Fall over my cliff

‘New’ murmurs to me,

leave the damp fog

of all you every knew.

Fall over my cliff

Sip the amber whisky,

ride on golden steed.

tired memories

sink below horizon.

Fall over my cliff

The future lures you

with crooked fingers,

wagging promises

over the vista.

Fall over my cliff

Sojourn with me,

taste cutting edge,

seal the ancient

into zippered pocket.

Fall over my cliff

but you cannot,

not ever,

walk backwards!

The crowds gathered with torches and pitchforks. Altogether they cried: “Burn the witch!” They threw deformed rotten tomatoes at the young girl.

She bowed her head and tried her best not to look at the folks all out to watch her be burned. A giant roach scurried past her and went rushing under a nearby wooden plank.

The folks all cheered the minute that the witch was tied to the stake. They watched with delight as a burning torch was moved close to the girl’s feet. The fire danced by her body. It swirled and hissed as it increased around her.

It didn’t stop there. The flames roared with rage and flew like fireworks. Some of the flames landed on top of one of the thatched cottage.

The fire on that roof burned and found its way on another cottage. Folks panicked and feared for their homes.

They looked at the stake where the girl had been placed, she was gone. All they heard was the sound of maniacal laughter.

The fire raged on and on. The villagers were distraught. They hoped that their homes would not be too hard to fix, and that the witch was gone.

#FEU.

An odd sort of word, precipice.

When describing a rock or a cliff, it is reflective of an overhang, oblivion, the vast expanse between sea and sky from which you are at the pinnacle of life, plummeting with no hope of resussitacion, no conscious choice.

You fall into oblivion, a slave to predetermination.

The precipice of life is not like that.

The precipice of life is the pinnacle, the climax, the point at which one relinquishes the chains that have bound them, stares deep into the star-spangled sunset of promise and smiles sweetly at how true the blessed fruits of free choice can be.

There is no inevitably, no cold commands forcing you to dance like a marrionette as life's captor jerks the strings.

You are free to make your descisions alone, unaided, on the precipice of life and the cusp of a crossroad, yet without the horrors of predestination looming over you like some jagged overhaning rock.

Open your eyes. Teeter forwards, over the edge, the edge of experience, the experience of new life.

Embrace the milestone, the precipice.

You are free.

#writer #choice #author #fiction #fantasy #dream #competition

Blog - hannahvernon.co.uk

Gold crafts Day in filigree

Dips each page of destiny

Gilds the edge of papyrus reeds

Bound upon the azure seas

Fire flickers; whispers, few

Bronze wipes tears with kisses, hues

Onyx casket; veils the view

Day, laid to rest in Prussian blue

Silver traces moonlight’s wedge,

Cresting Cosmos’ castle ledge

Spilling diamonds, beveled edge

Hope alights Horizon’s hedge

Phosphene stars form pillars, beams

Platinum shadows wake my dreams

Upon

the precipice, I lean.....

\

\ ’Til

threads

— of

— — Gold

— stitch

Evening’s

/ seams

/

.

I looked through the script from last year, carefully studying the lines. They said I should cherish you and keep you with me as long as I could. That I should love you for reasons only known by the author himself. Those lines no longer applied. Why? That I don’t know. The script was written in advance, and I sure did play them well. Like a professional that I always was. Yet, now the backstory has changed somehow and I am still left with the original lines that I cannot change or alter. I am left with the same feeling of love that overwhelms me, that brings both sadness and happiness to my heart. But mostly just sadness now. Heavy disappointment. The same side notes and focus on the main character.

But I am outdated like the script that I now hold desperately in my hands, fingers bending the paper. Until new words appear on the now cowered sheets of beige paper, my character will be frozen, not aware if she should still love you or turn those feeling into hate and regret. Anger, the instructions should say. Be angry, you’re not wanted by the other character like it was mentioned in the first draft. But it clearly said that I should love you... and I did, with all my heart. You felt the tension - I say to myself. - the adrenaline rush, that you were wanted and accepted like never before. It was simple and natural to get into the role, too simple. As if it acquired so little energy to love you, as if... the main character’s heart just opened to you all too willingly.

Those were my own feelings. Was that the plan? Was it or was it not in the script?

What now?

Shall I step off that rusty bridge and fall into the deep waters of the river that yearns for me, or shall I just walk past the bridge and reach the other side so I can see the road that I must follow? These feeling were never meant for me, I think as I lean against the metal barrier; feeling the breeze on my face and in my hair, flowing gently yet with force. A storm is coming and I don’t see it written on the now crumpled paper. The pages are blank and the thunder that lightens my skin fills my bones and dances in my veins, a soft melody that disrupted the sky that day I met you, that I read the script.

