Twittering Tale: Among the Trees

Twittering Tales challenge is hosted byΒ Kat Myrman. The goal is to write a twitter-length story, in 140 characters or less, based on the prompt image. You can see the challengeΒ HERE.

This week’s photo is so beautiful! Here’s my little tale:

Among the Trees

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People are destructive. It’s better without them, among the trees.

But they might come, with their trucks and saws.

I’ll be ready.

 

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Twittering Tales: The Magic Apple

Twittering Tales challenge is hosted byΒ Kat Myrman. The goal is to write a twitter-length story, in 140 characters or less, based on the prompt image. You can see the challengeΒ HERE.

I haven’t done this challenge in a while, but I hope I’ll do it regularly from now on. πŸ™‚ Here’s my tale:

The Magic Apple

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“It’s a magic apple,” gradfather said.
“Magic isn’t real,” I gumbled.
“Just try it,” he smiled.
And magically, my sadness disappeared.

(131 characters)

The Goddess of Winter (A Short Story)

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People think that gods don’t listen. Truth be told, mostly we don’t.

People think that gods are self-centered and vain. Mostly, we are. But so are people. They only see themselves, the mightiest of creatures, in the centre of it all.

How could it be that the Sun does not revolve around the Earth? Surely, there cannot be any other creatures in the universe, at least not beings as intelligent us? Yes, it’s bad to kill an animal, but not as bad as killing a person, of course…

Did gods create humans, or did humans create gods? I don’t know the answer. I exist, in a way, though no one worships me anymore. Vesna exists, too, the goddess of the spring. Of is it Persephone who makes the flowers bloom, when she ascends from her underworld throne?

The only thing that I can tell you, without any doubt, is that Nature exists. Call her any name you want, but she is there, and she rules us all. Yes, even me. It was her who gave me my task. A wonderful task! I was to make frost.

You grin now, and you scoff. Frost? What is so glorious about frost? It’s a task no one will thank you for.

Well, you only think that becuse you’re a mortal. Mortals never see the big picture. That’s why you destroyed it all, unable to see you’re also destroying yourselves. Global warming. It doesn’t sound so bad, doesn’t it? How can warmth be bad?

It’s hard for me to make frost these days. The gods are not all-powerful after all. I want to sing in the white snow, underneath the gentle snow flakes. Let me spread my arms and dance! Think of the winter creatures, creatures like me, creatures you destroy! Think of the creatures completely unlike me, those who will perish next!

The time has come for the gods to beg for the mercy of mortals.

Twittering Tales: The Artist

Twittering Tales challenge is hosted by Kat Myrman. The goal is to write a twitter-length story, in 140 characters or less, based on the prompt image. You can see the challenge HERE.

Here is this week’s prompt image and my little tale, a small tribute to the often misunderstood tattoo art.

The Artist

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He loved his job. Steady hand, tiny details, precise lines, colour, calligraphy.

It was art, and he didn’t care when some people disagreed.

(139 characters)

P.S. When I published this post, WordPress informed me it is my 200th post on this blog. 200 already! πŸ™‚ Thanks to everyone who’s been reading these posts and happy blogging! πŸ˜€

The Three Roads (A Short Story)

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Now he knows he’s lost. Why does it bother him? Isn’t this what he wanted? To be lost to them, forever?

He scoffs and leans on a tree, one of the hundreds that surround him. The forest is deep wherever he looks. The only thing he can do now is keep walking ahead. Try not to return.

He’s tired and hungry, so he decides to rest. He has a piece of bread with him, the only food he managed to take. He should’ve planned this better. He might find some fruit in the forest, but what if he picks something poisonous? Maybe he could hunt, but he doesn’t really know how. He has a small knife, nothing more. He bites the stale bread and sighs. Everything is better than staying there, isn’t it? Somehow he’s not that certain anymore.

Then he hears something. He hopes it’s just a rabbit, but he still draws his knife. He listens. The leaves crack. It must be something bigger than a rabbit. His eyes widen as he looks around. It’s coming closer, but he’s not sure from which direction. Then he hears a sweet laughter. A woman. But where?

“Don’t worry, I won’t harm you,” a soft voice says.

Suddenly, he sees her. A beautiful young woman, dressed in brown leather, bow and arrows hanging over her shoulder.

“Who are you?” he manages to ask, half conscious and still afraid.

“Just call me Artemis,” she shrugs.

