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300 WORD CHALLENGE -- number 3 — READ FIRST POST!!

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Quokka

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

CARVED REDEMPTION


Lowe couldn’t give her the body she deserved, he knew that. Chisels and emery could not free perfection but at least she felt right and he knew that was enough, for both of them.

As his hands left her body the joy faded to an echo and was replaced by a fear that threatened to bury him, to leave him crying before her or worse, bleeding his life out at her feet.

Why had he ever started? He couldn’t move her, couldn’t hide her and he certainly couldn’t afford her.

In the end he couldn’t save her.

He was thankful for the blow that knocked him to the ground and left the fear hanging above him, not far above but for now not within. He had been indentured so long that he knew it was a masonry hammer that had hit him even before he looked up to see his friend Bandle.

There was fear in Bandle’s face but it wasn’t Lowe’s fear. It was a closer, more immediate fear. Arising from a known source and leading to rational actions.

“Why?” Pleaded Bandle. Different fears birthing the same question.

Having no answer Lowe simply said “The headstones are finished.”

“You idiot, the rough cuts will be short, the Gaffer will turn that into rubble just to prove a point and you’ll be nailed to the quarry face before sundown.”

Lowe wasn’t really talking to his friend when he replied. “All I can give her are a few moments in an ill fitting body or an eternity divided and remembering lives no longer here.”

“But the stone’s not alive!”

Not for you it isn’t, Lowe thought but he didn’t bother saying it aloud. As far as he was concerned he had one afternoon to figure out how to save a life.
 

HoopyFrood

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

Snake Eyes

Death.

He loathed it. The first few thousand years he had railed against it, cursed it, promised the most unimaginable demise for Death itself.

Now – when? Another eternity, that was how he counted the time now, one eternity after another – now he was sullenly pensive. Others would have gone mad trapped in this void. Or perhaps it was his own doing, clinging onto his consciousness as adamantly as he had. It was a blessing to not remember those gulfs of darkness on either side of the scrap of life.

He needed to go back. He had had so much -- armies under his command, conquered cities, countries bound by his unrelenting rule. Power and control.

But death. It had ruined it all. He knew now that it was his greatest enemy -- and he would throw it down and smite it like all others in his way.

The worm that had needed to target his turned back would not evade him either, whatever form he might be hiding in now. If not him, his family. There would surely be many of them by now. He would treat it as a gift to himself, before the real work began.

Then his inevitable rise once again. It would surpass his previous achievements by ten fold, at least. The world would have moved on in the intervening years – but he had always been good at adapting to new situations.

He just had to wait.

****​

The Universe rolled its dice.

****​

The world was a kaleidoscope of shattered images.

Something sweet – so sweet! – filled his senses. Close. It was irresistible. He crept forward.

“Ew! No! Bad!”

A sticky, pink thumb descended. His tiny body popped in a wholly unremarkable blot.
 

chrispenycate

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

Agape

They never said the Gorgon killed you, just turned you into stone, stopped you moving, having fun. Mind you, the full mortals might well be dead. My daddy was a god; not much into smiting or chucking thunderbolts about, perhaps, but his arrows lifted human interactions from mere grunting copulation to trancendence, the main subject for all art forms. I loved him lots, even if his duties meant he couldn’t always be there with me.

Other gods disapproved. They’d kept him infantile to prevent me existing, so a race valuing love and compassion over combat and cruelty would never see the day. But not one of them hadn’t disobeyed the strictures, that naught that does not age and die shall reproduce. Who could enforce the rules on them?

So they sent Medusa. When did they ever care how many mortals died, or lived on in agony? And I was conveniently immobilised. The village was littered with statues, playmates, their parents, goats, dogs. A stone robin watched the midden for blind, immune worms, and she had stoned the crows.

Daddy was frantic; romantic love took a grizzly turn for a few centuries. Of course he knew I was still here, but his powers can only generate life one way, and he , loving me beyond cupidity, without eroticism, wanted his daughter back, not another. Had I been in Hades he would have transformed death, but this eternal paralysis exceeded his powers, his dreams of mortals loving without war.

