She walked into the dark room, wondering if there was any power to the building. She knew she was taking a risk, but no one was going to castdoubt on the fact that this was a crisis and someone needed to take control right away. She walked over to the board. Running her hand up and down the wall, feeling for the strip of light switches was yielding no results. Moving quickly, knowing the contract on her head was a direct assault, she wanted to grab the book and jump on her flight, A roll of the die wasn’t going to help this time around.
Once upon a time there was a ruthless leader who thought he could trump all the other rulers. He was a hypocrite of sorts, saying the country needs justice, but defiling all his democratic contenders. He was a sad man, not sorrow that would be felt for others, rather a pathetic sort of sadness that for whatever reason even his sycophants couldn’t see. When his blunders were made public he acted like a turtle, hiding in a shell, denying all wrong doings, until the anger came to an end and he could come out again without strain. He left his country feeling dead to the world, no longer the nation they were once proud of.
Shallow waters flow A raven calls my name Chimes can be heard as life drains from my body Problems no longer weigh on me for I have mended my wrongs tracing my lifeline like lace held by a chain weighing me down a vote no longer needed to decide where to go.
By the glow of the fire, we could hear the thrumming of the distant drums like waves on the ocean, except coming to our ears. We didn’t mean to stop here; it was because we spent so much time repairing the chimney.
Suddenly there was a sound of chains rattling, dinning the peacefulness of the drums. The short stint of simple drumbeats was washed out by a score of rattles and clanks from the cells below the town. These cells were like stains upon the finest clothes, never fully disappearing.
Was this all a dream? Was I even awake? I could smell the burnt wood in the fire.
Thanks again to Brenda for hosting the Sunday Whirl Challenge. You can participate by clicking here:
Wouldn’t it be heaven if you could caress the soft cotton of a babies’ blanket? You typically do not see one the color of coal, but I am sure there is a cart that holds a black blanket someone wants to purchase. If you were to covet all of the blankets you would hear a cacophony of crying babies call out for their comforting cover. So, you can put that idea in the column labeled NEVER and grab a corona. Crack one for me too!