Lady Death And Time

I’m not sure where this came from…

All flames grew still, falling to silent ash flaking from one glass chamber to the next. The hourglass felt heavy, aching in her arms; the burden never lightening to sooth her tired muscles. With every step, she gathers enough strength to foretell where her path will lead her towards her next soul. With each step her form trembles, simplifying the illusion that she will finally fall, only to give way to anticipation as her courage grows. Her face is shrouded by shadow, only glimpses of the light in her empty sockets can be felt, because any who manage to meet her gaze, will surely  befall claim to her purgatory abyss. Silence and despair, teeters along the edge somewhere between faith and certainty. 

Time watches from behind Death, having no influence or say to when each fleck of ash would fall, longing eyes burning in desire as he looked on Lady Death with a certain fondness. He was one of the few who could look upon her and not be afflicted in the same manner as mortals, knowing their strength was on a different dimensional plane all together. It had been perhaps five hundred years since he was granted an audience of her enticing stare, but to Time, there was only now. He appreciated the moment, unlike so many others ignored, taking him for granted; but not Death. She understood him, always feeling his presence upon her skin like goosebumps; a shadow that covered just as much area as her own and yet they were both ignored. No one cared to pay either of them a bit of attention until the ashes dissolved; only then they were no longer invisible. 

However, there was a moment,  where both Death and Time locked eyes and she felt his hand upon hers to steady the hourglass as it rained down soot like wet snow dropping from a rooftop. Encompassing and absorbing the remanence of spirit, reason, and desire; all that makes up the soul; it didn’t fade into the winds, lost and forgotten. Space is unlimited inside the hourglass because out of the ash, the soul is reborn; they are recycled, as those destined to meet again, await one another to where Time has little meaning except in always appreciating the moments the Twins bless their children with. Those who are destined, those who find their way, become…Infinite.


10 Minute Self-Assessment

My turn! Ten minutes goes by fast… >.> As Bird did in the exercise, I will write whatever comes to mind for ten minutes. And Go!

{Does the sound of rainfall give you chills or cause you to perspire? Knowing rain can come at most temperatures, in liquid form in particular, doesn’t change the fact I associate it with decreasing my internal core. Starting from my spine, rolling off my shoulders, ripples fluctuate over the top of my head as if trying to escape and transform into something else. My favorite is when that feeling can be visualized as steam rising off of my hair, the air around me dropping significantly in temperature, arriving almost in unison with the raindrops. Sometimes just before the first icey drops send goosebumps down my arms, several long strands of my hair will start to rise from the static, claps of thunder igniting my wonder and slight insanity that I’m out in a thunderstorm, happily ready to experience lightning first hand. Luckily I am still left wanting, but nevertheless my appreciation for nature’s show does not decrease with time. The sound of rain is accompanied by the echoes off the rooftops, the smell of moisture heavy in the air even before it hits the pavement, giving the illusion to me that rain has a smell. Still, even in the heat, I tremble in shivers, my first thought to make a cup of cocoa or tea and sit by a wood fire. My favorite perfume is from the grey smoke encompassing me in a sweet blanket of musks, depending on the type of wood that is converted to ash. Ever create pictures on your jeans with the remanence of fire? Soot and ash turned into a charcoal fantasy that can be easily wiped away by a breeze or a few drops of nature’s tears.}

Blackbird's Nest

I did something right now that I never do. Well, not never, I’ve done it, but not in a very long time. When I saw the free write prompt, I immediately pushed past the urge to do it; because I don’t like to write with restrictions, be it of time or word count… I’ve done it, but I don’t like it. Hours passed and the urge came back. So I said ‘fuck it’, set a timer, tried to shut off my brain and just write whatever for ten minutes. So, yaaay, here’s some random:

I am never completely sure of anything. I’m only about 90% sure that I’m real, that my fingers can feel the keys, that my eyes can see the letters forming on the screen before me as I type. I’m only about 80% sure of my own humanity and only about 10% sure that I even…

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