The Witch’s Trial

http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/09/16/__picture-it-write-41/

It had been created especially for her when she had come of the age to actively enter the world of magic. The years had not changed it one bit. An ever pristine mirror that held truths and power she had defiantly dared to dream of, it was the bridge and barrier to the apex of her strength.

She had been a Practicing Witch for over 6 years now and she knew the day had arrived; she would be tested as a witch and a person, to be sure power was not falling into the wrong hands.

She could allow no one in her company while she faced this ancient rite of passage.  Anything else could cause the spell to go awry. If she failed, she would not be remembered. That was one of the merciful magics of the mirror- no one in her Circle would have to be heartbroken or miss her.

She held it up before her, feeling her pulse make erratic jumps. The cold metallic frame lent steadiness to her fingers. Suddenly, she felt something seize her mind. Questions and thoughts were eerily voiced by the mirror. She responded, quick and honest. There was no jarring red light which she had been told to expect in the event of an unsatisfying answer. No, she was passing with a beautiful monochrome of colours.

She twisted her hands tighter around the edges, staring deeper into its preternatural reflections with every passing second. Memories of her ancestors began to flit across the glass and into her soul. In a matter of minutes she knew how to tame a Chimaera, how to teleport back and forth from far ends of the universe, and how it felt to carry the weight of the world in the event of an impending Apocalypse. In that long, drawn out instant, she Knew.

Power surged into her fingertips as she struggled to hold onto the mirror, feeling the fire that burned so many sisters who came before her. She knew the second she released it, the transfer would cease, and she could never hope to gain more from its swirling depths. Despite the pain, she gripped it closer; she could feel the victorious end creeping not too far away.

 

Signed,

The Invisible Invigilator

Lovely Weather for Ducks

Dear Wade,

How are your swimming lessons going? I just know you’ll work through your fears eventually. Ooh, wait till you hear about the little adventure Daisy and I had yesterday! It involves a bit of wandering far away from The Lake, so I hope you understand that you’re sworn to secrecy.

*waddle* *waddle* *hop* *skip* *jump* *waddle* *waddle*

It was a mopey week and the two of us were tired of being sitting ducks. And, you know those fading gray things that seem to fly straight up into the sky? I was really curious if one could take Daisy and I with it, so we went in search of them. It took a lot of waddling, but we made it to the place it comes from. It was really odd. There were enormous, square, mostly white rocks everywhere. They looked almost exactly the same and each one was surrounded by a wall.

Once we hopped over it, we found plants in patterns! Can you believe it? I bet you didn’t think they were that clever either, did you? And to think we can barely get ourselves in a row without a frenzy of quacks.

“What do you know? They’ve tricked us all along. Smart, stealthy, silent leafy things. And organised, to boot.”

Just as we were getting into the groove of our walk on the wild side and heading towards the stone from which the mysterious gray bird rises, we ran into a human. You probably think I’m exaggerating to the point of lying, but if it looks like a human(tall and two-legged) and talks like a human(with a flat stone pressed against their ear)…..you know how the saying goes.

Daisy: “Donnie, do you think….?”
Donald: “Yep, I think we found ourselves a real, live human.”
Daisy: “Do you think this is where they live? I hope it doesn’t mind us visiting. Maybe we should try to explain that we won’t eat anything on their land.”
*Crack* *Crack*
Donald: “Or we could RUN!”

It turned to face us and we watched it pick up a long black thing from nearby and point it at the sky. There were two loud, sudden sounds and we didn’t wait to find out what it was before scampering off. What were us brave spirits doing running away? I guess, in that moment, we both decided we’d like to live to quack another day.

We came back just in time to avoid getting caught by Mr. Lame Duck himself, Webbed. He noticed our panting though, and nothing stopped him from bursting our exciting bubble. “You two seem to take to trouble quicker than you do water. What do you suppose that says about you?” he gruffed, daring us to challenge his authority. We ducked away meekly, and ran for cover from bothersome grown-ducks.

He won’t be Team Head for much longer, hopefully! If I could cross my feet for that to happen, I would. Besides, does he even know the things some of the others do in the water? He’d be wearing a “What-the-duck!” expression instead of a smirk. It’s not my fault I don’t want to spend all day in there. I’m sensitive. Water off my back, my ass! Well, you know what I mean.

Anyway, hope you’re having a nice week, Wade. Will see you at the next Easter gathering.

Sincerely,

Donald

 

Which watch will take you where?

http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/08/26/__picture-it-write-40

Two weeks in the desert is over-estimating myself, thought Jackie.

Never again, she swore, draining her glass of salted water with a pinch of lime juice.

She plunked herself on the carpet, ready to examine the fruit of her arid labours. A pocket watch partly obscured by its cover rested on the two pencils she had used to pick them up.

