They argued. Sisters do. But that didn't make enforced separation easier. The final meeting was poignant, each aware that the presence of a dear one would be forever beyond reach.
The circle of hands remained unbroken as transformations took place and the architect worked her wizardry. The ground beneath began to crack and crumble, creating ravines where flowed sacrificial blood from the soles of the sisters' feet. Patterns reminiscent of weeping petechiae. It was a necessary surrender.
They were granted a brief but loving farewell embrace before departure. Summer with Winter and Spring with Autumn.
I listen with a scientist’s objective ear as they sing their ever-changing songs, and observe with a scientist’s objective eye as they dance their ancient dance. The dance is for good luck, they say. The song is because they enjoy it. It is passed mother to child. So it has been for a thousand years, in the belief that “it is the right way to do things.”
I do not tell them where I have come from. The knowledge I know would break them. Without their lore they will lose themselves. They will be like us, and we are empty.
Post by VolcanicDuck on Dec 31, 2020 12:10:57 GMT -6
I discovered my gift the day I turned 16. I’d never seen my father so jubilant. He couldn’t wait to tell me all about it, the duties it required, the responsibilities I now had, the inability to decline the invitation.
“Cake all around,” he shouted as he passed out plates and toasted all with his mug of pale ale. He was a man relieved of great pain.
That night, I thought it a dream. The gate opened. How could they scream so loudly?
I did the math. If I found a woman, I could be out in less than 17 years.
Post by whaleworkforfood on Jan 3, 2021 0:11:53 GMT -6
12 candles. 2 hands on 12. 12 words. 1 mirror. This ritual was Mathematics.
A formula by bored schoolboys. Its cogs handed down the ears of seatmates. Its answers passed around a campfire.
The clock’s fingers kissed. I blew out the candles. Closed my eyes. Whispered into the mirror.
I opened my eyes. Darkness. Light limped through a wound far ahead. The air tasted alien; the sounds smelled alien. This was a new world.
Hairs threatened to leap out my skin. I turned.
A giant eye was staring at me.
“Okay, I’ve checked. No monsters under the bed, sweetie.”
** Please ignore/disqualify this post as I missed the deadline. But I just wanted to post this, because it was fun and fiendishly difficult to write. Not satisfied with this and I'll be tinkering with it for who knows how long.