Every day, I bear the weight of others. Sometimes light and only at my centre. Sometimes it presses down with a darkness that makes me lose my balance. They move me as if I am an inconvenience, grinding my heels until they splinter. They constantly adorn me to suit their ever-changing ideas. They won’t let me leave, though. I am their prisoner. They will keep oppressing me until they have no use for me, and I will become embers before falling ash.
Inroducing Silly Writing Prompts full of silliness, curiousities and shenanigans.
Here’s the first one. Feel free to guess what it is.
Illumination all around, temperature rising, air blasting. Outside is quiet, and fresh. Trapped. Whirring noise assaults senses and batters hopes of freedom. Heat builds, intense like the sun. There is movement outside, yet no one comes. Alone. Burning.
Something crackles and spits. Silver shimmers and ripples in the stifling air. Scents wafted around, tinged with nature being scorched. Too hot, there is no escape. Chiming sounds from beyond the window and it opens wide. Yet it is too late.
Have fun guessing!!!
Welcome to my awesome imagination. Let’s see if my writing can express it. I’ll be sharing treats and teasers and tips. Don’t alliterate lists sound nice?
This site is full of my fantastical ideas, and my blog, Writing Ranting, is exactly what it sounds like. It’s me ranting about my thoughts on writing and sharing some of my short pieces. I’d love for you to join me on this amazing journey to becoming a published writer and maybe find something useful in what I say. I am by no means an expert, but I’m an avid reader, aspiring writer, a helpful (so I’ve been told) writing buddy, and a fantasist. It’s my opinion, and you are free to disagree.
At the time of starting this site, I am not published. I strongly believe that writing should be a creative process which can’t be rushed or controlled, otherwise it looses its sense of creativity. There’s always plenty of folk out there who like to read works in progress and watch them grow. I’m one of them, whether it’s my work or someone else’s.
As a performing arts and media student turned IT technician turned English ESL teacher in Spain, I’ve had a lot of experience with expression and languages. I love grammar and structures, but I also love playing around with it. So I’m strict in teaching it as a foreign language, but the moment I start writing fiction, all rules go out the window. Well… some of them. Rules are made to be broken, right?
Check out more from my Dreams of a Fantasist collection. This is silly and fun and based on something real that I’ve made fantastical because I see the fantastical in the most mundane things. Can you guess what it was based on?
In the wild, I am the huntress. I prowl the black and grey ways of the crystal jungle in search of my prey. Beasts and creatures of all sizes roll past me, but I hunt only one. The beast that is mechanical, for I crave its embrace, and if it devours me, I shall let it. A savage growl pricks at my ears, and I see it.
I stare at the glistening beast before me. It stares back with luminous eyes. Can it see me? Surely not. Yet its gaze bears into me, a feeling I cannot ignore. Its kin sit still and soundless around us in a rainbow of hides. But this one before me shines like strawberries in summer rain. I lick my lips at the deliciousness of it.
As I step closer, its eyes flare. An invitation perhaps? How could I refuse such and offer? I grin as it spreads a wing wide, letting me mount it.
Climbing on is as easy as slipping into a silk dress. Natural, comfortable, weightless. The warmth of its hide bleeds pleasure into me, and my grin widens at its magnificence. It shifts under me, letting me snuggle deep into its curves. It moulds around me in cushioned plushness. I would let the beast take me on any journey.
The need to touch it drives my fingers forward and over a loop that I know will guide the beast. Wary of its power, I touch it gentle. It’s soft purring sends tremors up and down my spine and legs. It awaits my command.
My toes curl before pressing down. A growl rumbles under me. Power fills every fibre of my being, binding us in mutual desire for freedom. I let go of the ties holding me to the ground, and my beast thrusts forward.
A gasp escapes me at the sheer force as we soar. Higher, higher. Faster, faster. I squeal with delight. I hold on tighter, leaning into its every movement. We shift and bend and entwine ourselves in this flight that has my words muted, yet a symphony of sounds flees from my lips. My beast growls again in a burst of triumph as we reach the crescendo that is our truest freedom.
The beast takes me faster and higher than I have ever known, yet I know it is fleeting. For wildness like this comes at a price. One I cannot afford. So I relish in our journey, breathe it in so as not to forget that scent of freedom. Maybe, just maybe, I could tame it. A folly thought.
We tire and descend back to solid ground where its kin await its return. The landing is soft, a bed of feathers to which we fall. Breathless, I stare at nothing in particular, content to rest in this tranquillity before I return to civilisation.
The beast slumbers, and I leave with a heavy heart. But the taste of it still lingers, the feel of it scars my memory, and the sound will forever echo.
Thanks to Elena Dudina for the feature image.