“Artemis? Like the Greek Goddess?” he smiles. He feels more confident now.

“I look like her, don’t I?” she smiles. He nods. She really is a strange looking woman.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I just live here,” she shrugs.

“Oh…” A forest woman. Strange.

“And what are you doing here?” she asks.

“I’m just… Running away I guess.” Her smile is nice, but there’s something strange about it, almost dangerous. Her eyes seem wild. Maybe it’s all in his head.

“I can help you escape,” she says. “There’s a lot of forest to go through. You might need help.”

He looked down, at his piece of stale bread, lying on the ground.

“Well, I guess I do need help.”

“Follow me, then. Are you hungry?”

She bites at the meat, but he doesn’t feel hungry anymore. He remembers the eyes of the poor animal, the panic, the pain, the blood. So much blood.

“Is something wrong?” she asks.

Her voice is sweet, her face kind, despite her piercing eyes. Her beautiful brown hair falls over her shoulders. It almost makes him forget what she did. Still, he doesn’t touch the meat. You don’t really think about it when it served on the plate. You don’t think about the murder, the living creature before it became food.

The moon is already up when they reach a river. He drinks the cold water, his thirst finally satisfied. She’s sitting on the river bank, her feet in the water. She looks at the moon and seems peaceful. There is something different about her. She looks the same, but the expression of her face is changed. There’s no wilderness in her eyes. He sits next to her, and he feels peaceful, too. She looks at him, and she almost seems sad.

“Do you really live here?” he asks.

“For centuries,” she says.

He touches the fingers of her small hand. She draws them away.

“I just… Thank you,” he says.

“Why are you here?” she asks him.

“I just ran away. My life… I felt like I was losing control over it. I just felt like… Running. Starting fresh. I don’t want to spend my entire life in that small, boring village.”

“You seem to be on a crossroads,” she sighs. “So, that’s why we’ve met…”

She is sad. Why? The night suddenly grows darker. He looks at the sky and he doesn’t see the moon anymore. Dark clouds appeared over it.

β€œI hope it won’t rain,” he says and turns to her. He finds her changed again.

She stands up, her eyes wilder than ever. No, not wild. Dark. Powerful.

“What are you running away from?” her voice is different, too. It’s unnaturally clear, but not loud. He tries to get up but fails. “Are you running from responsibility? From others? From yourself?”

He wants to ask her what’s going on, but he cannot find his voice. It’s not her anymore. This is a different person. She looks almost more beautiful than before, but much more dangerous. He hears crows screeching, and he is certain he didn’t hear them before. On one side, the water rises. Little drops floating in air. On the other, leaves fly up, and form around her like dark aura.

“Who are you?” he manages to cry out.

“Three roads,” she says. β€œOne goes back to where you started. You ask for forgiveness, and become what you were. No risk, nothing changes. The second road leads to failure. The third leads to everything you’ve wanted.”

He tries to stay calm. To think.

“How do I know which is which?”

“You’ll have to guess it.”

In that moment he wanted to go back. Forget this strange, terrifying day, be who he was before. But he’s not that man anymore. He’s made his choice, and making a choice always means change. A change within. The old is dead, and the new is born.

“Then I’ll guess,” he says. One foot after the other, he went ahead, wherever it may lead.


“In the later poets, Artemis is identified with Hecate. She is ‘the goddess with three forms,’ Selene in the sky, Artemis on earth, Hecate in the lower world and in the world above when it is wrapped in darkness.”

– Β Edith Hamilton, Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes

Twittering Tales: No Ghosts Here

Twittering Tales challenge is hosted by Kat Myrman. The goal is to write a twitter-length story, in 140 characters or less. You can see the challenge HERE.

Kat’s photo of The Marshall House, a haunted hotel, really intrigued me! Here’s my tale:

No Ghosts Here

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“I still haven’t seen a ghost here,” she consoled the girl.
“You’re right. I’ve lived here one hundread fifty three years, seen no ghosts.”

(139 characters)

Twittering Tales: The Record Player

Twittering Tales challenge is hosted by Kat Myrman. The goal is to write a twitter-length story, in 140 characters or less. You can see the challenge HERE.

Now, here’s my take on this week’s lovely photo:

The Record Player

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She woke up to the sound of her favourite song. Half-awake, she sunk deeper into her pillow.
Then she jumped up. Who turned on the player?

(139 characters)