Tender emotions lost, man loved in combat, raped his wife, or neighbour’s, took pleasure never to return it. Arrows remained in quiver while stone slowly decayed, offering freedom in ten thousand years.

To fly again, to cry again, take up my task replacing war.

And thumb my nose at near-forgotten gods.
 

Ökuþórr

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

[FONT=&quot]When Angels Fall.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Man flees and man hides, man fights and man dies, blood flows when Angels fall.” I said it aloud; don’t know why since there’s nobody around to hear, especially not in this place. We’ve all heard it before, from our parents and grandparents; some old saying from a time shortly after the sky cracked and the Angels descended, driving us from our towns and cities, slaughtering. “Be glad for the dead, pity those left to suffer.” Father used to tell me these things before I went to bed. I snorted. Exactly what a child wants to hear before he goes to sleep.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
I let out a yawn and my stomach grumbled. Should’ve packed more food. I stood slowly, slinging my pack and sword over my shoulder and picking up my rifle. Not the best weapon against Angels since bullets don’t kill them, but they sure as hell do shred their wings. Well, the Archs anyway; the Seraphs six wings move way to fast.
I turned and took one last look at the statue I’d been resting against. An Angel, female, worn but beautiful. It marked an old grave; there were hundreds of them here. My grandmother told me people used to believe Angels watched over them, believed they were beings of light, protectors, that’s why they were used on graves. “Yeah, light that can blind and sear flesh from bone.” I used to say. “Fools” I’d called them. I remember she would berate me for it. “Lack of knowledge doesn’t make one a fool boy. Having that knowledge and ignoring it makes the fool. That our ancestors were wrong, that they didn’t know, doesn’t make them stupid.” I sighed smiling and scanned the graveyard, every Angel. So peaceful. “Maybe all the good ones turned to stone, cursed by their cousins.”
[/FONT]
 

alchemist

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

Cast a cold eye

Jim cleared the snow from the image on her headstone -- long red hair swept down over her shoulders, flowing over her cuddly elephant on Christmas morning. The anger threatened to break through again but he held firm, concentrating on what he had to do. He pulled wilted flowers out of their vase and lifted the ceramic butterfly, a crack running along its length. He could fix that -- it was all he could do for her now.

Jim turned, ready to run, when he looked at her photo. No more Christmasses, no more waving goodbye in the morning, no more bedtime hugs and "Night, Daddy."

And that was it -- his defences were breached. A silent scream rose up and it was all he could do to keep from crying out. Pain and overwhelming loss crumbled what little psychological walls remained. He staggered away in a daze, arms wrapped around flowers and butterfly as if it was all that remained, desperate to get to his car and escape.

The squeal of brakes snapped his attention back. For a brief moment, he imagined the black truck as a carriage sent to take him to her. But it stopped just feet away and the ashen-faced driver jumped down from the cab. He ran to the back of the truck and peered underneath.

"Where is she?" he pleaded.

"Who?"

"The girl, with the red hair. She was on the road and I couldn't stop in time, but...she's gone. I must have missed her."

"Lucky you," Jim said.

"You and me both." Relief crept over the driver's face. "If I hadn't braked then, I'd have hit you."

Jim's jaw dropped. Red hair. He stumbled towards the car, ignoring the driver's concern. Something tickled his clenched fist. He opened it and the butterfly flew away.
 

Parson

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

The forgotten angel

In a past aeon my beauty was beyond compare. Orcs and Elves battled to be my consort. The body of an angel freely given grants much more than fantasy. It bestows virile power and ecstasy beyond description. To be my consort would mean a life of sensuous endeavor and unmatched splendor.

Against all propriety, I planned to cement my destiny. I would choose my own consort. The hard logic of finance guided me. “If the goods are desirable, the price is steep.” Mine was. My consort must give sensual fulfillment beyond merely human ability and bring a people who would worship me. I knew that I was worth the price. But no one seemed able to sate my lusty desires.

At last the Prince of Persia swept upon my stage. I discovered the one who could fulfill my lusts. He possessed dark power, bottomless resources, and millions of minions. He would satisfy my desires completely.

I was so convinced that our union would be the one against which all legends would be judged, that I informed the world of our future joining. I made plans for world conquest and life as a god.

