Today on Drabble Wednesday, come explore
the world of the pale, the cold, the stark and white...
The Pale Tree
It stood apart from the rest of
the grove, growing tall from a small hummock. The rough bark of the tree
glinted snow white with streaks of silver, its branches bare save for one month
a year when it sprouted greyish buds. The only colour it showed came from a
green vine twining around its trunk, and even it bloomed flowers of white in
season.
Underneath the tree, entangled in
its roots rested another layer of white. Slowly seeping into soil, nurturing
it, those rotted corpses and bones of the poor victims buried alive.
Sacrifices.
To the Tree of Death.
~*~
Under the Frozen Earth
The sun sets on silence, and a
vast frozen wasteland. No wind blows, no birds fly, not a sound breaks the
settling of dusk on the world. Only the cold, the snow, and the deep frozen expanse
that ever tightens its grip exist.
The cold and frost run deep. Down,
down to the Old World, the world that once existed. A place of faraway dreams
and summer. A realm that died in its own hubris, swallowed by the endless
winter. A domain that yet whispers,
locked in its prison of ice. Where the dead stare upward, frozen in their screams.
~*~
White Petals and Lace
Remains of the past.
One white rose and a scrap of ivory-coloured
lace.
Resting next to a small silver
box.
The pale kitchen curtains flutter
in the breeze, and the sweet smell of summer grasses wafts through the window.
If you listen, you can almost hear the laughter drifting across time. When the
family gathered for picnics in the yard, when the aroma of potato salad and mayonnaise
filled the room.
But those days are long gone.
Only the dead are left, with the
last body now crumpled on the kitchen tile.
The poison from the silver box
works quickly.
© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights
Reserved
