Drabble Wednesday: The Realm of Gods

Today on Drabble Wednesday I take you to see deities most fierce and terrible...

The Temple

It stands tall on its island, amid the eternal snow, casting its reflection in the surrounding lake.

The Temple of the Dark Gods.

So why is it quiet? Why do its halls stay silent?

Scarlet stains coat its marble floors and foul air seeps from its walls, a rancid stench of decay. Its gods breathe no more, its rooms house corpses, not deities. Murder came to the Dark Gods and left carnage in its wake.

Their own fault, truly.

Never raise a shadow you can’t control.

They will have to give their shrine a new name.

The Temple of Death.

~*~

When Things Go Awry

I thought I had all the time in the universe.

Literally.

I’m the God of Time after all.

But my existence was not quite that simple.

I found out too late.

The sands of the God of Time are running out, felled by such a spiteful thing as jealousy. I knew of my brother’s resentment, but not how the God of History wanted my place in the pantheon. He tried to steal my hourglass totem, but destroyed it instead.

Now I will soon be gone.

But I will have the last laugh. For when I die, the universe will follow.

~*~

Snows of Change

Winter followed in her footsteps.

A goddess of surreal beauty, silver hair and blue satin, swirled in snowflakes and frost, born on northern wind. Barefoot she walked, leaving a trail of prints in the falling snow that surrounded her.

She saw a man on the road, his mouth agape; the package he carried fallen unnoticed. She stopped before him, reached out, touched his cheek.

“Your world is mine now.”

His skin chilled, his blood froze, his heart turned to hoarfrost; he transformed from flesh to ice sculpture. She smiled and walked on.

The Winter Queen lived to conquer and destroy.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Changing Seasons

In honour of the first Drabble Wednesday for October, come join the telling of a few tales of the seasons...

Winter Chill

The first nip of true cold in the air, a shiver that slowly burrows under the skin and buries itself. That’s when you know. Winter will arrive soon. If you haven’t prepared by then, it’s too late. By that beginning taste of winter, your stores should have been gathered and stocked.

And your final arrangements reviewed and amended if necessary.

Because you never know who’ll die.

Maybe no one, if the winter’s mild. The food will last, and the snow won’t smother. That’s what you hope for. That’s why you pray to the gods.

But sometimes, they want a sacrifice.

~*~

Spring Thaw

The birds are chirping outside the kitchen window these mornings, a sure sign spring is coming. And I saw a crocus poking out its green shoots by the doorstep, so I expect the last of the snow will be melting soon, though it’ll be a while farther up the mountainside.

Does my heart glad to see the change in season. It’s been a hard winter with my husband gone, even if I’m happy he ain’t around no more.

I just hope I buried the body deep enough. Wouldn’t do to have it popping out of the ground in the thaw.

~*~

Summer’s End

A sultry wind blows through the cherry trees, rustling the green leaves, and the ripened fruit. Soon it will be time for last harvest, and the leaves will turn to vibrant warm colour. But, for now, the final bit of summer lingers.

These are beautiful moments, this suspended measure between seasons, between the thriving and the waning of nature. You can feel them mesh and merge, separate and struggle, the everlasting war twixt life and death.

Like me.

No wonder I feel a natural kinship.

I died in this cherry grove. Now, as a wandering ghost, I live here eternally.

~*~

© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved

That’s it for this week, but be sure to pop back next week for a special October Frights horror version of Drabble Wednesday, as part of the week long October Frights Blog Hop.

Drabble Wednesday: Unexpected Apocalypse

It’s the end of the world again on Drabble Wednesday...

Snowmageddon

Apparently it snowed when I wasn't looking.

Everywhere.

Literally everywhere in the  world.

The entire planet’s covered in a blanket of white, and temperatures have dropped below freezing. It happened here overnight. The sun set on a beautiful summer day and the next morning I opened the curtains to winter. Other places saw it coming. The news is full of speculation and people are freaking.

