Tea in the storm

I walked through the field and got more comfortable in my chair. The wind was high, it flew through the grains as I blew on my tea. It was perfect. My socked feet were warm under the blanket and I stumbled on the dirt path. Nothing hurt. The view was just what I needed, peaceful and well known but still capable of astonishing and inspiring me to take one more step, to take another look, to wonder. A deep breath filled me with the scent of tea, crisp air and flowers. I couldn’t see them. Tea fogged my glasses over, the blooms stayed hidden closer to the earth. I reached down to look for them and picked up a blanket, and blue filled my vision. It was warm and comfortable enough that I fell asleep.

Over the field clouds were darkening the sky. It was time to move along. I gathered a few flowers for company, got back on the path and started walking again. Soon the wind picked up. It was getting colder. The clouds were getting darker. My clothes and hand were wet and smelled of tea. The rain started falling. There was a forest nearby, shadowed and dry and welcoming, and I ran there, with heavy droplets on my back, flowers clenched in my fist and suddenly slippery ground beneath my feet. I stumbled, hurt my ankle. Thunder covered up my cry of pain as I hurried, limping towards the tree-covered hill. I fell again when lightning flashed and illuminated a house in a clearing. It was so close. I crashed through the bushes drenched, scratched and limping, but the house was right there before me. I stumbled to safety as the storm raged above me. I battered at the door but the thunder was louder so I tried to enter. The doors were closed and didn’t budge. My calls for help went unanswered and I needed to hide. I gathered my strength and dashed towards a flimsy wooden shed.

I woke up well rested, despite sleeping in the chair. The blanket was still snug around me but the tea must have spilt when I nodded off because it was a bit damp. I got up to clean up and make some tea. From the windows, I could see broken branches and drenched earth, signs of another storm I slept through. There even was a charred stump near the shed. I grabbed my mug and went to check for damage, picking up the crushed flowers from my doorstep on the way. The wind must have blown them here from the fields. I hope it didn’t damage the roof again.


Prompt: Notable

eye-jarNothing of note happens around us anymore. Everything is gathering dust, even the bust has a new grimy crown. We who can see so much now must sit idle and bored, with none of the excitement that drew us here. Before, we spun wildly trying to take everything in. Before, we absorbed every scrap of knowledge we could glean. We learned from every angle until we knew it all and when it changed we looked anew, but that was all before. Now nothing happens. We sit still. There is no thrill in a silent drill. Nothing to learn without a good burn. The cages sit empty, the table is bare and we are trapped here with our despair. If only something happened, anything notable. We hope that the one who made us comes back when he is able. He could show us new things or grant us our repose. We cannot close.

Authentic lost soul sound


Authentic sound of a soul long gone

Will bring us right where we belong.

On the stage

amidst the void

our wails are loudest

they will bring you along.

You will be hugged close

by our most haunting voice,

we will show you our best

long teeth filled noise

lest you leave us


in our forever home empty concert hall

that swallows echoes and craves a soul.

The Queen Makers

They have been wandering for a long time now, in search of a worthy queen they would build a kingdom for. Their numbers lessened with each passing season and they were getting old. Old enough to slow their steps, to have time to understand and carefully consider those they met. To take necessary brakes in unlikely places. To finally succeed.

There were but a few of them left when they found her. She was walking through the fields, heading home. Small and young, but they were old and wise, and saw the potential inside of her. Knew what questions to ask, what to say to make her consider them in turn. And stay.

They fed her. Stories of olden days, of forgotten lands, of unchanging human nature through it all. She sat, listened and learned. They protected her. Their backs became walls, wrinkled and harsh like old trees, shielding her and giving peace needed for her to bloom. They taught her when to kill and sway, sat her on their laps and taught her to manipulate, then said:

“This is your throne.”

She was a queen. Through words and deeds learned in her castle of rough bark and stony expressions she conquered. Her kingdom grew with every victory, as did they. Halls of glory encircled the throne room and windows to the past hang above every trophy of the present. Towers grew high and bright just as necessary secrets burrowed deep to become dungeons filled with shadow and pain. The walls started to gleam.

Her reign was complete and her castle magnificent. The throne still sometimes whispered words of advice. The fundaments were strong in their knowledge of a job well done.

She has been a queen for a long time. She was getting old. There were no more whispers. The towers looked upon the horizon for the first time in years. The windows looked too, in yearning, in hunger. The walls were losing their shine, in preparation. They would not have to wait long now.

The queen has been dead for a while. They were ready to wander again. There were only a few of them when they found her, but their numbers grew again. With every wall fading, they grew stronger, their purpose gleaming anew. Every window became eyes wide open for new stories to tell. Everything she was, everything she made, they took. The throne crumbled and stretched, and now well rested, lead them forward again in search of a worthy queen.