The first sentences are the all important hook in a short story or novel.

    Summer : Fallen, the Sidhe, whose description you liked, thanks you. Me, too. Always good to see a comment from you.

    Donna : You are perceptive and insightful as always. A battle does loom : between Evil and alien invaders who were foolish enough to try and usurpt the human playthings of Evil from them. Earth is their toy, thank you very much. And Evil does not share ... especially DayStar.

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  8. Always a thrilling read. I really enjoy your writing. My absolute favorite bit was this last line-->"I whispered, the words feeling like dewdrops of blood on a wounded doe, "The lonely season in lonely lands."--> It gave me goosebumps. Love this! :D

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  9. Wonderful job, Roland. I love the way you turn a phrase. Waterfall of honey, the brushing aside the dry leaves of musings...the smells of decay and autumn. As always, a pleasure to read your excerpts.

    Edge of Your Seat Romance

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  10. Their color the burnt-out ends of ancient days.
    This brushstroke caught my attention and kept it.

    And I am not surprised your entry was so word colorful. That sort of writing is you everyday.

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  11. Hi,

    As expected poetic in content, masterful in prose, a picture of mystical quality!

    best
    F

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  12. Scary tone. Not only painting the scene, but the tone and voice behind the words. When you dip into character, you're good at staying there. Not many authors can write from so deep inside their chars.

    - Eric

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  13. You are one of the all time masters of painting with words.

    These words rang so true: "I flicked my eyes to the barred window. The glass. Thick, dense. Like the humans who made it."

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  14. An asylum. A Sidhe inprisoned within a madhouse. How utterly fitting.
    I ran my long fingers along the rough sheet beneath me. A state asylum obviously. Even better.
    This section really drew me in. The knowing and the unknown.You were able to really write from the characters pov.
    I loved this.

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  15. I see a lot of colors in this painting. The gray of window bars, asylum walls, of wolves' fur. The darkness of night. The paleness of human flesh. The whiteness of bedsheets and despair.

    Or something like that.

    Evocative work.

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  16. "My spirit shuddered as the ragged claws of madness raked it from down the hall."

    There were many passages that evoked strong imagery, but this was my absolute favorite.

    Love this piece - I feel chilled from the coldness of this narrator.

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  17. Samuel Clemens is right, you are a deft artist when it comes to word-painting!

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  18. Poetic prose of the highest order..:)

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  19. How is it that you always make me love your main characters, even the ones who are supposed to be evil?

    "An aching sadness hollowed out my chest. The Misty Isles. Albion. England."

    See. I ache for this Sidhe. I am her. *sigh*

    BTW, I had to look up Sidhe. I learn more from you every day. And that's a good thing, my friend.

    ~that rebel, Olivia

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  20. High poetry, roland! This is fantastic!! But then your stuff is always brilliant...

    I particularly like " Their color the burnt-out ends of ancient days." (I know Word Crafter up there already quoted that, but it's just such a perfect phrase!)

    You really have a way with words, lyrical, smooth, mesmerizing. I love it!

    Tessa.xx

    ps thanks for posting the blogfest button! Can't wait! (Can't decide what to write, either, but there's still time... ; P )

    Also love that you have the good old fashioned dark and gloomy "Fae" or Sidhe rather than the flighty sparkly kind!

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  21. Shivering willies? Heck, yeah!

    >Large, slanted fae eyes chilling even me with their lack of warmth or mercy. Their color the burnt-out ends of ancient days.< LOVED this.

    So impressive...

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  22. Thanks for entering my blogfest. There are some excellent lines of description in this piece, for sure. Also, the tension created along with the character makes for an interesting read. Well done.

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