|
|
Post by Caulder Melhaire on Dec 4, 2022 14:19:46 GMT -6
This Week's Prompt: Wood, Frost, Hearth
Length: Entries must be 100 words, no more, no less. Where: Post your entry below. Deadline: December 11th by midnight CST. Participant's Badges: HERE Weekly Challenge Rules:- No critiquing. Please refrain from giving feedback, as these challenges are to inspire creativity.
- Positive Enthusiasm is welcome! But save it for when Voting has started.
- CAN NOT vote for your own entry, and doing so will disqualify your submission.
- HAVE FUN!
Did you post an entry? Don't forget your Easy 10 Points!
|
|
|
|
Post by FoxxGlove on Dec 9, 2022 10:50:44 GMT -6
SWEET CHILD OF MINE
She is young. Her eyes still see much wonder in the world around her. Patterns of crackled frost on the window pane. Dancing flames of orange in the burning wood of the fireplace. All is fascinating.
She sits with her feet resting on the hearth and looks at me with beseeching eyes, overly-bright in a face that grows ever more pallid. Ever more waxen.
"I'm so hungry, papa."
There is little left out in the bleak devastation that I can bring her as nourishment.
Soon, I will be obliged to open yet another vein so my little girl can feed.
|
|
|
|
Post by Caulder Melhaire on Dec 10, 2022 18:55:30 GMT -6
The Ties That Bind
The floor is cold like her eyes, both covered with a bitter frost that has crept in through a long-broken window. Elizabeth dumps out more of her mother's dresses, completing a trail from the hearth to an old rocking chair.
She takes her flintlock and tips it out onto a flowered sash that still smells of jasmine. That bullet was meant for her, but she has found strength in the cold. Decided upon a better plan. She draws back the hammer, and places the flint close to the gunpowder.
Time could not overcome the memories which dwell. Perhaps fire will.
|
|
|
|
Post by Mazulla on Dec 10, 2022 23:01:24 GMT -6
Silent Night
The silver-haired woman gazed outside frosted windows, where snowflakes relentlessly fell in pitch darkness. It would be her first Christmas alone since the winter storm prevented her children joining her. Since Harold passed earlier that year.
Tradition was tradition. The cabin was filled with distinct sweet and savory scents of cinnamon and apples, of a roast and potatoes.
Dying embers gathered at the bottom of the hearth. She shuffled to the wood stacked nearby, then rekindled the flames. Sighing, she sat in one of two rocking chairs. Noticed the empty one rocking freely. And suddenly, she didn't feel so alone.
|
|
|
|
Post by Caulder Melhaire on Dec 11, 2022 13:04:11 GMT -6
Poll added! Best of luck all!
|
|
|
|
Post by Caulder Melhaire on Dec 18, 2022 11:19:14 GMT -6
Congrats Mazulla! Have an extra 15 easy points for the win  |
|
You add them to your profile as you do them around the forum.
