A Year of Whimsi

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 15: 105 The Island
The Island, that was what Lell was. She was a rock in the ocean that jutted out against the storm and the waves and stood alone against the forces of nature. She was the sediment that had collected against rocks in the tidelands. She was the land that had not been worn away by years of flowing water as it would its way through the land carving a gouge in the stone and the soil. She remained. She was the stone that had not been worn away by the wind and the years. She was the island that endured.

She was the island, the wind and the waves and the stone.

She had the strength of the wind that came off the void and picked up speed as it traveled unstopped and unimpeded by the clouds in the sky. She was the wind that by its existence blew the ships around the world and carried with it the lifeblood of the world. She was the wind that beat down mountains and whipped the ocean into foam, that felled forests and towns. She was the wind with its mighty roar that let no place hide, that had no height it could not cross, that carried the weight of the sky and was never slowed by it. She was the wind that carried with it the memory of the world, that spoke in a language of every land and conversed with the trees and the grass. She was the wind that was untamed.

She was the island, the wind and the waves and the stone.

She was the waves that were born beyond the horizon that carried with them strength to rock the tallest of the ship, and that held the might of the deep. She was the waves that beat down shores and forced the land to receded. The ocean that swallowed everything and hid within its depths the remnants of the world. She was the ocean that reached heights and came unyielding at the coast, that forced the stone to cry. She was the waves that refused to cease. She was the waves unyielding.

She was the island, the wind and the waves and the stone.

She was the stone that held up the world, that reached for the sky and stopped the clouds. She was the stone that existed and endured as the years chiseled away at it. She was the stone that broke the backs of men as they tried to tame the land. She was the stone that over the course of years the water and wind and time rubbed away at her and took the raw sharp edges. She was the stone that took the might of the wind and the waves, the untamed and unyielding fury of the storms and still remained. She was the mountain that after time passed and memory had forgotten stood tall. She was the stone that was unbeaten.

She never let anyone forget that.

She was the island that stood in the storm, that weathered hurricanes and tidal waves and earthquakes. She was more than that though, she was a mage and she was the hurricane, the tidal wave, and the earthquake.  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 16: 106 Eden


"You are a godsend Jubilee." John said as she walked through the wall and for the first time was subject to surprise upon her arrival instead of him.

"Please go on." She said as she registered the words he had said and sat down on the counter. She smiled at him as he picked up a pack from the table.

" We can go there." He said eyes shining.

"Go where?" She asked excitement at the prospect of a journey.

"Any where, any when." He siad, "We can see them."

"See what?" She asked enjoying the new found enthusiasm but growing quickly bored of the little game.

"The garden."

"The babylonian ones." Jubilee said as she leaped off the counter with her deep blue robes to sword around her, "So glad you decided you wanted to come."

He tossed her an apple, "No. Eden."

"Sorry no can do Johnny Appleseed." She said as she lowered her hands and let the time vortex fade, "It's on the list of no fly zones."

"No fly zones?" John said, "come on you have gotta be kidding me."

"Nope. It is off limits." Jubilee said as she raised her hands again, "want to see the Babylonian gardens?"

"No."

"Fine." She said as she tossed the apple back, "How about a trip on the titanic, lovely ship."

"Until it sinks."

"That is why we have time travel." She said as she pulled up the flow of time again.

"Maybe later I have an idea I think you are going to like." He said as he pulled out a knife and carved something into the apple. Curious, and excited at the prospect of the unknown she lowered her hands, thoughts of watching the titanic sink left behind. After a few seconds he held up the apple, "Kallisti, To the Fairest."

"I like the way you think."  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 16: 107 Drowning March 7, 2013

There once was a sailor so great
who fell off the side of a freight,
but swim he could not
so in the sea he will rot
to drown in the waves is his fate.  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 16: 108 Gamble

Kirsch leaned back in his chair and set his boots on the table in front of him, the sand having scoured away all mud and dirt and blood they had picked up in the war, nothing but the color remained. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the patrons, the sloshing of drinks, the clanking and clinking of mugs and glasses, the sound of dice on the tables, of coins changing hands, and the chatter of voices, they were not in common and on the surface the sounds were different but the same one word poking out here and there while everything blurred into a noise that if he focused he could make out individual ones.

"You are in my spot?" A trader said and when no one responded Kirsch opened his eye to see a large man stand over him with arms crossed and head framed by the red flames of a lantern.

"Sorry do not speak your language." Kirsch said as he slid the conversation out of the trader language.

"You are in my spot." The man said slowly and with a shift in his stance that made the sword on his hip obvious.

"And you are standing in my light." Kirsch said as he remained where he was, even without his hand on his swords he was still faster than the man and could unsheathe both before the man could his one. "Leave me alone I am sleeping."

"Funny one eyed warring lander sleeps in a trader bar, you are still in my spot." The man said as he reached out his hand and the room fell silent.

"My bar, my spot." Kirsch said as he twisted in the chair and grabbed the man's hand, a small amount of pressure between the bones and the man was wincing in pain, "leave me alone." He released the man's hand and turned around to right his chair. He turned around as his hand went to the short sword he had on his hip and pulled it up in time for it to meet the trader's blade. "Get out of my tent."

