Morning all. I’m a little bit stuffy which somehow makes me feel like I am running a bit later than I think I actually am. I think it is the sinus meds. Still let’s alleviate the feeling by jumping into the morning prompt with both feet. Ready, set, jump! I mean write.
I find this interesti9ng. At first I thought i would just create a scene and then use the setting for something. Then a character popped up out of nowhere. And now I need to figure out who he is and what he is up to. I am probably going to think about this all day.
Tuesday, March 28th: The long grass bent in the wind.
The long grass bent in the wind. A storm was coming. Dark clouds massed on the horizon. They were heavy. pressing down as though the shadow of awaiting doom was readying to descend and crush the world beneath. The insects were silent. Earlier they buzzed and chirruped and skritched. Now there was silence.
The trees started to sway in the gathering wind. At first it was a silent dance, but then limbs began to rub together in harsh grating sounds. The trees groaned, bothered by their own sounds. Their swaying dance became more frenetic, a beseeching to the heavens. Begging from relief from the wind or the blessing of rain.
Only they knew.
Edging along the road was a lone figure. Bundled as though braced for a cold more fierce than the coming storm would provide, the form was indistinct. Human shaped but no other features cold be determined. Gender was obscured even height was indeterminate as the outer garments made it impossible to tell if the figure hunched or stood straight.
The figure stepped from the road leaving it behind. It moved between the swaying trees with a swiftness and surety that seemed at odds with the bulk of its bundled frame. The figure knew where it was going and meant to get there.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and the figure paused, head tilted to better catch the sounds. The cloth fell back from its face revealing the figure off a man. Once he might have been called handsome. Now three scars sliced across his face, pulling the lines of his visage into a tangled mass of flesh. The slices started out clean and then the lines tangled.
The cuts were fresh, still raw and only just beginning to scab over in places. As though the wind reminded him of the wound, he lifted his scarf and wrapped it tighter about his face. Whether he was hiding from the world or protecting it from the weather only he could say. Perhaps it was both.
He turned away from the sound of approaching thunder and the lights that dances along the massed clouds. His pace increased as though eager now to complete his task before the rains arrived. He reached the small clearing in the wood and paused. He glanced to the sky as though orienting himself. As there were no markings of sun, moon or stars to guide him, he looked back down towards the earth. He walked to the nearest tree and studied its swaying creaking bole.
Not finding what he was looking for he moved to the next, and then the next and then further on, inspecting each tree bordering the clearing until he found one that made him pause. He stopped and placed a hand on the trunk. The swaying of the tree stopped. The other trees around continued to dance in the wind, but this one stood still, frozen by his touch.
Then the bark opened. A slice down the center as though a knife sliced through. It opened deep to the pulp beneath exposing the inner core. The man took a small object from his pocket. Placed it inside the tree and allowed the slice to close.
Ten til Midnight 