A Sliver of Fantasy

As she neared the end of her goal, she collapsed into the darkness of the wintry cliff, continued to fall, until she thought she would break into a bloody mess of snow, but it was the icy cold water of the lake below that embraced her.

Inspired by photo on Flickr.

When it came time for the angel and her love to cleanse all of Man for the last time, the darkness in Men found what tied the angel to earth: the loss of her wings. The angel had at last regained her wings and prepared for her journey to heaven, but mankind was not ready to stop their dependence on her. They sliced her wings from her back and tore them to pieces, so that she may forever be reborn on the earth, unable to see the light beyond the vantage of the sky.

Inspired by photo on Flickr.

The gold angel brought salvation to her people even in the guise of a mortal, though she and her love were unable to wash away the greater dissolution of the world. Their memories were carried adrift as they moved from life to life and brought mankind closer to an eternally thriving existence.

Inspired by a Flickr image.

The golden-haired angel and her mortal lover were reborn in another world together, their memories lost in the ebbs between death and life. Her mortal body was as fair and fragile as a doll, but her soul resilient with the fire of Uriel, so that she moved like invisible winds beating down the mountains.

Water looks pale green and blue at your toes, but as it stretches out into the endless realms of the sea, it turns a vivid indigo, expanding to the point of no return, deeper and deeper, like the surface and the hard-seed interior of a soul.

She laid against the mirror and stared the other direction, at the reflection in the window, where the glass caught the silvery pane behind her. It was the only way she could properly see these things.

In the rifts of her mind, several minutes passed but clocked in the imagination like years, she could make out the vestige of the brown-haired, blue-eyed menace that plagued her in her sleep. He was average height and a beanpole build, with a smirk that set forests into wildfire and bashful eyes that could only connect with facetious audiences. Staring into the soul of the person he most admired, it was as if he lost all sense of will.

She knew his name was Serran, but she was not sure of the woman that he spoke to in her dreams. He laughed at her for being separate from the masses and knelt down carefully beside her as she part took in activities with other rejects, entirely too amused by it. He liked her bunches, and she liked him too, but they were from separate worlds and they both knew that rift would require climatic experiences to bring them together.

The woman staring into the window reached out and tried to grab the image in the mirror. Was the woman that Serran talked to her, or was she a different person entirely, a couple of estranged individuals the mirror reflector had the opportunity to witness? These dreams were windows that, when looked through other mirrors and windows, opened up into vast worlds of possibilites as the dreamy-Serran told his story.

Fun dialogue distinction exercise with some of the characters in my novel.

Eleanora, protagonist: "Please give me a second. I'm almost done."

Rychael: "Please give me a moment. I will be done soon."

Trinsen: "Give me a second. Almost done."

Aster: "I'll be done in one second."

Methos: "Please, give me a sec. Almost done."

Melidor: "Give me a sec. I'm almost done."

Ben: "Gimme a sec. Almost done."

Malai'sunin: "Wait one sec."

Erev: "Umm, one sec."

The color wheel.
An artist's palette;
a television's substance.
From dark to light,
it circles blue to yellow red
with every glint of a diamond
captured in its palm.

An illustration of the ups,
symbolism of the downs;
moving as nature,
cyclical and scientific and comprehensible
And beautifully And methodically And conditionally
as a wave
breathing in and out of the sea:
it captures us, inspires us,
to suffer and thrive
And Be.

Clouds skittered the sky, foam in a waterless sea, pushing the current of time by.

Falling behind on short story fiction writing again. Including brief excerpts from my current novel project as a compromise.

These sections have been specifically selected by my current readers as sections they enjoyed. I ask them to select sections they appreciate so I do not cut them out during my editing process. This is from a rough draft, so forgive my habit of writing flowing sentences (that I'm sure you've already seen numerous times if you're a visitor to this blog!)

She heard Aster’s voice: “Who dares place a hand on the princess!”

The man that muted her used his free hand to lift a finger to his lips, and he leaned over to her and let out a smooth “shh,” his dark eyes glowing in the shadows cast by the three tents that hid them. Several blonde braids slipped out from under his violet hood and tickled her neck.

Zinnia [a Quetzalcoatl about two feet in size] lunged out furiously and bit at one of these braids, pulling it with razor-teeth.

He struggled to free himself. Zinnia’s element of surprise, however, and her vigorous attempt to put all of her weight into her pull, threw Eleanora’s captor completely off-balance. This forced the man’s face downward.

His nose plummeted between Eleanora’s breasts. She fell backward and tripped the man behind her. The three of them brought a tent down with them as they collapsed in a heaping mess onto the ground.

In the last breath
of her life
she looked up at the stars and realized
with such profound clarity
they outlined all the lives she had lived before