I should have known better. The true author of the world has an unalterable law: “Pride leads to devastation.” My devastation was complete and eternal. At the Prince’s mere word, my life force was added to his. He has everything. I have nothing.

For ages now I’ve been bound in this stone unable to even shoo spiders. Nothing else notices me. No one remembers who once I was. I am lost. I am hopeless. I am helpless. I long for any reality, but this.

It is not to be. Here I stand forgotten and forlorn, a victim of my own conceit.
 

Mith

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

BY DEATH RELEASED



I hate this life, I hate this world, I can’t deal with this pain anymore.

With faltering steps I walk through the gates to this garden of death, stumble past memorials for the lost left by the bereaved.

I’m looking for my Angel, I know she is here somewhere, I’ve seen her in my dreams. Every night for weeks now she has visited my dreams, calling to me, promising to take my pain away. Every night for weeks I have longed to go to her and lay myself at her feet. Always I’ve resisted, afraid for those I’m leaving behind, but no more.

Silvery moonlight illuminates my path, guiding my feet, leading me inexorably on.

In a leaf covered glade I find my Angel. She is waiting for me, a carven beauty in stone, a promise of endless peace. I sit at her feet and rest my head against her knees, from a pocket I withdraw a knife. Two cuts is all it takes, just two quick cuts to release a lifetime of hidden pain. The knife falls from my fingers and pressing my wrists on stone I let my blood pool at her feet. I let the moon see my final smile.

There is pain, a horrific wrenching pain…

A blood tinged mist surrounds me, a voice loaded with regret speaks to me.

“With your death you take my place, until another releases you.”

I look out at the world with eyes of stone, trapped in this prison by my own useless death. Wreaths and flowers adorn me, memento’s of grief I don’t deserve. I see you arrive, crowned in sunlight, tears falling at my feet as you kneel.

“Oh Claire, why?” I see you step away and hear a final whisper, “I miss you beautiful.”
 

Ashcroft

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

The Sentinel


His gaze mirrored her solemnity, as he looked down upon his guardian. The angel’s face had pitted with decades of erosion, and her once-alabaster sheen had deteriorated into a mucky grey. Yet, still she stood a silent vigil for his safe passage. He grimly fastened the buckles of his lacquered leather and tightened the scabbard around his waist.

Guardian stones littered the small woodland, guiding both the fallen and the living alike. Some bore youthful, cherubic faces. Some were fashioned after mighty beasts, both mythical and real. Some were little more than clan symbols. Yet, she was his. Her downturned smile and unseeing eyes were his alone; his to call upon in some distant field, his to summon from the depths of despair, and his to wed beneath when the day should come.

He pressed two fingers to his lips and then to hers, before turning and striding from the Guardians’ Woods. The journey ahead of him would be perilous, and fraught with conflict, but she would guide him and, if the spirits were willing, bring him safely home.

He found his fellows awaiting him at the well-worn path that lead to the Guardians. Uneasy expressions were written across their swarthy faces; their unease at the rites of his people were clear for all to see, but the coming days wouldn’t allow petty distastes to turn the hearts of men against their kinsmen. The fell beasts had risen, and so all must answer the call.

In the woods behind them, the stone angel stared sightlessly into his future. She saw his death, the pain that would befall him, and the tears others would shed for him. But these revelations were hers alone, and just as she stood sentinel for him in life, so too would she in death.
 

Moonbat

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

We are not a-mused




“Go down and inspire them.”

“But I want to stay within your presence.”

“Your talents are wasted here, the front line is down there. I created you to inspire. Go! Lead them away from the dark mutations, lead them towards beauty and perfection.”

“Please don't send me away.”

It was too late, I felt home disintegrate and an alien atmosphere settle around me. I was stuck on Earth, tasked with inspiring these damned dirty apes into something approaching perfection.


Over time I had many triumphs; great poems, beautiful songs, angelic sculptures and breathtaking art, but battles were lost and a darker sentiment took hold.
I knew his handiwork; I witnessed his aberrations during the war. Within their beastly hearts his poison thrived, through them he birthed monsters that have no place in His kingdom. I watched them glorify him, praising those that realised his terrible designs. My blood ran cold when I saw Dracula, my heart pitied Frankenstein, Cthulu sickened me. What nightmare inspired such demonic miscreation?