Me, I dug my parka and snow boots out of the closet, and checked the generator. The storm cellar’s full of provisions and I’m all set.

Guess being a survivalist ain’t so crazy after all.

~*~

Split Second

One small second.

Infinitesimal.

Until it is slowed, broken down into eternity.

Then it lasts a lifetime. A thousand lifetimes.

Spun out like cotton candy unraveled.

I am glad of that.

This moment should last, as long as possible.

It is a fleeting monument to hubris, guilt and regrets. It is my duty to value this transitory instant, to hold it, walk through it, study it, as the universe unspools.

The consequence is mine. I knew the risks when I threw the switch.

I knew the world, the universe could burn, that time itself could cease.

And now it has.

~*~

Wave Goodbye

We never listened.

We had warnings. We had so many warnings. But we ignored all of them. Took everything for granted. Thought we were so superior.

But we’re not.

We never were.

Now we pay for our arrogance.

Now we wait.

The end will come differently, depending where you lived on this earth. Some areas are in drought, some experienced earthquakes, volcanic activity hit other places.

Me, I’m waiting to drown. The already high water levels are about to experience a super tsunami. No way to outrun it in time.

So I wait to die.

No one gets out alive.

© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved

Festival of Drabbles: Discord and Harmony

And we come to our farewell post for this wondrous Festival of Drabbles. I shall play you out with a bit of a dark melody…

Rime and Season

The frost wind swirled down from the mountain, and the icicles hanging from the trees chimed with its passing. It blew down the cobblestone streets, and around the corners and cracks of brick and mortar. It rattled the wooden shutters and howled down the chimneys. It churned the snow drifts and swooshed about the settled grime.

Nothing else moved in the quiet, solemn town.

Nothing else would ever move in this place again.

They occupied each house, every structure. While the wind howled, while the snow blew, the dead remained. Frozen, lifeless, forever locked in an eternal world of ice.

~*~

Desert Song

Across the sands, beyond the dunes, when the Mother of Moons rises in the night sky, you can hear their song on the sirocco winds. A velvet melody vibrating through the amber radiance, twirling in the light of the desert moon. They sing arias, of roses blooming in the paradise oasis, of the first raindrop and its petrichor echo. Their chorus shivers the firmament that binds the universe, and soothes the disquieted fires of the soul.

They serenade of all things sacred, but beware, listen too long…

…and the Night Sisters will sing you to your final place of dreams.

~*~

Just An Old Tune

The guitar sits in the corner, weather-beaten, with dust gathering across its worn down varnish and strings. It has some scratches and some blackened streaks; it has survived much. Countless hands have plucked it chords—old and young--through wars, through blistering summers, and long cold winters. It has strummed many a tune, and captured the vivacity of spirits in the melodies it harmonized.

Spirits it never let go.

Sorry souls that bled their happiness into the hungry maw of a demon instrument. And now… well that guitar, it’s waiting to be played.

By the next servant of the devil.

© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved

And today’s the last day to downloaded my book Passing Fancies for free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/151594

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.

Drabble Wednesday: Winter Cometh

It’s a celebration (or condemnation, I’m not sure) of the winter season on today’s Drabble Wednesday…

Echoes of Winter

The snow fell deep and frigid that winter season. At night, doors were bolted against the cold, and hearths snapped with blazing logs and roasting meat. Dogs snuggled at their master’s feet, pricking their ears to catch the howl of the wolves outside. And under the rising moon, fields of snow sparkled while rabbits fled the sound of scratching footsteps.

Crunch, crunch, came the noise of each footfall. A line of tracks led from the woods, displayed in the moonlight through the frozen expanse. But nowhere to be seen, not silhouette nor form, was the creature that made those tracks...

Ice

Like lemmings they gathered at the sites, with their cameras and their cell phones recording the slow moving, ever encroaching ice. The air echoed with laughter, jokes; it seemed an entertaining game. They captured the scene on shaky video and in snapshots, and uploaded it all to the digital stream. It even went viral.

