Writespiration #41

Hiraeth

A day late this week because of #1000speak, but nevertheless here we go:

This is less about the house in the photo and more about the word and meaning… If you fancy it write a few words, a poem or a story and I will post it along with my next Writespiration. I wrote one this week, but liked it so much I decided to submit it to a competition, so apologies, mine is missing – I will try and write another and post it with all this weeks entrants.

Now to last weeks absolute stonkingly brilliant entries, and four newbies.

Last week’s Writespiration was to write a story in Six Words, there was a phenomenal response.

First in was Ali with three brilliant entries:

1. Birds sing. Darkness into light. Dawn.
2. Last breath. Darkness into light. Reborn.
3. Study hard. Darkness into light. Illumination.

Ali also submitted a wonderful story for the week before – an insect story with the most vivid imagery and touching ending:

I am Etain. Once I was Sidhe, and a Queen, adored and admired. Now, I spread my wings, and they are beautiful, vibrant, shimmering. The wind catches them, takes me up into its arms, and I am airborne. Invisible lips blow me here, there, and I delight in my freedom, my weightlessness.

When I tire, I alight on a blossom. The petals are no match for me; they pale in my shadow, for I am a purple jewel carved from living flesh by an alien hand. The sun warms my body; I glitter in its light. I flutter my wings, and radiate bright ripples of colour and fierce joy.

But I am distracted. The flower hides a secret. Its scent draws me in, more powerful, more intoxicating than I ever experienced in my past incarnation. My wings fold as I feed on nectar sweeter than honey, more precious than the Gods’ ambrosia.

Giddy with sweetness, greedy for more, I leap from bloom to bloom, heedless of the darkening sky, and the wind which whips the trees into clumsy dance. Raindrops fall, hard and heavy, brushing the colour from my wings like dust. Bruised and battered, I realise the wind is no longer my friend, and I am buffeted before it without mercy.

Until kind Óengus takes me in. He builds me a crystal bower, where I rest and recover. He feeds me pollen and sugar, and I need do nothing more in return but shimmy my wings now and then for his pleasure. It feels good to be adored again.

But a wild creature needs its freedom. I exchange my crystal prison for air and sunlight, and journey where life takes me. Then one day, I hear a sound I have long missed, and I am lured by my longing.

A man is playing a harp, its light liquid notes falling through the air more silver than birdsong. Men and women gather to listen; they talk and laugh softly, and I am struck with the sharp pain of sudden loneliness. I perch on the rim of a goblet, but there is so much beauty around them, I am unnoticed.

When she lifts the vessel to her lips, I tumble into the swirling red depths. I desperately beat my wings, but they are immersed, trapped in the fluid as if it was glue. Unknowing, she swallows more than wine. I flutter my wings, and she feels those faint stirrings, for she places a hand softly over her belly.

I am Etain. Once I was Sidhe, then I was dealan-dhe. Now, from the dark, warm recesses of woman, I will be born mortal.

***

Rachel entered next and I particularly love the last one:

1. Teacher of preschoolers; learner of preschoolers.
2. I read, I write, I create.

***

Geoff came next with three true stories – the backstory to the second is hilarious, maybe Geoff will tell you all about it…

1. Cancer. How long? Not long enough.
2. Third choice. Will you? Yes. Finally….
3. He’s deformed! No, he’s a girl.

***

The lovely Hugh decided to enter for the first time and submitted three amazing (and funny) entries, the last is my fave.

1. She left. Never came back. Never!
2.Come here. No! That’s it then.
3. Affair? Me to, with his husband.

***

Next the fantastically funny Lockie (who’s name I love too) and first time entrant, with a six word story that has an entire novel behind it:

“You’ll lose the leg.”
“Do it.”

***

Next we have two submissions on other social media platforms, first my friend Donna another newbie, who posted this touching entry on Facebook:

No note was found… Just tears.

***

Then Pat another newbie to writespiration posted on G+ with these six words that tells a thousand more words:

We were meant to be here….

***

Jane, with three stunning entries:

1. Night-driving drowsiness
explosive impact
two orphans.

2. Dead star
black waters
eternal night.

3. Bright horizon
a sail
your boat.

***

Last but by no means least, Sarah another newbie to Writespiration. With a hilarious entry. I can just picture the guilt written all over their face!

I’m holding it for a friend.

***

22 comments

  1. I love the word, and know the feeling. Longing for a home a never was the way I wished it had been, but was the way it was.
    There are some great stories in there, Sacha. Thank you for sharing them. Sarah’s was a great one to finish with. My mind boggles with thoughts of what she might be holding. And where! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. HI Sacha, here’s my entry for this week.

    Their eyes hook into my back like claws as I pass by. They keep their thoughts locked and silent in their heads, but their faces smoulder with resentment, distrust. They bite back the words but their message burns into my skin just the same, “You don’t belong here.”

    And they’re right. I don’t. But I won’t go back, I can never go back, though my heart yearns for home. Those like me, well, we’re not welcome anywhere.

    For me, home is not bricks and mortar. It’s not tied up in four walls, anchored in place by geography, or a slot in the vastness of time. The home I long for is family, acceptance, love. Home is not where I came from, but perhaps where I’m travelling to.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. My god that is so evocative – I really felt her longing for that sense of home and belonging. I can’t believe you ever thought you wouldnt be able to do flash you are SOOOOOOOO good at it.

      p.s. just in the nick of time – my leg was half in bed! literally! I climbed back out and uploaded your submission for tomorrow 🙂

      Like

  3. Home Cruel Home

    It’s the feeling of the bricks, sort of not quite slimy to the touch. That’s what I remember. Derby smooth stone, someone told me and they’re right. It does have that same slippery texture. But it isn’t the same, feeling an abstract. There isn’t the connection to the place and time. When I leant my face against its soothing surface after the burning; the hardness when I pressed my hands against the bricks, trying to push through the wall as Jimmy held me back; the way my tears made the slippery surface glisten. I wanted to stick to that wall, melt into it, be part of it. I’m still not sure whose screams I remember from that day but I’m sure some of mine were trapped in those bricks. Jimmy told me they demolished the cottage – ‘unsafe’ he said. I think it’s because of the ghosts. There had to be, after that fire, after those deaths. For a long time I wanted one of those bricks; it was all I asked for, for Christmas, birthdays, certain it held some part, some essence. Jimmy says it was me asking for bricks that made dad lose patience, had me committed here. I’ve plenty of time to lean again the bricks in this place, plenty of time to remember, to hear the screams. When I get out, I’ll go back, get a brick and hold it to my cheek. Then I’ll be home again.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. corr – just in the nick of time! you don’t half know how to write disturbing flash. Ive said it before but I really do think you could write amazing horror / thriller type stuff. You have such an ability to write really unnerving things – just like that box in the loft….

      Liked by 1 person

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