Elaina J. Davidson's Blog, page 51

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Irish for 'Fairy Wind'

 

Writer's humour!

 

FingerNale Tales: 10 excerpts!

FingerNale Tales: 10 Bite-sized morsels!Read the first 2 paragraphs for a feel of the shorts 😍 

These are the afterthought tales, bite-size chunks of alife’s grander design, something to gnaw on briefly before moving on.

 

The Old Man – a child’s perspective on meeting an unknownuncle

The Royal Feline – it’s a cat life indeed

The Mountains Burn – the destructive power of fire

Morning Rainbow – when a rainbow is a sign

Blood Moon – when reality feels entirely unreal

Veils of Sleep – what happens in the realms of oblivion

Winged Wonder – a winged creature walks the city streets

Glass Dreams – every time a man closes his eyes, glassshatters

First Day – a child’s perspective on her first school day

At the End – life’s long years

 

A few recorded moments in time that will ask of you a fewminutes of your day. A breathy laugh might follow, or ‘oh, yes, I see myself inthere!’ Maybe a morsel gifts a smile, while a tale creates a sense of wonder.Enjoy!

THE OLD MAN knocked on the door quiteloudly. Dad told me in no uncertain terms to stay put - children do not open doors, he said.

I stayed put with reluctance at the round kitchen table where we werehaving tea, and heard the weather-beaten wooden door creak open and my dadperemptorily demand an explanation for this interruption.

THE CAT HAS no name she is aware of.She sleeps most of her days away curled up and silent, and most of her nights,too. Occasionally she stretches, and enjoys the attention it brings her. Whenshe chooses her place of slumber, it is best to leave her in peace.

Sometimes she hears a sound, and it is familiar to her, a sound oftenrepeated, but she cannot duplicate it, for it has no meaning to her other thanthat sense of familiarity. She knows this word heralds a summons for herpresence. She sits up from her slumber and listens briefly, and then chooseswhether to answer that command or not, for sheis in control of her fate, not another.

LOOKING ACROSS THE waters darkened andstilled by night’s undeniable influence, I viewed the shadowy silhouette of thefar mountains highlighted by the half-moon setting beyond. It was a familiarsight, one I often stared at during daylight, and watched at night as the moontracked across the heavens.

This night familiarity was altered.

In the centre of the rugged range an almighty scarlet glow dominated thenight sky and seemed to flow into the invisible waters of the bay, like asphere vanishing into the depths.

AS WE DROVE along the quiet road in theearly morning, a young couple embarking on an adventure with the tank filled,trailer loaded, kids sleeping on the back seat, we wondered if we had made theright decision.

Others told us we were mad, but we ignored them. Was leaving civilisationbehind for a life in the wild a choice we could deal with long-term? Thoseothers - family - said it was stupidity.

ENTERING THE TOWN, it felt as if we hadentered another time and dimension. The name on a signboard about a kilometreback told us we were on the right road, this was the town we had marked on amap, but what we found could not have been explained by any means.

The usual was in place. Store fronts were lit for temptation at night,and some shops were still trading. There were streetlights, the typical tarredmain street, a park opposite - fronting the ocean, for we could hear wavesbreaking - bins for rubbish, advertising on walls and boards, street signs andso forth, but there the usual ended.

THE VEILS OF sleep take myconsciousness into the sub-conscious, layer upon gradual layer. When myimagination departs from my body, I open my eyes upon a different set of veils.These are as diaphanous, but they are not as benevolent.

Sticky crisscross patterns adorn my path, then another pattern andanother veil, seemingly into eternity. No arrangement is quite the same,although they are entirely geometric, therefore deliberately designed. I amfaced with an elaborate set of traps, webs meant to ensnare.

THERE ARE EYES on its wings. Many havethis subterfuge somewhere upon them, out there in the wilds, and therefore theconcept is not exactly strange. Used to fool predators, it is an effective toolof disguise. But this is not a creature of the wilds.

This is a …

That is the problem - what is it?

This is not the wild either. I am standing here at the corner of ahigh-rise building, seeking escape from the frigid wind howling through thiscity, and this winged wonder does not belong here.

THE GLASS SHATTEREDfirst and then the roof shook resoundingly. One would think it should be theother way around. First the roof shake and then the glass breaking. Warningscame first. One would expect the warning to come first, a herald to danger. Butno; the glass shattered first and then the roof shook resoundingly.

But this was not real.

He was in an aeroplane.

Snorting, he snatched the first breath of sudden awakening and staredaround him. Right. The flight from London to Glasgow.

MOM IS AWAKE first, as always, but thisis a special day. My heart pounds when I hear her slippers slapping as she goesdown the passage towards the kitchen.

Today I will go to big school for the first time.

I hear the kettle make a noise, and know she will soon come in with mytea, but today I will wear my uniform, not my normal clothes as I did before togo to my old school.

I NEVER THOUGHT I would get old. Itcomes as a surprise to sit here at age ninety. Really it does. This, for me, ismerely a number, for I do not feel nine decades old and, despite those sets often and the various injuries sustained over their progression, my body tells meit is a lie.

Is my mind as sharp as I believe? You be the judge of that. Base it onthese ruminations, perhaps.

Books taught me ...

 

Tolkien: Still round the corner