I am watching the mass of people that have gathered here today expecting something new and unique to show them. They are watching me with patient curiosity as to where I will take them today, the man who is slightly balding in his mid-forties is grinning with anticipation and scratching gently his wrist around his watch and the beautiful auburn young lady in her early twenties beams at me and clasps her hands in front of her. I shan’t disappoint them, or the many others besides.
There is an icy chill in the air, a large bonfire crackles in the moonlight behind me and I turn to it to add another log to the fire, a scent of lavender fills the air as a beautiful blond lady in blue silks and a medieval gown throws a large bundle of lavender into the fire. We sit down, this lady and I, upon felled wood and I play upon a pear wood recorder as she begins to recite a poem sang in beautiful Latin about the coming of snow, it is a haunting piece which fills the gathered audience with solemn peace and nostalgia, though they don’t audibly understand the words she is singing, they can understand it by the lilt and chill of her voice along with the biting of the air around them. The young lady with auburn hair is almost overcome by the power of the ladies voice and others take in deep sighs and close their eyes as they soak in the night air.
Men dressed in blue velvet and silver medieval court clothes pass around toasted vanilla flavoured marshmallows to the audience, a taste of warm sweet snow, a great paradox to the subject of the song. The marshmallows fill the audience with hope of warmer climes to come, a glimpse that it shan’t be forever cold, that tonight is just an interim and those come and go quickly.
It was midnight and Sophie was brushing her lush brown hair that she had just taken out of her beautiful bun and her eyes became heavy, ready for sleep, when she caught a glimpse of a little girl in a cobalt blue dress at the corner of her eye reflected in the mirror in front of her.
Sophie started for a moment and looked behind her, but the little girl had gone. She shrugged this off as a sleepy hallucination and continued brushing her hair.
Crash went the vase at the other end of the bedroom, smashing into pieces on the floor making Sophia stand up in a start.
What on earth caused that? She thought. She started to become anxious, alone in the house with no children of her own and no pets for the cause. She decided to get downstairs fast to phone her husband who was on his nightshift at Donaldi’s a restaurant in town.
Relaxed, lounging on the cream velvet chaise lounge dressed in a gold silk dress she smoked from her cigarette extension listening to adagio for strings on full volume, watching the city below her closing down for the night.
Her man, not far from her was helping himself to another glass of whiskey quietly and thoughtfully.
Years has past she thought to herself, years they have seen mortals below them come and go in their petty little lives, lives that they needed and not any of them ever questioned how long they’ve stayed in the area and how they’ve never changed, not even a spot.
Funny creatures she thought to herself.
Such potential though, their talents are wasted on their greed and their dramas, if only they knew.
Finally she broke the silence.
“Are you hunting tonight darling”? She said to the man behind her.
“I hadn’t thought of it, why are you hungry then my dear”? He enquired.
Now I understand that this snippet is full of adverbs and mistakes, but this is what I do when I am between writing actual stories. I just sit and I write random stuff and the most frustrating thing is that on Facebook I have many friends who are writers and I ask them questions like “do you do this too”? They never answer me. So am I alone in how I write? Or do all writers sit down with a plan?
Also understand that this is a first draft and is not part of a planned story, it was just something I wanted to get out of my head and I couldn’t go any further with.
Windy, grey and cold was the weather that day, the cold wet sand beneath Rebecca’s bare feet felt oddly comforting to her. Trying to warm herself in vain with folded arms rubbing her shoulders, standing in nothing but a renaissance style under-dress, she watched the horizon intently as though focusing on something approaching, but there was nothing and nor was she really expecting there to be.
She could hear them coming behind her – her family and her maidservant, calling out to her to get inside and put some clothes on, as she might catch her death of cold; but she looked on and the nearer they got, the further towards the sea she walked as though hypnotized by some demonic siren.
Intrigued to find out what happens next? Like this post and if I get 10 likes by the 20th November I will make a story for you.
Thank you, enjoy!