They entertain each other with a plethora of nauseating tales of death and betrayal. I try gifting them my ideas, to be the muse I was sent to be, but nothing can save them from the mire of their own eternally damned souls.

A group of blasphemous writers stumble upon my picture and some spew forth a few hundred words for my benefit. Too often they ignore my meaning, they twist or mock my story. In one, eager to write, I fail to inspire at all. Words pour from his fingers but his heart is closed, he is insulted by my form. I'm a failed muse, unable to inspire even the most fertile mind into anything more than a tragedy.
 
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Boneman

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

Looking Back


We'd been sent to observe. The army was coming and would utterly destroy them: homes, businesses - everything. Most say they deserved what they got.

Our instructions were strict: as little contact with the population as possible, nothing to arouse unwanted attention. We were to live on the streets, fade into the background.

Then this guy saw us, and thought we were down and outs and invited us into his home. We tried to say no, but he insisted. Neighbours must have seen us and thought he was harbouring spies or terrorists. Before you knew it, a crowd gathered outside his house and things got ugly. He was incredible; there was no way he was going to hand us over, even though we could have looked after ourselves. His wife and daughters were under threat, but he was prepared to risk everything to protect us, because it was the right thing to do. In the end we had no choice. We released the gas and knocked the crowd out. We told the guy what was coming. Imminently. He deserved no less.

The attack was due at dawn, and the sky was already changing. We gave clear instructions - cover every inch of skin and the radiation wouldn't affect them. We helped them pack, just food and water and some money. We hurried through the city, and slipped through the gates, heading for the mountains. The bombing started and we pushed on, desperate to get them to safety.

We were almost there when I saw his wife turn her head to look. I sprang, putting myself between her and the city, shielding her. But my hood and cloak fell away. The radiation struck me, and I turned to salt. For ever. Lot and his family were safe.
 

The Judge

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

... tears


Autumn has crept slowly past the yews which guard the entrance, and the shadows now come early to the graveyard. Yet still the sunbeams dance upon her statue – the light refuses to forsake her. Glistening leaves of red and gold fall about the angel’s head, echoes of the brightness of her hair. A glint of sun highlights the star upon the angel’s brow. A star of evening. A star of mourning.

*

And we go live to Novoluz where sensational developments are being reported. Cris, is it true the laser beams destroying the city have ended as suddenly as they began?

*

After so many years, we were reconciled to childlessness: we no longer prayed for a miracle. Then the miracle happened.

A shooting star to wish upon. A falling star for me to catch. The meteor fragment – a sliver of red and gold, a spear of flame. I conceived that night.

Hespera we called her, after the evening star. She called herself Luce.

Light she brought into our lives. Light. Then death. And tears. So many tears.

*

Other news while we wait for the President’s address. Scientists still can’t explain the mysterious widespread episodes of spontaneous combustion which have killed so many people in the last months.

*

It started with a dog which frightened her. It simply... burned. Then a neighbour who shouted abuse. An old man who got in our way. A woman talking to herself. Then Dio, her father.

Then...

She had to purify the cities, she said. Purify them with light and flame.

*

My fellow citizens, rejoice! The beams of destroying light have gone. We can return.

*​

I was the only one who knew. The only one who could act.


My light, my love, my bringer of tears. The daughter I killed to save the world.
 

Teresa Edgerton

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

Forever After

The king had tired of her: no longer came to her bed, no longer sat with her at table. No one was surprised when he gave the order.

They took the young queen, weeping with fear, to an empty cell and chained her to a spinning wheel. They brought in straw enough to fill half the room.

“Spin,” they said, “make straw into gold.”

When the last servant left, casting a rueful glance over his shoulder, she began a frantic struggle to pull herself free. Yet, though the links were of base metal, they would not snap and the cuffs chafed her wrists until blood ran down her arms.

The dwarf could not save her. And she knew better, now, than to expect the king’s mercy.

She remembered how they had lain together in a soft bed, how he had often wrapped a strand of her hair around one wrist, making a bracelet of it. More precious than real gold, he said, then kissed her with the lie still on his lips.

