Yes, last week I completely forgot about #ImageFlash. Shame on me! So, in order to make amends, this week we’re having two prompts, both from unsplash.com.
This image, prompt number 16, is by Katie Luka. I just liked this corner of… a coffee shop? Who sits there? One person? Two? What do they talk about? Do they talk at all or simply look at their smartphones? Do they hold hands and that’s enough? Will we find out?
As usual, join in if you want: simply use the image as a prompt for your writing, and use the #ImageFlash hashtag, and you’re done. Anything goes: you can write a tweet or a novel, whatever you feel like!
Yes, last week I completely forgot about #ImageFlash. Shame on me! So, in order to make amends, this week we’re having two prompts, both from unsplash.com.
The first one, number 15, is by Jonas Leupe. The image reminded me of my record collection, lying hidden in cardboard boxes, waiting for a new record player to become alive again.
As usual, join in if you want: simply use the image as a prompt for your writing, and use the #ImageFlash hashtag, and you’re done. Anything goes: you can write a tweet or a novel, whatever you feel like!
Xea smells the wind. It’s saltier everyday, and with the salt comes the cold and the roar of the faraway sea. She stares at her two shadows to ascertain the time of the day. Her stomach rarely fails her, but she has to make sure. It’s the only way to survive.
She stops and sits by a large rock, and decides on a ration of dry meat for today, and just a sip of water from her canteen. So far, so good, she reckons, provided that she has made no mistakes. She’s the best scout in her group, but that means nothing here. The shaman has drilled that into them. Xea knows one or two of her group will be lost forever, because they don’t pay attention. She might still fail, but if she does, it won’t be because she’s daydreaming while having her lessons.
She looks up. A single cloud drifts lazily. Ah, a nap would be wonderful. But not yet. She can still squeeze in a couple of hours’ progress today.
Xea stands up and walks on, following her nose and her ears. She picks some tooth-herb from her satchel and munches it as she marches. The herb in her mouth makes her think. She has seen no life since yesterday. No plants, no animals. This is a barren desert. She shivers and tightens her coolsuit. She smiles, realizing the shiver isn’t from the cold but from trepidation.
No life. She’s close.
Her heart wants to go faster. Her brain tells her not to worry. She follows her brain, like she has always done. Her trip is timed: one day going in, one night stay, one day going out. It has always been like that, for generations.
Xea stops. She thinks she has seen something ahead, in the distance. The thump in her chest is stronger, faster. Is that it? She changes her breath, following her training. It may be. We’ll see it when we arrive there.
She moves on, purposefully looking down. It’s funny. This looks like a path and not like a path. Which is what the shaman said. Is she so good she has done everything correctly, found it on her first trip? Can she allow herself to feel pride?
Petty, petty. Not the true route to enlightenment that Xea seeks.
But she raises her eyes, and it is there. Unmistakable.
You will know the totem when you see it.
And she knows.
Even from here, the shape is alien. A sort of needle that is like the fang of some gigantic beast, all crooked and twisted. She forces herself not to run, but her sight is fixed on it. The strange shape seems to shift and move. As she approaches, she picks more details. Things that look like ribs of that impossible animal. Circles and squares that have been bent and distorted.
The light changes. Xea curses. The first sun is down and she has not noticed, so dazed she was with the totem. She lets her training come to her again. A refuge for the night.
The last beams of the second sun fade as she lights her torch. Xea munches her last meal of the day as she stares out from her tent.
Under the MyriadStars, the totem now seems to be a jaw full of jagged teeth.
All laughing at her.
***
“What did you see?” the shaman asks.
“The… the shapes are strange,” Xea says. “Like nothing I have ever seen. Like… like being on the inside of an animal, or… of a tree. But if they were broken open. All of it made of… this strange material.”
The shaman nods.
“Please continue.”
Xea nods. She knows the ritual, the shaman has to make sure. Everyone has heard the stories. Everyone could make something up. Someone could even make up a very good lie. But you have to have been to the totem to really know, because telling outside of the shaman abode is forbidden.
“I saw a large shape. Like the fin of a fish.”
“Did you see anything on it?”
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
“I’ll show you.”
Xea picks a twig, and draws on the soil. Three lines, a snake, and a pyramid.
The shaman smiles.
“Now I know you speak the truth. You have braved the wastes. You have spent the night under the MyriadStars by the totem. You are a woman.”
Xea smiles, but remembers her place. Full of pride that now she is allowed to feel, she nods and presents her brow, where the shaman traces a circle with traditional oil. Xea looks down and sees what she has drawn.
E S A
Well, last week I was on holidays and, instead of writing more, I just forgot about it. Completely. So, full holidays, we could say. The story from my last prompt is here, and I hope someone reads it and likes it.
