The ground made its feet burn.
How does anything live in this place? it wondered.
It kept sliding, trying not to let any of its seventeen appendages touch the hot ground for too long. Still, by the time it reached the water its skin had blue scorch marks.
A pond? A puddle? An ocean? It could not know. So it kept moving, submerging.
He died while listening to a turtle tell a story. He lay on the ground, still listening. Eons passed before the turtle stirred from the slow unraveling of its story, but when it did, dirt and buildings and civilizations tumbled off its back.
I harnessed the sun. It revolves around me now. That’s not metaphorical.
As such, I require all citizens to pay appropriate respect to the new center of the universe.
“I would like to hire you.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
The face in the mirror turned from angry to incredulous and settled on annoyed. Annoyed. Yeah. That face suited us both right about then.
“Because it’s impossible.”
The face in the mirror went back to anger and exited the frame. I stood looking at empty glass.
I am Kathuk sene Ischel.
In a language no one speaks anymore, my name means “Ischel who comes from Kathuk.” But what it really means is “Ischel who comes from some long, old line of important people and Kathuk was the oldest and most important and so surely this Ischel will now grow old becoming important.”
And that old name from that old language is why I’m sitting here now, in a chamber of old, important people with old, important names. We’re all looking down at the youngest person here, still a kid, really, but with the oldest, important-est name out of any of us.
We’re deciding if he should die.
The teardrop-shaped sprite willed the dress up her body. The black gown clung to her wide base. It fluttered empty below her as she drifted from her realm. The mortals’ air wafted up the dress. The atmosphere turned her translucent aside from the gown. She giggled, thinking of how the mortals would scream and panic when they saw a dress floating toward them.
Writing About Writing: A once-a-week post about some aspect of writing. I’m not an expert; I’m just some guy. Take it with a grain of salt.
It’s almost November. Which means I’m going to make the perhaps insane decision to participate in Nanowrimo – National Novel Writing Month.
tl;dr: Try to write 50,000 words (about 1,667 per day) in a month.
I’m a busy, busy person. I have freelance jobs + a 40 hour a week normal job. I climb and am taking two aerial classes. I have an anime night on Tuesdays and a video game night on Wednesdays.
So, basically, pray for me.
I have nothing to say here. I’m just wallowing in a soup of my own insanity.