Weekly 5-10 minute writing prompts from feather anchor adages.
10.1.11
WK.14 - The Big Fight | 10min. Go!
3 comments:
Anonymous
said...
She was so engrossed that she didn’t even see it. She didn’t notice the shadow that loomed behind her, slowly and gradually growing larger trying to not be noticable. As she walked down the alleyway toward her destination she began to have the sinking feeling that she was being followed.
She turned around. She thought she saw the shadow of something she couldn’t really identify. When she looked further nothing was there.
She began trying to be as quiet and unnoticeable as she could. She listened to see if she could hear anyone else in the alleyway behind her. She heard nothing and began to relax telling herself she was just being paranoid. Meanwhile the shadow grew and became inkier, more viscous, more manifest.
The moonlight shown down in patches making the way a bit clearer just as the inky shadow began to reach around from behind her, trying to find a way in to her mind. This time she saw it, she spun around to see what it was but as she turned it did also. What was going on? She tentatively reached back. It was on her, she hadn’t felt it, how did it get there? She didn’t have time to think about it before before she felt it probing her head and pushing through into her mind.
She tried desperately to grab at the thing but her hands just pushed through it, leaving them coated with a gelatinous substance. She pulled and pushed but it didn’t seem to make a difference. It was winning. She could feel its poison infecting her mind. The night seemed darker, gloomier the longer she fought. She felt herself becoming dim, colorless. She panicked and tangled herself more in the goo.
Just as she was beginning to feel the situation was hopeless, just whether she was pondering whether it would be easier to just give in and let it overtake her, from nowhere a thought popped into her mind. She let her mind rest on the little thought. She began to ponder it, think about the happy times and see that things had been good before. She began to wonder why it was that she forgot about the light and the joy she used to have. She began to remember. The darkness fell back a bit. She thought about why it was that the darkness had been able to overcome her so easily. She realized it had been following her much longer than she had thought. Growing and following, stalking her in the night, the darkness knew she wouldn't see it coming if it approached bit by bit. She could feel it losing its grasp on her mind. She had found the way to win the fight.
The unraveling began just before noon. First the fussing sound, then the open argument and then flapping and squawking. Sure enough when Wendell reached the hen house there was a body, a dead hen near the ladder. The body was still warm, the feathers soft and silky to the touch. Wendell collected the dead hen and stepped outside the wire pen. With a short motion he wired the yellow feet together and slung the dead bird over the fence post. Those bitchy hens could live with what they did for the rest of the day. He eyed the big one in the corner pecking at an invisible spot on the ground. Then he studied the smallest one prancing with her head in motion beside the water bowl. "One of you is a doggone killer, maybe it was a mob job. Just you remember who has a hatchet." Wendell slid back inside the garage and began pumping on his grinding stone mounted on the work bench. With a heart filled with malice to cover his grief, he let the hatchet head squeal against the rough stone. Hens didn't lay in the winter without an artificial light. Wendell wasn't about to rig a light and run up his electric bill. He kept his foot pumping on the grinder.
She monitors everything she says. She knows that people don't think she does. People think she blurts out the first thing to pop into her head, and that she doesn't care what people think. Nothing could be further from the truth. She knows that the people around her judge her, view her as stupid, an airhead. She knows because the people around her have told her. She knows. And the face she gives the world is one of nails, diamond tough and stronger than they are. She guards hers words so the words don't betray her true self. She fights with her soul everyday.
3 comments:
She was so engrossed that she didn’t even see it. She didn’t notice the shadow that loomed behind her, slowly and gradually growing larger trying to not be noticable. As she walked down the alleyway toward her destination she began to have the sinking feeling that she was being followed.
She turned around.
She thought she saw the shadow of something she couldn’t really identify.
When she looked further nothing was there.
She began trying to be as quiet and unnoticeable as she could. She listened to see if she could hear anyone else in the alleyway behind her. She heard nothing and began to relax telling herself she was just being paranoid. Meanwhile the shadow grew and became inkier, more viscous, more manifest.
The moonlight shown down in patches making the way a bit clearer just as the inky shadow began to reach around from behind her, trying to find a way in to her mind. This time she saw it, she spun around to see what it was but as she turned it did also. What was going on? She tentatively reached back. It was on her, she hadn’t felt it, how did it get there? She didn’t have time to think about it before before she felt it probing her head and pushing through into her mind.
She tried desperately to grab at the thing but her hands just pushed through it, leaving them coated with a gelatinous substance. She pulled and pushed but it didn’t seem to make a difference. It was winning. She could feel its poison infecting her mind. The night seemed darker, gloomier the longer she fought. She felt herself becoming dim, colorless. She panicked and tangled herself more in the goo.
Just as she was beginning to feel the situation was hopeless, just whether she was pondering whether it would be easier to just give in and let it overtake her, from nowhere a thought popped into her mind. She let her mind rest on the little thought. She began to ponder it, think about the happy times and see that things had been good before. She began to wonder why it was that she forgot about the light and the joy she used to have. She began to remember. The darkness fell back a bit. She thought about why it was that the darkness had been able to overcome her so easily. She realized it had been following her much longer than she had thought. Growing and following, stalking her in the night, the darkness knew she wouldn't see it coming if it approached bit by bit. She could feel it losing its grasp on her mind. She had found the way to win the fight.
The unraveling began just before noon. First the fussing sound, then the open argument and then flapping and squawking. Sure enough when Wendell reached the hen house there was a body, a dead hen near the ladder. The body was still warm, the feathers soft and silky to the touch. Wendell collected the dead hen and stepped outside the wire pen. With a short motion he wired the yellow feet together and slung the dead bird over the fence post. Those bitchy hens could live with what they did for the rest of the day. He eyed the big one in the corner pecking at an invisible spot on the ground. Then he studied the smallest one prancing with her head in motion beside the water bowl. "One of you is a doggone killer, maybe it was a mob job. Just you remember who has a hatchet." Wendell slid back inside the garage and began pumping on his grinding stone mounted on the work bench. With a heart filled with malice to cover his grief, he let the hatchet head squeal against the rough stone. Hens didn't lay in the winter without an artificial light. Wendell wasn't about to rig a light and run up his electric bill. He kept his foot pumping on the grinder.
She monitors everything she says. She knows that people don't think she does. People think she blurts out the first thing to pop into her head, and that she doesn't care what people think. Nothing could be further from the truth. She knows that the people around her judge her, view her as stupid, an airhead. She knows because the people around her have told her. She knows.
And the face she gives the world is one of nails, diamond tough and stronger than they are. She guards hers words so the words don't betray her true self.
She fights with her soul everyday.
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