halegories
Amateur writer and aspiring author. Tips are greatly appreciated :)
halegories
Amateur writer and aspiring author. Tips are greatly appreciated :)
Amateur writer and aspiring author. Tips are greatly appreciated :)
Amateur writer and aspiring author. Tips are greatly appreciated :)
Never have I seen such a sight as this She knew of my forthcoming, blessed me with a gift
A marvel on a seeming ordinary day My fingers stroke its ivory spine and I begin to play
She crashes with my notes, mine soft where hers are strong Together, she and I, play a sweet, wild song
Never will I forget that day upon the shore Where the sea and I produced such a wondrous score
I’m awakened by the sound of my roommate’s voice. She brings a new meaning to the term, “sleeping soundly.” I can’t quite make out the words, though she sounds distraught. I figure I better check on her, so I slip out of bed and sneak across the hall. Placing an ear against her door, I listen.
“No, no, no— don’t go in the basement.“
With hesitation, I turn to look at the door at the end of the hall. I shudder.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Haley.”
At the mention of my name, I crack the door enough to peek inside. I find my roommate asleep, small whimpers from her lips. Then she rolls over, leaving me to venture back to my room alone and more than a little freaked out.
The next morning, cradling a mug of coffee, I ask her about it.
“So, uh, what’s in the basement?” I chuckle.
Her head shoots up and her shoulders stiffen. “What?”
“You talked in your sleep again.”
She forces a laugh, visibly uncomfortable. I squint at her over my coffee. She’s looking everywhere but at me.
“Kate…”
She looks down, wringing her hands.
“What’s in the basement,” I ask again, seriously this time.
“Don’t be mad.”
I set my cup down and straighten in my seat. No promises.
She gulps. “I kinda, sorta, maybe, might have possibly opened a portal to the underworld. In our basement.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You what?”
The Namer entered the home of the creator. Steam clouded the reddish lamplight and it’s warmth enveloped him. He breathed in fresh herbs and spices. His mouth watered.
The creator stood with a bowl cupped in his shaking hands. Was his creation worthy of being named? He watched the Namer carefully as he spun a golden weave and slurped it loudly into his mouth. The mouth of highest regard. The mouth that speaks the names.
The Namer closed his eyes as flavor glazed his palate. He almost forgot who he was for a moment, almost named the thing, “Mmm.” But he regained his poise, shifted his shoulders, and spoke with finality.
“Ramen,” he said.
Dear old friend, have not chagrin For greying hair and wrinkled skin You’ve seen and made and loved and lost Had your spring, summer, fall Now you’ve only begun to frost
The way of life is not always kind
But, fortunate soul, you’ve survived
All you’ve been through and overcome
You have risen with the tides
And you’ll set with the sun
The lines in your face like lines of a book Of wisdom and beauty overlooked Simply by being and becoming old You have unknowingly written The greatest story ever told
For aging, there is only one alternative Be grateful now, for you have lived
I asked him what he liked to do for fun and he told me, “Starfish,” with a grin. I imagined him lying sprawled out with arms and legs spread star-like. He grew even more enthusiastic when he saw the look of confusion on my face and asked me to join him. He looked so excited and juvenile and I couldn’t say no.
The next night, I met him in his backyard. The sky was full of bright, blazing specs, like someone had flicked white shimmer paint onto a black canvas. He stood with a fishing pole in hand and a smile from ear to ear.
“What’s that for,” I asked.
“Tonight,” he said, “we’re fishing for stars.”
I stared skeptically at him, holding back a laugh. He brought the pole behind him and with a flick and a click, he cast it up into the sky. It soared past the trees and into the darkness above. My jaw dropped as his lifted in a cackle. After a moment, the line jerked and he turned very serious.
Thrusting the pole into my hands, he shouted, “We’ve got one!”
Startled, I began reeling, winding the handle as fast as could. There was resistance on the other end and I yanked the pole back. He wrapped his hands around mine and we pulled with all our might. I could see it then, the falling star, hurdling towards us. It was the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen.
We fell to the ground as the star gave in, leaving its reluctance behind. It hung there, at the end of the pole, glowing and beautiful. He climbed to his feet and carefully unhooked the ball of light. Then he pulled out a mason jar and slipped it inside. He held it out for me, his face delighted in its glow. I grasped it and it warmed my shaking hands. I looked up at him and he smiled, a wild look in his eyes.
“Let’s try for the moon,” he said.
Crows croaked a cacophony over the crowd Sending shivers through spines all the way down The eeriness evoked an existential dread, Heightened as the hemp slid over her head
“Today is the day she’ll pay for her crimes!”
Waxing women for witchcraft is a sign of the times
The crowd cackled and cheered for the end had begun She’d have uttered a curse, but they cut out her tongue So she smiled with blood-stained lips And bravely boded Death’s bittersweet kiss
Her feet flew from the perch, she was finally free Her body left teetering in the tethering tree Her hope was to haunt them, strike fear in their hearts As she soared through the sky, slated for the stars
His lips a ripened berry Wet with morning dew Pink and plump and sweet Waiting to be consumed
She, a bitch-black crow Delighting in his flesh Lapping up the crush Until there’s nothing left
I eat a poisoned apple In hopes that she will die A bitter contrast to his lips It burns me up inside