Jackie knew the dangers of fiddling with objects found in deep crevices or buried under sand. Objects that were meant to be hidden. She knew them well. They had taken her to places in her strangest dreams and coldest memories, but she had always found a way to return.

It fed her curiosity with all things paranormal, to dabble in the Bewitched Watches, and she had barely an opposing thought. The price she paid was the uncertainty of where and in which when she might wake up next, close to which terror-striking creature. Part of her thrived on the same danger, and she called to that part now, to shed her doubts, raising her hand over the watch.

Her last watch had been of a silver-ish hue, guarded by the tangled mass of a snake. She thought she knew which creature guarded this one.

“Take me where you will” she whispered, lightly resting her fingers on the ribbed cage of its cover for a brief second.

The ribs turned darker and began to move.

Click. The black scorpion raised its stinger, opening the watch. Jackie jumped back, holding the chain. The scorpion hopped onto the floor and scurried away. Three blinks later, Jackie found herself staring at a very different world.

From the edge of a high cave she saw hordes of giant creatures with human faces, large scorpion-like pincers and stingers, strutting between boulders that littered the gray landscape.

This watch may have taken things a bit too literally, thought Jackie, overcome with a feeling of dread.

 

Signed,

The Omniscient Watcher

The Visionary of a Post-Apocalyptic Era (#38 picture it and write)

http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/08/12/__picture-it-write-38/

It was barely a week after the Apocalypse had destroyed most life on Earth. The ground was scorching in scattered places that had come to be called Hotspots. The survivors did not know where they could safely walk. So, they didn’t.

The weeks that passed drained their food and water, and nothing new would grow. Smoke rose from the land, adding to the people who felt lost. Everyone stayed sequestered in their cities and villages. The thirst drove a few to wander, and burn, when they stepped on a Hotspot.

One day, the people glimpsed a man who had ventured far beyond the city limits. Their warning cries were either unheard, or ignored. By now he had stepped on the unstable bridge that bordered the next city. In the middle of particularly thick smoke, he disappeared.

The people who had witnessed this soberly gathered the rest of their group to see who was missing. The realisation hit them sorely even though they barely knew him. At this point, any person lost was another step towards extinction. They sadly pondered how far he would make it.

***

A handful of days dragged on, before the bridge felt more footsteps. This time there were dozens of sets and the familiar one felt heavier. The sun hit its peak, as the man returned, weighed down with food and water, followed by what resembled a marching line of people.

As they got closer they looked like they were doing a slow, synchronised dance, each one just a little later than the person in front of them. Their path zigzagged across the bridge, but stayed connected. They eventually arrived at the debilitated doors of the building where the city’s people were huddled, most of them at the edge of dehydration. The man dropped the produce and refreshments before their feet, and though he couldn’t see their half-deranged smiles of gratitude, he felt their relief in every other sense. For the first time in a long time, he did not feel like he was missing something, being blind.

He had not felt more lost when the smoke had risen. After knowing darkness and loneliness all his life, he could finally “see” something the others couldn’t. The nearly imperceptible whistling of a Hotspot at close range.

 

Signed,

A Survivor

When a castle converses with a cloud

Clouds

Castle: Haven’t seen you in a while. It’s been a windy few days, hasn’t it?

Cloud: Yeah. How would you know, though? I don’t think you’ve moved an inch.

Castle: What can I say? Man made me strong. I don’t have to take nights off, either.

Cloud: (bristling) Hey! Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.

Castle: That’s true.

 

As night falls…

 

Castle: Cloudy? Are you still there?

Cloud: Yep.

Castle: I thought you might have blown off by now.

Cloud: I don’t think the winds are favouring the east coast at the moment.

Castle: Right.

Cloud: What’s on your mind?

Castle: I was just wondering…..how do you do it?

Cloud: Do what?

Castle: How do you manage to exist as a metaphor for so many things? I mean, I know you have a silver lining, there are at least nine of you, and you’ve amassed an astonishingly large collection of heads.

Cloud: Ha! You forgot about me being a bad influence when I brood darkly and hover near the horizon.

Castle: I like when that happens, don’t understand why others don’t.

Cloud: (shrugs) Eh. Some people’d prefer if I didn’t exist, so they can savour the sun more. Others, or the same people at a different time, really look forward to the times I bring rain. I’m sure farmers do. And there’s probably a perfume in honour of my heavy hours- with the sweet scent of Petrichor.

Castle: I bet there is. I’m jealous.

Cloud: You do a fair amount of metamorphosis yourself. What’s the matter of the day? Sand? Glass?

Castle: It’s stone, actually. But, thanks for asking. We do a good job as metaphors, don’t we?

Cloud: Of course. You ever wonder how we’d work together?

Castle: We can always find out.

castle in the sky

 

 

And so, with a wobbly foundation, amidst azurean mist, the first castle atop a cloud was built.

 

 

Signed,

A Witness