Let me tell you about the crossroad.
The Bridleway is only a track, but it leads into a wagon trail and a cobbled street which leads to the city. It’s the way the riders take when they raid the hamlets in the hinterlands, hamlets like mine, for men, maidens or dues. Continue reading
Grey and silver were the colours of their city – grey concrete, silver steel, planes of glass reflecting the washed-out shade of the sky. Corners veiled in the stark black of midday shadows and a few red and blue cars were the only contrasts. Even the few trees that carved out their existence at street corners and in back yards had long lost their vibrant green under the relentless glare. Continue reading
Chuck Wendig had a dream with a recurring phrase: There is no exit.
A situation with no escape can only be a nightmare. Can’t it?
“Della and Jo have pledged their love for each other, they have sealed their vows and received their rings. Before this gathering, they have expressed their complete and pure dedication to one another, and by the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you -” Continue reading
Sometimes, when the world is out of joints, off the rails, upside down,
it helps to shift the perspective.
A way uphill is still better than no way at all.
Three Line Tales, Week 62
Photo prompt by Serge Kutuzov via Unsplash
She looks at the stars and wonders.
She knows they’re planets or suns or galaxies, points of radiation and light in the endlessness of the universe. Boundless, inconceivable power, and still only specks of matter in infinity. Continue reading
I really like my prologue. Just saying.
She always thought that it looked more like a bridge than a pier. Of course it ended nowhere, the rickety walkway simply petered out in the endless grey of the rolling sea, easily flooded when the tides were high. A bridge needed a beginning and an end. Or at least two ends. Continue reading