She was too common, she understood at last. The kind of girl he might lie with in the fields and forget the next day. Perhaps the spinning wheel and chains had been waiting all along.

At intervals, servants brought her soft bread and wine. But as time passed, they noticed she ate less and less. The bloody struggle to free herself had ceased. She sat so still, spiders spun webs in her hair.

One day, something about her pallor disturbed them. They gathered around to get a closer look. In the way of fairy tales, grief had turned her to whitest marble. A tiny spider dangled from one eyelash like a teardrop.

The next day, the king announced his betrothal to a princess with a very large dowry.

 

TheDustyZebra

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]To Accept with Serenity[/FONT]




The pictures in our hallway trace the lifetime of our angel; cherub-cheeked baby, laughing little girl, impish smile in school pictures -- one, two, three, but no more. The last picture tells a tale we don't repeat to anyone, ever.


Grace disappeared on her 8th birthday, on vacation in France. She went to bed after her party and simply vanished. Months of endless nightmare followed: fruitless searching, skeptical and then downright hostile interrogations in a language we had quickly to master, and in the end, no trace. No Grace.


When the call came, my wife sent me to talk to the old man; she'd had more than she could take of false hopes.


I met him at the specified church, noting that he had failed to mention the adjacent graveyard.


“I know where your Grace is,” he'd said, but the tale he spun was ludicrous, impossible.


“I've lived here all my life; I've seen things.”


He showed me the statues -- hundreds of years old, all, yet this one over here appeared only a dozen years ago, and that one just a few years before it. He showed me pictures. Pictures of the graveyard over the years, and pictures of missing children, clipped from newspapers.


“But that's ridiculous,” I said. “How could that be?”


And then he took me to the last statue. My angel Grace's sweet face, there in that stone monument at the edge of a cemetery in France.


“But this statue is ancient, just look at it!” Reason warred with emotion in my heart.


“Well, yes -- and no. It's been here for about 200 years. But it disappeared for years, and only recently reappeared.”


“Disappeared?”


“This angel was gone for eight years. Well, 8 years and 9 months, to be precise.”
 

mosaix

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

When A Restraining Order Just Isn't Enough...

Holding the cigarette with painful, arthritic fingers he takes one last pull before dropping it to the carpet and crushing it under foot. Through his window he watches as the gang of youths and their football get closer.


Behind him a small electric fire barely warms the room. In one corner a pile of old newspapers, in another empty sherry bottles. On a table, amongst unwashed plates and glasses, a black cat sniffs at an empty fish can.

They’re outside now and, just as he knew they would, start kicking the ball hard against his fence, watching and waiting for a reaction. He does nothing. Harder, still nothing. Finally the ball flies into his unkempt garden breaking a small, concrete pond ornament – a winged statue.

Again he does nothing but stand and watch as his main tormentor, the one with protruding ears, kicks open his gate, collects the ball, makes an obscene gesture and spits at his door on the way out. The others stand and jeer.

He scrapes with a thumbnail at some spilt food on his sweater and ponders, once again, a solution to his problem.

He turns slowly, settles into a chair, takes up a dusty black book and starts flicking through the pages.

***

Again he watches from the window. Knots of neighbours stand at gates looking up and down the street, talking quietly. Others watch from behind twitching curtains. A police car is parked further down and opposite two policemen, one taking notes, talk to a couple on their doorstep.

His looks over to where his new statue stands, it has particularly protruding ears.

On the floor his cat, with a single paw, holds open the black book at the start of a new chapter, the heading prominent in gothic script – Cast In Stone.
 
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Devil's Advocate

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

When Angels Deserve to Die


They arrived unexpected. Their origins mysterious, their purpose unknown.

Winged and fair of face, they quickly gained the trust of the populace. Power, riches, love; they promised to bring all, for all. And for a time, they did. Dreams of glory were dreams no more, and the City prospered. And their greatest gift of all, the Steel Servants. Giant beings, they lived only to serve The Forgotten, and created marvels for all to admire. With every tower that reached to the skies, the love for them grew. With every multi-storey galleon that set sail, the people worshipped them more. Lights that glowed without fire, carriages that rode through the air; men and women had new Gods to which they prayed. The Farishtae.