"Your tent?" The man asked, "You are a child. I have scars older than you."

"I have killed me better than you." Kirsch said as he shifted his stance and let the man's blade pass harmlessly over his head. A quick reversal of his blade sent the hilt and then his elbow into the man's ribs, the man doubled over on the ground. Kirsch picked up the man's discarded sword, the length and weight and balance was wrong for him but would fetch a good price, "Get out of my tent, and for my trouble I will take this as payment."  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 16: 109 Thicker than Water

Blood is thicker than water, Ri never was clear where the term came from, she did not need to, it had been placed in her head from someone who had more than likely lifted it from someone who had done the same. She did not care about the meaning, there had never been any meaning attached to it, just a string of words with no meaning, a string that over the course of time had taken on a new meaning.

She walked down the wooden boards of the floating docks that made up the outer city listening to the sound of her boots clank on the wood with much the same sound as the logs hitting each other and the lapping of the waves on them. The lights were out in the houses, snuffed out as always shortly after the streets cleared, but the full moon in a cloudless sky gave her enough light to see by.

A group of Imperial Guards appeared in front of her. The blades on her wrists slid out. She did not have time to deal with guards that night; Calif had given her an order which meant she had one purpose. She did not break stride as she continued on her path to where rumors said a disgraced adviser had hidden himself inside a shack. The guards readied to take her in, or fight her, a puppet out after hours, a puppet without a handler in sight, but as she drew closer they stepped aside and let her pass. A few murmurs of the names she was called outside of the empress' court followed her.

She turned on her heel and watched them visibly shake and cower. "Where?" She asked and one of the men in fear of his life, and rightfully so, pointed to a building the same size and compiled form the same hodgepodge material as the others, the lilies that grew between everything encroached around it just as tightly. There was nothing to distinguish it from the others, nothing except for a circle above the door and a carving that arced around the base of the house. She knocked on the door.

The Hangman puppet walked through the dock roads of the floating city as the lily gardens floated in red ponds that were thicker than water.  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 16: 110 Clear Blue Sky

Fren looked up at the clear blue sky and let out a sigh that only the wind heard. The blue extended on forever, lost beyond the peaks of the mountains in the far horizon. It was the same blue as always, the same unchanging blue that remained still as the bright yellow white light of the sun traced its path across the sky. There were no clouds in it, no white bits of fluff to cast shadows on the ground and the life of any child unlucky enough to be born while the stray weather managed to survive. He rubbed his ear and the black dot of ink some villager had poked into the skin as an infant, a black dot that marked him with the cloud's shadow, a dot that marked him as a cloud born.

He let his fingers move from his ear to the piece of metal he had bent into a ring and shoved through it in defiance, or acceptance, or something. It was his way to claim his magic and the clouds and the fate his people had given him. As his fingers reached the iridescent shard of glass he let them fall.

It had been two generations before he had been born that the last cloud had made it over the tall peaks of the sun mountain, the peaks that grabbed the sun. His cloud had been the first one the villagers had ever seen, and there had not been on in the years since. He was the only one that knew the sight of a cloud, the desert knew only the sight of a clear blue sky.

He was going to change that though. He was going to let the clouds cover the sky.  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 16: 111 Rain

The air is warm and thick with moisture that makes each breath and effort and slows down the summer day with honey thick humidity. The grey clouds that hang in the sky have brought little relief as they only resemble the wool blankets in winter to the windless afternoon.

It is the kind of day I can picture picturesque porches and sipping lemonade with glasses filled with ice and more water condensed on the outside than in. It is the kind of day where I imagine white picket fences and tree lined paths. It is the kind of day when I dream of the shade of green forests and ice fed lakes and the cool summers I knew.

The sky lights up and for a brief moment the dark clouds that have cast a shadow of evening on the short days of afternoon give a glimpse of full sunlight, the rolling thunder like marbles down a staircase arrive and I can feel the vibrations in my body, replacing the beating of my heart.

I close my eyes and tilt my head towards the sky and breath in the sappy stench of summer. The first drop of rain hits my forehead like a drip from an icicle. The first is followed by another as they tear the dust and heat from the air, pushing everything to the ground where, once they hit, disappear with a hiss of steam and release the sweet smell of petrichor.  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 16: 112 Halfway Home March 12, 2013

Halfway home and ever lost
far from the beaten path
to roam with weary heart and feet
until at last I reach the lands
where my eyes have ever wandered
and my heart has ever dwelt.  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 17: 113 Dead End March 13, 2013

Dead End, No Exit
A Stop Sign Street.
Close, Court,
No Through Street.
The Cul-De-Sac.

It is the end of the road
where progress must stop
and traffic is trapped.

Dead End, No Exit.
Just take a three-point
or one,
to turn around,
and go one.
 

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 17: 114 Stargazers March 14, 2013

John shifted the weight of his bag and stopped the strap from cutting into his shoulder and chest and walked through the white and grey tunnel. Through the window cut into the metal and plastic he could see bright yellow tinged lights on a back ground of black and half seen greys. He walked through the tunnel exit and into the shuttle terminal to the grey and beige of walls and waiting areas.