And now, to make up for my lack of writing, this: I’ll have two new prompts up during the weekend, and that means that this next week I’ll write two new stories, one for each prompt.
One day late, but hey, we’re still on average… Here’s this week’s prompt.
And again I cheated. Instead of simply generating a new image, this time I checked Unsplash’s front page, and there it was, this image by Finn Whelen waiting for me to write a story using it as a prompt.
And waiting for you! Use it as a writing prompt if you want to, and tag it using #ImageFlash. And let me know!
“Children, I’ll tell you the story of your grand-grand-grand-uncle Caw,” Ms Blackbeak said.
“Again?” one small raven asked.
“Not that one, listen to me: Caw!”
“Oh, sorry. I misheard.”
Oh dear, Jet will be trouble, she thought. But we’ll tackle problems one at a time. And now it’s lesson time.
“So. A long time ago…”
*****
Caw perched on his favourite branch, utterly amused. The man below had everything he needed, apparently: long flowing robes (hood included), dark makeup under his eyes, and Caw could smell the poison in his daggers (the one on sight and the hidden one) even from up here. He held a black wand in his left hand. He even had a silver skull with ruby red eyes dangling from a necklace (oh how shiny).
What he was lacking was the attitude. And any talent, of course.
The man shouted some incoherent words and pointed the wand.
Nothing happened.
The man swore.
Caw laughed.
“Who’s there?” the man said.
“I did,” Caw said.
“You can speak?” the man said.
Ah, he’s not completely useless, Caw thought. He understands me.
Caw glided down to a lower branch, but stayed out of reach.
“Of course I can,” Caw said then. “All ravens can.”
“How come I’ve never noticed before?”
“You need to pay attention. Also, we seldom talk in the presence of humans.” And he cawed. “This is what you usually hear.”
“Ah.”
Caw tilted his head. The skull glinted.
“Trying your head at some magic, eh?” he said.
“How do you know?” the man asked.
“Oh, I know magic.”
“What?”
“Are you hard of hearing, perhaps? I know magic.”
“Ha!”
Oh dear, Caw thought. Well, this was expected.
“Your pronunciation is terrible,” he said. “And magic is all in the words. Basic magic, at least. Pay attention: before pointing your wand, you should say…”
And the magic words flowed. The man could feel them.
Hm. Not completely useless, indeed, if he can sense that.
“Try it yourself.”
He did.
It worked.
It was a simple alteration spell. The small plant the man had pointed his wand at grew larger for a moment, then it stopped.
“Will you teach me more?”
“For a price,” Caw said.
“What’s your price?”
Caw smiled. The man didn’t realize he was smiling, of course.
“I’ll name it when the time comes.”
“I accept,” the man said.
Ah, the bond. How easily created.
“Good. We have a deal.”
“Should I name you, or do you already have a name, raven? Quothe, Nevermore, Huginn, Muninn?”
“Where did you get those names from?”
“Visions.”
Ahhh. Visions! Not useless at all!
“Caw. My name is Caw. Yours?”
“Oqill.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Oqill. Now, lesson two…”
*****
“Everything’s ready.” Caw said.
“I still sense something’s wrong,” Oqill said.
Fantastic, Caw thought. I was never mistaken.
“What do you feel?”
“Something’s… amiss? You’ve always taught me to trust my instinct, Caw.”
“Yes.”
“Let me check the grimoires again.”
“All right, but the spell has a schedule.”
“I know, I know.” Oqill adjusted his goggles and scraped his beard as he bent over the tome. How time had passed. “Just let me check again…”
Caw said nothing. The necklace skull glinted, reflecting the light from the cauldron’s fire and the energetic vials.
“I cannot see anything,” Oqill said finally. “We go ahead.”
“Fine,” Caw said.
The cauldron bubbled. The liquid changed colour. Oqill opened a spigot on the side of the cauldron and poured a measure. He doubted for a second.
“Immortality…” he whispered.
Caw raised an eyebrow.
Oqill drank.
He changed.
He was small. Black. Feathered.
He was a raven.
“Wait, what…?”
A hand grabbed him. He looked around. His face? But… younger?
“Hello, Oqill the raven,” his mouth said. Only it wasn’t his mouth any longer.
“What…? How…?”
“This,” Caw the raven said, pointing at his rejuvenated human body, “is my price.”
And with a swift movement, he placed Oqill the now immortal raven in a cage.
*****
“That’s fun, Ms Blackbeak.”
“It is, children,” she said. “But remember, this was a long time ago. And nobody but Caw has done it again. You must never trust humans. And above all…”