I should have said no when I was offered the role. But I was proud and said that I could just play anything, I was stubborn and thought it was okay. To want you that way and with so much intensity, words written in the script or not. Then came the backstory that changed, and it did, even if the lines stayed the same. And now I stand on this bridge, hands slipping on the metal barrier. They slip and I fall,.. but into what? New lines, new script? The new me and you? Do I still have what it takes to play what love really feels like? Does the script say so?

As I fall into the river, I see the sheets of paper fall next to me. I see the new lines, the words in dark ink. I see my heart opening to something else. Something that I could play and do it like a little masterpiece. The water takes me in and so do the new lines.

Scene one. Act one.

The main character walks in and sees those eyes.

The day is dark, yet there is a chance of sunny weather.

The first line is...

________

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsH0WFUgr58

It’s true that I liked her.

My heart fluttered,

My words tripped when I talked to her,

And I looked forward to seeing her everyday.

One day,

We planned to eat together,

And she introduced me to her friends.

Nice girls, the both of them.

But one of them was especially

Special.

Her eyes smiled in a way that

Made my heart skip a beat.

She would tilt her head,

Laugh,

And she was

Beautiful.

I still liked her though.

I might’ve engaged in conversation

With her friend, at times.

But I was still hers.

Over time,

We all became closer.

Except,

For the two of us.

We were always

Awkward,

But it was a

Beginner’s kind of awkward.

Now, we began to drift.

And,

We just became

Silent.

...

Things happened that way.

Some things just don’t go

The way you planned

Or the way you would imagine.

But what happened to me,

Was that,

We naturally grew apart.

While we became closer.

And it wasn’t a bad parting.

We mutually agreed things were just

Not working.

And we decided to take it slow.

Obviously, we wouldn’t make any

Kind of move

Any time soon.

We were all still friends.

But as time passed,

And we made new relationships,

And grew as individuals,

We went on our own respective paths.

My path

Looked scattered before.

Blurry even.

But the fog cleared. Eventually.

Some relationships may fade.

But it’s okay.

We grow.

And that’s just okay.

As I hold her hand, desperate to save her from the monster I've created, she cried for help hoping it will all end. The nightmares, the illusions, the suffering she went through for the world to become a better place. "Let go" she said, as I realized the only thing that could save one of us. What has gotten in her mind?

I couldn't let it happen. She's the reason I'm here and will be the only reason I'll continue to live in this world. The fire have gotten bigger only to consume both of us if I didn't let go. Tears started to fall from my eyes knowing the only end for her is she leaving the world to a better place.When the fire got bigger, the wall started to rumble, the chaos intensify, she looked into my eyes with a message that I never thought will come from her, "Thank you for being the person I need when it matter the most" She let go of my arms knowing I'll live in this world without her. Did she trust me to become someone better? Or to become a failure? As she fall down the fire pit, time seems to move slower and slower. I looked upon her eyes realizing it will be the last time I see her. Her eyes never been so scared before. Confidence and hope has lost itself in despair and hopelessness. As all good thing started, it will all end.

Abruptly, the ground started to shake the laboratory, that's when I realized it was time for me to leave the place. I stood up and sprinted to the exit, avoiding any obstacles. The fire doesn't seem to stop spreading only to burn every corner of the lab. I see it. The exit. I broke the door down with full force of my body to see several police cars and a firetruck waiting for me. That's when I fell down and passed out from the smoke of the fire.

Few hours later, I woke up in a hospital bed not knowing what had happened. I stood up to find a doctor but somehow, my body is too weak to even stand up. I felt powerless, remorseless. If it wasn't for me, Lily would still be alive. Suddenly, a piece of letter under the vase caught my attention. I slowly pulled the letter and opened it. I was shocked, It Is written by Lily. " It was a destiny, not a consequence" . For hundreds of questions, a single letter add another hundreds question. None of them are answered. Is she alive? If she is, did she know before? And if it's true she's alive, did the experiment actually work? Well maybe, just maybe, not every question need an answer.

#fiction

Standing on the edge,

A sea of clouds,

Life as we know it

and the familiar

below.

Above

Flowers line the way,

The wind whispers your name,

Freedom is finally

within grasp.

The crack in the door was less than an inch, less than a last bite, but I could see them from where I sat in the next room better than I could see the fingernail I ripped with my teeth and spit onto the frayed crying rug.

“Everything about being here is wrong,” played me, danced in me, but didn’t stick, because the front door was closer than they were and I stayed right where I was, forgetting how I arrived, unaware of the communal pulse beating under the peeling dying paint above us, watching.

Watching the rubber arm band as the puppet master tied it onto her prey. Tighter. Tight enough to do the job of a soldier hunting the enemy. Tighter than a virgin, unsuccessfully promoting fear as I heard the wounded bird say through the crack,

“Will the needle hurt?”

The answer didn’t come and when I witnessed her thin blond head roll back, eyes falling first, greedily, I wished I had run sooner, yesterday, and farther than the milky way, backing myself out the same front door, rewinding all of it on slo-mo, erasing the images of death.