A quick glance around found him many signs and a few with arrows that gladly pointed him in the way of the exit. After a quick shifting of his weight in the earthly gravity he walked out of the travelport and into the wide expanse of a planetary surface.

A few gaping moments of the sheer size of things and the open space, his gaze turned upwards to the heavens, to the sky and the stars that had dwarfed him in the expanse of empty space. The view from space with nothing but other stations and planets the size of marbles in the distance had made him feel small, but when placed against the openness only produced by the ground it made him feel completely insignificant, the faint stars that not even the telescopes could detect. The lights he had learned by name and grouped into pictures had shifted, shifted into positions he had only seen in old earth textbooks.

He stared up at the stars and understood why for centuries humans had dreamed of space.  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 17: 115 Insomnia March 15, 2013

Dolle walked through the stone hallways and stopped when she noticed that the only sounds were not of her footsteps and the echoes that followed them. The other footsteps, slightly louder and faster than hers continued on. Deciding that she had nothing better to do at an hour when no one, not even her, should be awake, she set off after them.

Years of chasing after her brother, and running from him, and stalking her mother and the gaurds came back to her even after her years spent in small shacks. It only took a few turn to find the source of the foot steps.

"Den?" She asked when she spotted the man in golden armor that for some reason he had taken to wearing at all times.

"Dolle." He said as he turned around and passed his gaze over her quickly, "Have you seen my brother?"

Dolle quickly glanced around the hallway. "Have you tried his room?"

"He is not there." Den stared out the small slit of a window as a few clouds covered the moon. "Is there any place with birds?"

Dolle stared at him and shook her head, people became strange when she needed sleep. "It is the coast, there are always birds."

The golden boy looked at her like she was the one who had made no sense before he walked away.  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 17: 116 Skyscrapers March 16, 2013


Skyscraper.

A name that invokes grandness and glory, a name that speaks of greatness, of giants and titans, of power to challenge the heavens.

The elevator comes to a stop and I step out into a hallway of beige walls and carpet that resembles a colorful mixture of confetti, sprinkles, and the contents of a hole punch. There is nothing noteworthy about the hallway, or about the buildings I could see if I looked out the windows, were it not for the fog that had settled on the ground in the early hours of the morning and made my commute take longer. They are all skyscrapers, just like the one I walk in.

I laugh a bit at how such a name could belong to something so common place. It is not until I round the corner and look out the window, the layer of fog that had stuck on the ground and rolled into every hill and dimmed the light was a layer of white fluff. A glimpse upwards showed me only blue sky and the brightness of the sun.

Skyscraper. A simple building man used in every city, a building that was so common place no one thought twice about them, a building man had used to break through the clouds and scrape the sky.  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 17: 117 Butterfly

Floating and fluttering,
laughing away.
Bright colors like petals
whisper secrets to stay.
 

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 17: 118 Smoke Screen March 18, 2013

Lell crouched in the bushes and sent a spark of magic into the dried grass field that was full of sap filled logs and covered in a layer of dew that had gathered during the night. She was not skilled when it came to fire magic, the most she could do was ensure a match would light when struck and that it could catch the campfire she needed on fire. She had poured her efforts into areas where her strengths had lain, in the wind and the waves and the weather. She had always said that her magic was sufficient when it came to fire. Either she needed a small one and a reliable match would do, or she needed a bid one and she had discovered that there were very few things that a lightning strike would not cause to burn.

Today was no different and as she set a spark to the dried grass, a small part where she had whisked the water away, it lit and spread. She fueled magic to keep it burning as she moved the currents to be upwind of the ensuing blaze. Her magic saturated the area and she had no fear of them detecting her by a little manipulation of the breeze.

The fires caught and between the wet grass and the sap filled green wood there was soon smoke rising from the field, smoke that would led her cover to move about unnoticed and smoke that would send a signal to her allies under the disguise of a retreat.

It was a smoke screen for a smoke screen in more ways than one, with that and he knowledge that her magic was once again enough she made her move on the green robed mages.  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Week 17: 119 What Lies Beneath march 19, 2013

Taiya stared at the small children she was now in charge of. They were children and already she saw in their eyes the hardness of men prepared to die, of someone who has seen death and met the shadow and who walks with it, and of someone who with shoulders too small to lift her head held the weight of thousands. She forced the growing frown off her face, she had no right to judge the adults in this land, they we soft and caring compared to the breakers and handlers that had raised her.

"Time for bed." She said as she pointed in the direction of the dorms, ones that she could not help nut notice how similar they were to the puppet quarters she had lived in. The girl and her brother did as they were told but with grumbling about beds that were not what they had been accustomed to as numbered children of the land. The other one followed a few steps behind, just enough to look like he did not belong, and something she knew he felt like. She let out a sigh, for the small boy who was undoubtedly as old as the others looked half their age from years on the streets and poverty before then.

When she had set the wards on their doors and done the astonishingly normal thing of scaring monsters from the shadows she walked to the council chamber for a jetting she decided was needed. Despite what many of the mages in the city thought she was not bound by their laws and she was not going to train children for lives that were nothing near living.