The White Raven (first draft)

The White Raven flew high above the trees, twisting and turning singing her joy to the sun. In the forest below a hunter stood on the moss at the edge of a spring of sweet water. The raven flew down, her wingtips rippling the surface of the water. Ivory feathers a blaze of white in the forest gloom. Sharp claws scratched against stone as she landed on a smooth grey rock at the edge of the pool of clear water. The raven tilted her head to the side, observing the hunter with winter blue eyes.

The hunter nodded to the raven and wandered into the deep woods in search of his game. The white raven followed. The forest was bountiful, deer, elk, hares, grouse, and ptarmigan fell to the hunter’s bow. The raven made a game of following the hunter, hopping from tree to tree, gliding above the forest and diving down to scare game from tall grass and thickets. Each night the hunter and the raven met at pool. The hunter would cut small gobbets of flesh from his kills and offer them to the raven perched on her rock.

The white raven fell in love with the hunter. She wove the wild magic of the forest to change her shape. The raven stood in human form, glowing white skin, and winter blue eyes, and feather soft hair the colour of snowy white wings.

As the moon rose the hunter crept through the forest to the pool. Standing on the rock arms raised to the heavy moon the white raven stood in her pale human guise. The hunter covered the girl with his cape and took her home as his bride.

The raven was happy in the small cottage in the forest with her husband the hunter. She bore seven children, four sons and three daughters with milk white skin and downy hair white as new fallen snow. White raven was a good wife, loving and kind, but she held her secrets and would not speak of where she came from or how she appeared at the pool in the forest or where she went on the days she went walking among the trees.

One autumn, when leaves tumbled from the trees, the sun was warm, but the wind smelled of winter the hunter’s wife disappeared into the woods. The hunter was furious that his wife was gone. He left the children alone in the cottage and searched every path through the twisting woods. Creeping from shadow to shadow, boots silent on the leaf strewn forest floor, the hunter scoured the forest. Morning turned to noon, noon to dusk and still there was no sign of his beloved wife. The trees opened up and the hunter found himself standing on the edge of the pool shaking with fury as he held his bow in his hands. The forest was silent all around, no leaves whispered on the wind, no squirrels chittering in the trees, or birds singing in the sky.

The white raven perched on the smooth grey stone beside the water, wings stretched out in the sunlight. The hunter was angry and notched an arrow in his bow. The raven folded her wings and looked at him with a winter blue eye.

The hunter loosed his arrow. It flew true across the still pool reflecting in the icy chill of the water. The arrow pierced the raven’s snowy white breast. The raven cried as red blood flowed across her white feathers and dripped onto the cold grey rock. As the white raven fell light filled the clearing brighter than the sun, the hunter hid his eyes, and when the light faded a woman lay on the rock, an arrow piercing the heart of his beautiful wife.

The hunter stumbled to the rock and held her as she lay dying. The clearing filled with the rush of wings and seven white ravens plummeted from the sky, they circled around the hunter and his dying bride before landing on the mossy ground. The hunter gazed with grief stricken eyes as the ravens transformed into seven small children. They turned sad eyes to their mother, faces solemn as they ripped the arrow from their mother’s chest. The eldest held the arrow and dropped it into his father’s hands. The world shifted and pulsed as the children changed small feathered bodies taking flight.

White feathers turned black. The colour of their sorrow.

the end

flint

Hand in hand we crossed the road, and the steep ditch to step lightly onto the newly tilled field. Black earth turn brown in the warm spring sun. Walking at my father’s side, eyes on the ground scanning back and forth, examining each mound of dirt. Looking for the telltale rounded shape of a bead, the long cylinder of a broken pipe, a discarded arrowhead. Tiny fragments of history, laying in the drying dirt in freshly tilled field. An edge of flint, glinting dully in the morning sun. Small hands digging in soft dirt. Muddy footprints, laughter, a treasure found.



(a memory from when I was small)

The White Raven

White raven flew free in the sky. In the forest the hunter watched white raven. his heart beat wild with jealousy. White Raven peered at the man, with his sparkling eyes and beautiful smile. The Hunter knocked his bow. Raven flew down, as her talons touched the earth magic bright as the sun spilled forth and raven stood as woman with white feathered hair. The hunter loosed his arrow and it speared the woman’s heart. Red, red blood spilled upon the earth. Hunter cried and dropped his bow. A black raven stood where white raven died. Feathers black as sorrow.

a gift of roses

She held his gift of roses in her hand, pale snow white petals, with no hint of perfume. Beautiful blooms lifeless as stone . She gripped the flowers with angry hands, black thorns biting into flesh. She threw the roses to ground and cradled her wounded hand. Bright red drops of living blood splashed the milk white roses. And Alice began to laugh, “Painting the roses red for the Queen of Hearts.” she giggled kneeling down to smear scarlet blood across the dead moon-white petals. “Off with his head.” She bared her teeth in a rictus grin of killing rage.

