Entry to this week’s FFfaW! Image courtesy of Louise with The Story Teller’s Abode!
Tis a gift to all the unborn,
to dreams and to desire,
to futures that seek to pass.
But can they will it?
Knowing that their journey must end,
and their efforts naught for themselves.
Endure they must this contradiction,
for their time given must be returned in kind,
transformed into innumerable forms realized,
to buttress the chasm from which they came.
And if they succumb to the wasteland?
The profligates and the sloths,
those who dismantle and coast.
What of their fates?
Tragedy, for they hasten the end.
Time wasted, time revoked.
Thanatos detached the hourglass. “Pity Eros, this soul built a monumental castle early in life… Nearly pierced the heavens and broke the glass!”
Eros paused to recollect. “Aye, but he assembled too hastily. The shaky foundations undid him midlife and the whole tower collapsed. Despair nigh shed his remaining blood.”
“That would liquefy the sand beneath. Did you intervene?”
“I showed him another life…”
“Quite dangerous. Disclosing past lives create feedback loops. Containment may shatter.”
“No, I showed one future if we mixed his sand with the others; he filled in the blanks.”
“Ah. That explains the tinge of red.”
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Entry to this weeks FFfAW! Image courtesy of Sonya.
Sophia loved sunflowers all her life.
At ten, they brightened up her day when they turned rain to shine.
At seventeen, they gave her confidence when their portrait won an art scholarship.
At twenty five, they brought her love when they hitched a ride with the one.
At thirty, they doubled her joy when their seeds helped give birth to twins.
At forty five, they lent her strength when recovering from cancer.
At sixty, they gave her hope, for a greater bloom awaited each passing year.
Today they blossomed from her ashes, wishing her the best luck in the next life.
At the edge of the cosmos, a small comet impacts a planet. Deep within its nucleus, Fate preserves a relic from a distant past. Her bosom houses a patch of roses that had miraculously survived the destruction of a previous world. A lover of life had suspended the roes patch in time so that they neither bloomed nor wilted during their long flight through space.
When the denizens of the new world discovered the crash site, they also found the rose patch intact. Some who feared its unknown origins threatened to burn the ground from which it stands. Those who wished to examine its properties wanted to dissect its body pedal by pedal. Others who attributed its coming to divine providence wished to enshrine it within a receptacle for the ages.
For such reasons, the rose patch refused to bloom until one day a courageous young girl dared to approach. Recognizing it for what it was, she cusped her hands around a single bud and inhaled its scent. The warmth of her hands awakened the rosebud from its stasis and its petals opened to reveal a deepest red never before seen. Her cheeks flushed a ruddy complexion as the lover of life smiled.
Old cartographers spoke of the cloud passage, a route that circumnavigated the globe across land, sea and air but would never remain fixed. Explorers could only follow the passage by chasing the cloud-train, a particular slow-moving stretch of clouds two hundred miles long and twenty miles wide that weaved through the sky. Many folks across the world had sketched portions of the train, trying to capture its majestic beauty across an effervescent terrain. However, none had rode it from beginning to end for it had neither. Thus, the passage was quite attractive to both the nomadic and the itinerant, those who wandered for a living and those who wanted to move on in life.
An old lighthouse keeper kept the tower lanterns burning for thirty long years. Yet, hardly any ships could be seen, neither entering the horizon nor leaving the coast. Frustrated by decades of seemingly fruitless labor and depressed with life, the keeper one day extinguished the flames and went to bed early. Now awaiting for permission to die, he dreamed of a raging storm; white lightning ripped the blackened sky asunder as ocean and hail pounded the lighthouse and surrounding town. The pounding however was real, as the keeper awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of fists and voices at his door. Many townsfolk, who used the lighthouse for navigating the dark streets after dusk were concerned that the old man had fallen ill or died. The keeper apologized, donned on his glasses which turned a bit misty and relit the lighthouse flames.
Two magicians planned to cheat Death out of a game of chess. A timeless being who had never lost a match, Death could easily calculate any board position to its logical end. Knowing this, both magicians summoned the Grim Reaper to simultaneous games, each wagering 20 years of their morality in exchange for an additional 20 if they either won or drew. The first magician took the white pieces and the second magician took black; they intended to play the reaper’s moves against itself! Death accepted the conditions, appearing either unaware or unfazed by the magicians’ little trap, began to play…
The board position remained even for the first twenty moves and the tag-team thought they had the draw in the bag. On the 21st move, a questionable play was made and by the 25th, it was clear that White was losing. Frantic and not wanting to forfeit 20 precious years of his life, the first magician deviates from the plan and tries to salvage his position. He would lose the match in ten moves. The second magician, who thought to convert his lead into victory, continued playing for another thirty moves in dismay while Death made his inevitable comeback.