She looked on in disbelief.
“How dare they!” she snarled. “How dare they use MY word in such a way. It is my word, my word alone, yet they all use it however they want, whenever they want, without thought. I own it. I created it.”
She hissed. She’d spurt venom, if she could. She was seething.
Her word, she’d decided to claim, was ‘the’.
Convinced so she was the word was her creation, wherever it occurred, she became fuelled by rage. She’d strike through it. Cast a spell upon its user. Claim divine intervention.
As time went by, her true name became forgotten. She became known as simply ‘The Crone’.
And just how that name riled her spoke volumes. It did ‘become’ her word… only not in the way she wanted it to, or thought it always had.
And others used the word in their own way regardless.
Image from Pixabay, adapted.
Words inspired and shaped by the Powers That Be. This is a piece of fiction. Utter nonsense based upon nobody living or dead. Or undead. Completely devoid of fact. And 150 words long (or thereabouts!)
Elijah was a hapless individual.
He couldn’t rattle chains as his hands simply passed through everything. He couldn’t make eerie groans as his voice didn’t reach the correct wavelength. He had no idea how to generate a ghostly glow whenever he was in anyone’s presence. And he was terrified of his own shadow.
One day, realisation hit home with Elijah. Ghosts shouldn’t have shadows.
He got over his fear, and started making his shadow move in all kinds of strange and sinister ways.
Cottingly Manor was hosting its Annual Masquerade Ball, and Elijah decided to pop along to try out his new found skill.
The ballroom was lit by thousands of candles, all flickering this way and that, casting shadows from the dancing partygoers all around the room.
“Perfect!” Elijah thought, and proceeded to cast his spooky shadows on the walls. Nobody noticed.
Who notices shadows in a candle-lit room?
Enid shivered beneath the great rock. Carmichael tried his best to keep the fire burning, but the strong winds and torrential rain thwarted his every move.
They were both caked in mud, as was Snowy, the normally pure white cat that had strangely befriended them.
“I wish I could find us somewhere better to live, Enid.” Carmichael sounded dejected.
“We’re doing fine” Enid replied, “It’s only every now and again we have this kind of weather to put up with.”
“No… but…” Carmichael thought. “Do you believe in magic? I’m going to conjure up a magic house just for us. Just you wait and see.”
“Well, I’ll believe that when I see it.” Snowy cuddled up close to Enid, purring loudly. Her attention was grabbed by something in the rock above, and she stared intently. Enid followed her gaze. “Carmichael… the rock… it’s sparkling…”
“Told you. The magic’s started already!”
A pre-visit to Enid and Carmichael, this. We first met them just before Halloween last year, and then once again in April this year. The pair used to live in a dig-out under a bridge, but when the weather took a turn for the worse they’d move temporarily into a small cave, which offered them no protection from the elements whatsoever, but it felt safer than being under the rickety old bridge. This conversation may or may not have been the starting point for their sudden change of circumstances, but it certainly set some wheels in motion. Strange things happen… especially with these two.
Enter the realm of the Angels
Reality left behind, free now of all restrictions
All complaints, all darkness and negativity
Feel the realm of the Angels
Feel only warmth, see only light
Feel peace and love and harmony
Fly in the realm of the Angels
See blessings to count
Turn bad vibes into Good Feelings
No more crosses to bear
Rest in the realm of the Angels
Wrapped in vast angelic wings
That gently brush and soothe
Return from the realm of the Angels
With a clean plate and fresh thoughts
New ideas for a new direction
Remember the realm of the Angels
Part experience, part dream
Part signpost for a new beginning
Know that the realm of the Angels
Is there forever, open whenever
And can be visited again and again
You’ve just reached out to the Angels
And they’ve touched you in return
Lilac skies and scattered starlight belie the time of day, reflected correctly from within the Pond of Paradise, at the edge of Elsewhere. Elephants trumpet alongside a kookaburra’s call, an owl flies overhead and a snow leopard patrols the realm with stealth. On the far bank a willow weeps with joy as a rainbow appears like a bridge over the leprechaun’s fountain. Lavender scent fills the air, brought in with the gentle breeze from the Eternal Meadow. From the wooden house with the veranda that overlooks the pond, harp music can be heard through an open window, which also sends out another scent, this time of freshly baked bread. From beneath the still surface of the water, a dolphin appears. All is calm. All is well. After all, this is Elsewhere. The place where dreams come from. The place we visit every time we sleep… if only we could remember.