Midnight Butterflies

In the garden where the butterflies slept, hidden among the blooms, a girl danced in a white lace gown. The moon hangs low in velvet fabric of the sky, and the stars let down their brittle light. The cloying sent of night blossoming jasmine and gardenia perfume the air. Dewdrops sparkle like jewels.
Green grass, sharp as the finest blade, that cuts deep.
Droplets of scarlet on white.
A whispering of gossamer wings.
A flutter of night dark butterflies fill the air.
Butterflies with angry mouths and sharp white teeth.
An anguished cry as the butterflies feed on crimson blood.


*the image was a clipart butterfly that I messed about with and added the blood spatter. The image wasn't for this drabble its for a short story I haven't written but when I finished making the picture the scene for the drabble popped into my brain so I had to write it.

addiction

Adam walked back and forth, back and forth, like a caged and wounded beast. His hands trembled as he reached for the book. 'No....' a voice screeched, and he wasn't sure if it was his own or not. The book sat there, the cover hand stitched, the pages brittle, the ink faded. Adam turned his back on the book. 'No, no, no....you don't need it. You can live without it…for one day!' but the book sat there and it pulled and pulled at him. Adam twitched. He dragged trembling fingers through his long tangled hair. 'Just one more spell.'

written for the Chimera Writing Group Drabble Prompt: Addiction

O Death

The woman sat in the corner facing the door, the shining tips of her knitting needles flashing. Red wool wound about her fingers and she cast on and began to knit. The door opened and a man stood before her, clothes covered in dirt, and crusted old blood, yellow fangs splitting his mouth in a sinister grin. With preternatural speed the vampire pounced and the woman plunged her needles into his chest. The vampire’s pale hands clawing at the silver and oak needles piercing his cold dead heart.

“My name is Death and the end is here….” the woman smiled.


Music: O Death sung but Jen Titus for the Supernatural season 5 promo

chimera book and writing group drabble prompt: music

a house of chocolate

As far as witches go Belinda wasn’t great. Her sisters built a gingerbread house and a candy house, to lure plump young children Belinda found children far too greasy for her tastes. Belinda liked soap, perfume, was afraid of heights and never flew her broom but used it to keep a tidy cottage. .And when Belinda build a house of chocolate, only thing it attracted was housewives kept nibbling the gables and brickwork, and Belinda had the terrible habit of making friends with them instead of turning them to toads. . In short as a witch Belinda was a disgrace.Post Options

Trinity

“You can’t keep doing this, its insane. Normal people just don’t go around murdering people for a living.” Cordelia said pointing at the guns spaced across the bed. “Eric talk to her she isn’t listening to me.” Cordelia glared at her brother leaning against the door.
“Its none of our business” Eric grit between clenched teeth.
“Its my job.” B said the black butterfly tattoo on her back stark against pale skin as she reached for a gun.
“Its mad!”
“We all do what we have to to survive. Death is a bitch.. and now we're all sons of bitches."

On July 16th 1945 Kenneth Bainbridge, leaned close to Robert Oppenheimer and said "Now we're all sons of bitches." immediately after the first atom bomb test explosion at Alamogordo, New Mexico’s Trinity Site.

Night

Grey wheat turned into a muddy ruin, the mud dragging me down with every step. I fell into black earth, the sack of food stuffs burst and sunk into the mood. I dragged myself up and gathered what tins and packets I could pull free of the black mud. The light was fading, clouds obscuring the orange ball of the setting sun at my back. I ran east across the field to the uncertain sanctuary of an abandoned farmhouse. Night, the mother of fear and mystery, was coming upon me. And with the dark came nightmare made flesh and bone.

Night, the mother of fear and mystery, was coming upon me. --HG Wells from the War of the Worlds

Chimera Writing group prompt: quote

in a Dark Dungeon

Dean woke in the dark head pounding, blunt fingers brushing the gash at his temple; the wound still wept blood in a sluggish trickle. “Sam?” he whispered looking around the dark room. “Sammy?”
“Yeah I’m here.”
“Where are we?”
“This is an oubliette, labyrinth's full of 'em” Sam recited as he cracked his head on the ceiling.
“Really. I didn't know that.”
“Oh don't act so smart. You don't even know what an oubliette is.” Sam grimaced
“Do you?” Dean spit out.
“Yes. It's a place you put people... to forget about 'em!”
“Dude this is...”
“Don’t!”
“Awesome”
Sam swore.

Chimera Drabble Prompt: Dungeon

disclaimer: Labyrinth and Supernatural aren't mine this was written for amusement only.. based on an old converstation with Flame.

wolf

Six bullets left. I gripped the gun tightly in my right hand and settled in against the trunk of the tree. A cold wind blew across the clearing and into my face, it smelled of snow and ice. A storm was brewing, over the distant mountains. If I was lucky I would still be alive when it reached the tree I perched on. If I wasn’t lucky, well it doesn’t matter does it. I check the revolver again, six bullets gleamed silver in the faint light as the moon rose, bloated and yellow. The first howl echoed across the clearing.



