Fireworks

fireworkshttp://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/12/30/__picture-it-write-49/

After three hours of trekking, Kassie reached the Stepping Stone. She had not used any of her magic to travel, saving it for an impending moment that might all but deplete her source. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was any minute now. Somewhere, in a cloaked tower, the Synchroniser was looking at her and around four thousand other witches and wizards who had been chosen from those who volunteered. She drew her wand and stepped onto the tiny platform now pulsating with the energy that she would need to channel the spell.

Lifting her arm and spirit skywards, she whispered, “Yadot espylacopa on”. An amber stream of light erupted from her wand. She could sense an opposing force almost immediately and struggled as she fought against it, holding on to the knowledge that there were others who were fighting the same fight. The tide was beginning to turn in their favour, though, and she could barely contain her exhilaration as the stream of light suddenly burst forth unrestrained, sending intermittent sparks of red, green and violet into the evening air.

The unknowing human population went about business as usual, many saying “I never expected anything to happen, anyway”, while the fanatics found other reasons to explain the lack of the apocalypse.

The magical volunteers didn’t need a thank you. They had saved themselves and their close ones as much as the rest of the living souls on the planet, and that was more than enough. Even if all that the others had caught a glimpse of were fireworks.

 

Signed,

The Record Keeper

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Dear Pop Culture References,

pop culture

You grace the tongues of my favourite characters, often with flawless comedic timing. There is a ting of pleasure from recognition that follows, as my mind makes the jump, from plot holes to hyperbole. A witty distraction that lends layers to dialogue, I’m surprised you aren’t used more often.

Perhaps the excess will cause one to question the interest generated by a split-second line. Why do I feel so informed when I know the name of the latest host of Punk’d? I shouldn’t. It’s not like that piece of info is affecting lives in a way that the recent act of shooting in Connecticut is.

As the last thought crosses my mind, I do a double take. Because, such seemingly frivolous things as TV shows are still affecting lives, perhaps saving lives, often with the power of laughter. With the occasional overlap it doesn’t make much sense to compare the two of you either, so what am I doing?

I won’t deny myself simple pleasures where I can get them, and if I’m drawn to less serious things I will stop apologising for it. You give me relief in a way that news reports can’t. Credit is due to those with playful acumen who spawn cultural references. Take the triple whammy that was ad-libbed by one Emma Stone- “Because I’m not a Gossip Girl in Sweet Valley with Traveling Pants.”

 

Signed,

Selectively Informed Anna

 

Because Art is One Part Chance and Two Parts Chaos

glitter in the airhttp://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/12/09/picture-it-and-write-4/

I fished out another tube of wrapping paper, hoping to salvage my Christmas project. I had given up on the idea of creating perfect personalised pamphlets of memories for everyone, but I still had the idea of a single masterpiece in mind.

Looking back at the mess I had made around the pictures and snippets of poetry, I was frustrated with the tangled stripes of colours that stared defiantly back at me. I felt like an amateur diplomat who couldn’t convince them to work with each other.

Fine.” I murmured through clenched teeth. “You had your chance.”

I stripped the coloured paper in order of annoyance until I was left with just the photos and their captions. Mulling over my next move, I sent the papers through the shredder.

The ribbons at hand earned their place beautifully twined along the edges. The still dominant bald spots begged me to cover them up with stickers, but I couldn’t overdo it. I absent-mindedly placed tiny drops of glue in the cracks and admired the way they caught the light.

I was expecting a drastic change, but the whole thing still looked like a mess. It just looked like one that was trying too hard.

Inspiration dawned as I caught the shredded bits of wrapping paper glinting cheekily. Gleeful with anticipation, I filled my palms and held them over the project like over-saturated clouds. I knew that even if I didn’t like the puddles, I always enjoyed the rain.

The mess morphed into musical chaos as I let the glitter fall.

 

Signed,

Occasionally Artistic