Drabble Wednesday: World Travel

Today on Drabble Wednesday we travel, journey to cities past, to days dark…

Briefly, in Paris

Such sadness in her eyes, this girl standing silent among the raucous crowds spilling onto the Paris streets. The rest, well, they are here to watch and cheer the spectacle about to unfold. But she is different. Not once, in all my times presiding over these events, have I seen sorrow. At least not in an ordinary citizen.

It does her credit, but I wonder why she grieves. I hope those feelings will not lead her into my path.

I surreptitiously watch her as I do my duty.

She turns her head, averts her eyes, as the guillotine falls.

~*~

The Venice I Adore

Ah, my beauteous city, the splendour that is Venice!

How I’ve missed you, drifting your canals while the moonlight plays amongst your shadows.

Such magnificence! You are where my heart remains, the only lady I give my fealty.

For you and I share much, do we not?

Your stone and edifice stay silent, but would they reveal your mysteries, if they could? Would you whisper my secrets? Would you confess my dark deeds? Would you betray me, as I have betrayed?

Or would you stay as voiceless as your waters? The waters that swallowed the bones of those I killed.

~*~

Fair Phoenicia

From Tyre we sailed, not three days past, on a trading ship well favoured by the gods.

I looked to sell my goods in Crete, cloth of the regal purple, and more. It was to be the making of me, the first of fortunes to fill my coffers.

Until fortune turned on a storm of ferocity.

Our ship was smashed upon the rocks, casting all to tempestuous waters.

Instead of riches, I bestowed my family mourning tears. Instead of prosperity, the sea claimed the entire. I went not to adventure, but into Death’s embrace.

Farewell, my Tyre. Farewell, my Phoenicia.

© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Lost Worlds

Today we wander, past the known and into the strange lands of forgotten worlds…

The Canals of Venice

The gentle sway of the water lapped at the canals of Venice, as it did every day. The gondolas rode the waterways, and the tourists strained their necks to see the city’s beauty. But not one, tourist or resident, looked below the water, deep within the submerged depths.

Probably best for their sanity, their gaze turned elsewhere.

For underneath those tranquil looking waters lurked a world mislaid. A world of blackened hearts and broken promises, of righteous fury and rank betrayal. A world of Venice’s past sins and the not quite dead.

A world always on the edge of awakening…

~*~

Underground

Overgrown, it sits, a hole in a hill.  It gapes like an earthen maw, this opening to some subterranean lair.  Stone stairs climb to it, beckoning travellers—come, explore. So serene, and yet foreboding, its lure has tempted many of the curious and the foolish to venture inside.

Into its dark and dank interior, meandering down, down, ever down. So enjoyable until the realization sets in. There is no path back. Only wandering downward. Wandering forever, desperate, alone, never to see the light of day again.

I know. I’ve been trying to get home for a thousand years. Perhaps more.

~*~

The Angel’s Arch

Pale, silent creatures flanked the marble archway, a pair of winged angels; stern-faced, heads slightly bowed, strong wings curled ever so slightly. They both stood guard, awaiting those who dared to approach. And many souls did approach. Some sought solace, some sought hope, all sought to pass through the archway. All were turned away.

Save her.

The dark-haired, black-eyed woman the angels awaited. The Queen returned. They bowed on knee as she passed through the shimmering archway. The world beyond greeted her in a chorus of hope. She greeted them with fire and war, and an army of bloodthirsty angels…

© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved 

Drabble Wednesday: Secrets

Today on Drabble Wednesday I delve into the dark shadows and even darker hearts…

A Venice Night

I slip through shadows and sunset and the drifting mist, my near silent footsteps swallowed by the ocean lapping against the bridge. A gondola is waiting; soon I will be lost among the murky waterways and alleys of the city. As I near my escape, I clutch my precious satchel close, my free hand grasping my stiletto.

Too late I see. An empty gondola, the flash of another blade. Pain in my side, my useless knife falls. I watch the assassin snatch away my satchel, the stolen papers reclaimed. Then he rolls me into the water and all goes black.

Winter

A winter snowfall blankets a crisp white across the mountain landscape, imbuing the night with a quiet beauty. Against the weather, welcoming light—cast from a human dwelling—flickers. A sliding door stands open, the frigid air swirling past the bamboo and wood.

A breeze wafts a flurry of the tumbling flakes inside the home. A tiny storm dances, and for a moment, a minuscule of time, the white suspends in air. Then it descends. It spawns a brief contrast to red stains on the floor, before it melts into pooling liquid.

Before it joins the blood of the dead.

Desert Sand

Footsteps, impressions in the sand. Two sets lead out into the desert, the tracks of friends, of two adventurous men. One man, a natural leader, outgoing, handsome, a risk taker. The other quiet, more introverted, cautious, but clever and patient.

One man kissed his beautiful wife as he left this morning, the other shut his door on an empty apartment. Two friends. One careless with his words, never letting his success go unremarked. The other smiles while resentment and envy churn in his heart.

Footsteps, impressions in the sand. Two sets lead out into the desert, only one lead back.