Chimera Writing prompt: wolf

The House on Blackbird Road

In the house at the end of Blackbird road, with the peeling grey paint, that may once have been the blue of ocean waves. With dark wooden floors and damask velvet walls, ceilings dark and filled with a macabre carnival of spider webs. Dead chandeliers that drip dusty jewels, the stairs that creak as you climb up and up to nowhere at all. There is little black key, in a hidden door, in the peeling damask paper at the end of the hall. Phantoms whisper secrets and lies in the shadows, in the house at the end of Blackbird road.

Cherry

Title: Cherry
Author: Apryl
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, Impala
Rating: PG
Warnings: vaguely Season 4, nothing spoilery
Word Count: 100
Disclaimer: not mine, never mine, *is poor*
Notes: Sam is driving and Dean is asleep as they drive North on the I-5.



“Dean woke with a start, head pressed against the window, trail of drool running down his chin. A green sign flashes past in the headlights *”Welcome to Oregon we’ve got trees” Dean grimaces and tried to close his eyes again, but then he hears it.

It felt so wrong it felt so right

With dawning horror Dean turned to look at Sam in the driver’s seat, fingers tapping on the steering wheel singing along quietly.

“The taste of her cherry chap….”

“Dude ….seriously?!?” Dean growls.

“Er.. I”

“You’re such a girl Sammy.”

I kissed a girl and I …

click

Darling Buds

“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.”
“What?”
“It’s a line from a Shakespearian sonnet.”
“A bonnet?”
“No a sonnet, a poem by Shakespeare the Bard, the greatest writer in the history of the English Language.”
“Poetry is for losers.”
“Poetry is a form of literary art, it has heart , meaning, cultural significance..”
“Culture like them things they grow in the labs?”
“Culture as in society, humanity, people”
“Labs is where they make the viruses that’ll turn us all to zombies.”
“I don’t know why I try”
“Do ya think zombies write poetry? I’d read that.”
“Er…No.”

Chimera writing group prompt: bud

Day and Night

Twin sisters were born on the Summer Solstice, one born in light the other born as darkness fell. As time passed the sisters grew. Day was earthly and fair with flaxen gold hair, a smile warm as sun, and eyes the colour of summer skies. Night was otherworldly and moonlight pale, her hair the colour of a raven’s wing, a smile hinting of magic and wickedness, and eyes that glinted black. At dusk, Night awoke, and the sisters ate honeyed cakes, drank tea from silver cups. Soon Day dreamed as Night sang with the wolves and danced in the moonlight.

Chimera Book and Writing Group Drabble Prompt: Day and Night

Calista

Calista danced back at the edge of the shadow creeping across the room, the line between light and dark. The day receded back as the shadows consumed the light. Calista stood in the narrowing band of sunlight, thinner and thinner. A noise began in the shadows, a whispering and skittering of claws on the wooden floor, getting closer and closer. Calista pressed her back against the cool iron bars of the window. No escape. Nowhere to run She could see them now, hideous misshapen creatures with grinning yellow fangs, shadow ghouls summoned from rotting despair. Calista screamed without a sound.

Chimera Book and Writing Group prompt: day and night

the Old Gods

Some think it was better before the war. The war started and ended in the span of a single day, not by nuclear power but by the might of gods , long absent in the minds of day traders, eco warriors and movie stars. The gods aren’t like Tinkerbelle, they didn’t disappear because we forgot to believe, they walked among us the whole time. Eros is a porn star, no surprise there, Athena masqueraded as Martha Stewart, Dionysus has a wineries in Napa, Gaia sells real estate in the valley. Not quite hell on earth, but Hades is a politician.

all that glitters

Melantha sat, dark eyes scanning the crowd of writing bodies on the dance floor. The club was dark, filled with black velvet, glittering chandeliers, silvered mirrors, and thrumming rock music. A grimace flickered across her pale face, as two sorority girls bounced up to the bar wearing matching Twilight t-shirts. Melantha stood, the glint of diamonds shining in the black lace of her dress. She slipped into the fervent crowd, letting the music flow through her, the smell of warm human flesh and blood sent a shiver down her spine. Melantha smiled hungrily, sharp teeth pressing into her bottom lip.



Chimera Writing group drabble prompt: rock

Death's Whisper

The door slammed shut, keys rattling in the lock. She was alone in the dark room, wrists bound behind her back with thin cable. Death whispered sweet words in her ears. She smiled grimly as she moved her wrists against the wire, drops of blood dripping to the white carpet. Death whispered on as she slipped her hands free, the torn flesh of her wrists burning. Heavy footsteps sound in the hall and she grabbed the only weapon to hand. The door swung open and she shoved a steel knitting needle into his throat. Death laughed as the monster died.



Chimera Writing Prompt: cable