Such innocence was fleeting, for they never realized the significance. Until far too late. Never realized that the ice heralded the first moments of the end, the beginning of the final ice age of Earth.

Now they wait, we all wait, as the last fires die…

Bad Winter

I can’t believe this weather!  Nothing but blowing wind, snow, and arctic cold!  I don’t like whining, but when icicles are forming on the inside of the windows and even the cat’s toes are turning blue with the cold, it’s time to complain.

The heating won’t work; I think the oil froze.  Wood is running low for the stove and the food supply is down to four cans of peaches, half a roast chicken and one prune.  I’d call for help, but my fingers are too stiff to dial the phone.  This snowstorm had better break soon or we’re doomed.

Snow and Globes

I poured myself some coffee made from fresh melted snow and adjusted my new top hat to a jaunty angle.  I tossed the carrot in the dustbin, and sat down at the kitchen table to admire the seventeen orbs of my snow globes.  They were safe now.

Maybe I should've felt guilty about what I did, but he got what he deserved for cheating in the snowball fight.  I’m not giving my snow globes to a cheat, not even Frosty the Snowman.

No, he got a hair dryer and bucket instead.  And he melted like silly putty on a grill. 

Book Spotlight: White Walker by Richard Schiver

I have a book spotlight for you today, from horror author Richard Shiver, as we hearken back to winter on this, the first day of summer...

White Walker by Richard Schiver

When she was ten she made a promise to that which inhabits the winter storm. Now she’s twenty-six and pregnant, and the White Walker has returned to collect his due.

For Teddy his first day as shift supervisor could not have come at a worst time. A severe blizzard has shut down the region as old man winter refuses to relinquish his grip. Only ten percent of his team has shown up for work, and he learns upon arriving that one of his first duties that day will be to fire his girlfriend.

He believes it can’t get any worse than it already is. That is until one of his people dies at the hands of a legendary creature that inhabits the blizzard. A prehistoric deity once worshiped by ancient man on the vast Siberian plains. Brought to these shores by Russian immigrants seeking a better life in the deep coalmines that once dotted the hills around the Appalachian Mountain town of Frostburg.

Cut off from the outside world, stalked by a creature from the past, the survivors are forced to abandon the safety of a building that has been stressed to the breaking point.

But how does one escape a winter storm?

White Walker is available from these retailers.

Amazon US  

Amazon UK 

Smashwords 

Barnes & Noble

Want to try it before you buy? Check out the first ten chapters for free at:

http://www.rschiver.blogspot.com/p/white-walker.html

Author Bio:

White Walker is Richard’s eighth release since his return to writing in 2008 after a computer crash wiped out nearly ten years of work in 2001. A lifelong reader of the Macabre and supernatural his desire is to leave the reader with a story that will stay with them long after they have closed the cover of the book.

Richard lives with his wife in Lavale, MD. Where they share their home with four furry, four legged, children. When he’s not spinning tales of terror he can be found tossing the ball for Max, or making a mess in his woodshop.

Richard can be found online at:

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/RichardSchiver

Twitter: @RichardSchiver

His Blog: http://www.rschiver.blogspot.com/

#FlashFictionFriday: A Tale Told in Winter

Today, here a small bit of flash fiction, set in the fantasy world of my book, Ruined Cty...

A Tale Told in Winter

On a wooden bench by the hearth sat an old man sipping a flagon of spiced ale. Around him tongues wagged in conversation and gossip, and the walls resonated with raucous laughter. Pretty serving wenches passed by him, supplying the inn’s patrons with drink and food while avoiding their groping hands.