The Forgotten built monuments to their glory, and sculpted their images throughout the Ancient Forest.

Then the Servants went mad, and as they did, the Farishtae left. They had arrived unexpectedly, and just as unexpectedly, they were gone. Their destination mysterious, their purpose unknown.

Az walked past yet another statue, the fifth he had seen in the last seventeen miles. Seventeen miles through the dark, eerily quiet forest, with its canopy of branches all but blotting out the sunlight. Perhaps there was a time when the statues -- pearly white and gleaming in the trickling light beneath the greens -- cast a wondrous and heart-warming sight for those who beheld it. But that time was long past. Now they seemed to smirk, gloating at the havoc they had wrought.

Baldur’s Gate had revealed many secrets of the Old Ones to Az, and the knowledge only served to add to the sense of unease he felt when gazing at the marble-carved statues.

They brought the Steel Servants, and the Steel Servants brought death.

Farishtae they called themselves. Angels.
 

Culhwch

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

Revenant

She had always felt safe in the graveyard. It was ever constant, changing only from season to season. In the summer, lizards warmed themselves atop gravestones, while autumn saw the leaves fall from the trees to carpet the ground in bronze and gold. Winter’s snow would blanket everything, leaving the stone angels to rise from the misty ground like ethereal sentinels, and now, in the spring, spiders emerged to spin webs between their wings and cover their faces in shrouds of gossamer.

There was another reason she felt safe here, though. For some reason, they avoided it. She had never seen one pass through the gate – it seemed the restless dead were not fond of the silent departed. Perhaps she had it backwards, though. Perhaps it was the restful dead who did not suffer their animate kin. The thought brought a smile to her face.

Her favourite spot was a shaded corner in the oldest part of the yard, where cornflowers grew amongst tumbled headstones and a weeping angel gazed skyward. She remembered the day she’d brought her brother here, not long after their mother had turned. This is our guardian, she’d told him. She cries for what she has lost, but she knows there is hope yet. That’s why her gaze is not cast down, like so many others.

The words echoed in her memory: There is hope yet.

The light was failing, and she knew had to move; they were most active during the night. She shouldered her pack and made sure the rifle was loaded.

There is hope yet.

She wouldn’t return here, she knew. Her brother was out there somewhere, lost, but she would find him. And when she did, she would lay him to rest.

Her gaze cast down, she walked away from the angel.
 

Ursa major

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

A Poseidon Adventure?


Beautiful, isn't she? And innocent, a carved angel guarding the dead, tolerating the attention of sun, wind and rain, adorned with an ever-changing garment of nature’s choosing. But sometimes such beauty is only skin deep....

* * *​

The churchyard, the note said. Ten o’clock. Bring food.

The meeting would be private: the villagers locked their doors early. “Afraid of the dark,” they’d say with a look of horror so pronounced that I suspected they were making fun of me.

Jake, owner of my holiday let, had been the same when he’d mentioned Aussie Pete. Now I know my compatriots can be fearsome on a sports field, but causing people to say their name in a terrified whisper? Ridiculous. And intriguing, so I’d asked where I could find this Pete.

“You can’t,” Jake had said, which only heightened my curiosity. “There are things no man should seek,” he’d added, in a way that implied having a drink with someone from back home was some sort of dangerous sin. Which is why, a week later, I’d been surprised to get the note.

As I walked beneath the giant yew, I still assumed the whole thing was a hoax. With a full moon in a cloudless sky, I had no trouble seeing. Not until a great shadow raced across the damp grass.

“Food!” the creature demanded, threatening to strike me with its powerful wings. “Quick! Before Yellow sees you.”

Too afraid to disobey, I held out the pack. “Aussie Pete?”

She said nothing, tearing into the food.

“You’re beautiful.”

“You should go,” she said. “Yellow prefers her meat fresh. So does the dark.”

I fled to the sound of beating wings and shrieks. Had she saved me? Maybe. Or perhaps she’d found someone fool enough to bring her food again tonight.


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Teresa Edgerton

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Re: THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #3 — Read First Post!!

And the 300 Word Challenge is closed to entries.

A superlative job, everyone!

The poll will be along shortly.
 
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