The old man drank in this inn each night, arriving there for the first time at the beginning of the town’s winter season. Initially overlooked as a stranger, he eventually settled in as a familiar sight, slowly consuming one flagon of ale by the fire before leaving. Regulars to the inn knew him as Sarc and gave him a friendly nod, with a few exchanging a brief word of greeting. Most thought him harmless and lonely, but none knew the reason he came to the inn. Yet, every night he came, and every night he waited.

Tonight, as Sarc sat and imbibed his ale, a man stumbled into the inn, seeking warmth from the icy wind and blowing winter outside the door. He shook the snow from his cloak and then, by chance or design, he joined Sarc on his bench by the fireplace.

The man nodded to Sarc as he took a seat. “Good Eve to you, sir. Nothing like a warm fire on such cold night.” He held out his hand. “I’m Kalad.”

The old man met his outstretched hand with his own firm grip. “I am Sarc.” The old man tilted his head. “I see you have a Misthri emblem on your cloak. Do you hail from the city?”

“Yes, I lived in that city for a time, but no longer.”

“If I might ask, what brings you away from Misthri’s walls?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I left because of circumstances, and a sudden urge to travel.”

“Ah, the wanderlust. I know it well. I too, am on a journey of sorts. But still, it must have been difficult to leave Misthri. It is such a beautiful city, with so much creative brilliance.”

“Yes, yes, it’s the great celebrated City of Inspiration, home to storytellers and artists. Sing its praises, it’s the Blessed City of Shrines, guarded by the spirits. I’m familiar with all the official dogma. But, there’s more to Misthri than that, old man, much more.” Kalad chuckled. “I could tell you stories of that city, stories that you won’t hear from any approved Misthri chronicler.”

“Don’t be so certain. I know many strange tales from the city of Misthri. There is one in particular I think you would find interesting. Would you like to hear it?”

Kalad smiled. “Why not? I’ll indulge your whim, old man. Tell me your tale.”

Sarc gave Kalad a smile of his own, tinged slightly with a sad air. “This tale begins on a winter’s night much like this one. A vagabond from the streets of Misthri was caught out in a fierce storm. He took shelter in one of the Misthri shrines, welcomed according to custom by the three priestesses of the hallowed place.” Sarc paused, as he saw the face of Kalad pale in colour and then continued.

“Now this man meant no harm in his original intent, just sought a warm bed for the night, out of the cold and snow. But he had a dishonest heart and it whispered to him in the darkness. He tried to resist, but he gave in to his temptation near morning and crept from his bed. In the last remaining hours of night, this man slew the three mystics of the shrine and stole their gold and silver, coin meant for the poor of the city. Then this wicked man fled the city and vanished into the winter snows.”

Sarc stopped talking and watched Kalad tremble. “Is something wrong, Kalad?”

“Your story- how did you know? No one knew, no one saw me that night.”

“Oh, Kalad. You were in the spirit shrine of Lumin, Light of Winter. She was there that night. Did you think you could escape her retribution? You stole from her, murdered her people. She is coming for you, Kalad, coming tonight.”

The old man laughed and the air around him shimmered and grew cold. Kalad shivered. The old man laughed again as Kalad’s lips turned a faint blue and his breathing became laboured.

Kalad reached out his hand. “Help me...”

“Poor, Kalad. There is no help for you.”

Sarc’s cackle echoed through the inn and every person in the place watched him disappear before their eyes. Amid the screams and gasps, the front door swung open with a blast of icy wind.

In the doorway stood a woman dressed in a flowing white cloak and a silver dress. She had ashen hair and skin, with piercing blue eyes. She raised her hand to point at Kalad, who looked at her and screamed.

She slowly smiled, her face alight in satisfaction. “Hello, Kalad, you thief and murderer. You are mine at last.” She lifted her hand and blew him a glacial kiss.

For a moment Kalad froze in time, Lumin’s breath wafting through him. Then he clutched at his chest, keeled over and died, his heart wrapped in her bitter frost.



If you found this story interesting you might want to check out Ruined City:
 
As an ebook at:
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In print at:
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