Snapshots
These are not stories. They may be parts of stories, written or otherwise, or they may be simply moments frozen in streams of time that never were. Snapshots of people who never were doing things they never did. Their purpose? I don't know that they have one. Perhaps they will one day grow into full fledged stories. Or perhaps they just Are.
We have:
Some that could be just about anywhere.
Some that couldn't exist in popular belief about our world.
Some that are moments from stories I've already written.
You can also, of course, go back to the writing page,
Or all the way back to the main page.
The ones that could be from anywhere
Goodbye
A young girl lies upon a bed that seems too big for her. Her muscles are wasted with sickness, and her skin thin and transparent, showing the fine tracery of veins beneath. Colorless blond hair falls limply about her shoulders, and quivering on her lips is a hard won attempt at a comforting smile. One weak, delicate hand has been lifted to touch the faded, careworn cheek of a woman, old beyond her years, sitting beside the bed. Faded blue eyes full of grief and despair look down at the child's face, having difficulty seeing anything but the emerald eyes shining too brightly with fever, and a bow of green velvet in her hair.
The Dance
Bright blue eyes, sparkling with excitement, fair skin flushed with the exercise, the young woman stands posed at the end of the dance, one hand lying lightly atop that of the man beside her. She's sneaking a sideways glance up at the face, usually so stern, now relaxed and grinning down at her. He is older than she, black hair streaked with steel, but the cane leaning against teh wall is for fashion and effect, not from any infirmity, and he moved through the dance steps, long unused, with flair. He grins fondly down at the girl, eyes full of love and pleasure, silently complimenting her as within her eyes he sees the little girl of not so long ago.
Quiet Evening
A man sits on a couch, leaning lightly on its arm, eyes closed in contentment, jaw relaxed though marks about his mouth suggest it is unused to such relief. His head is tilted abck against the couch and his body slumped into its embrace. Red and gold light from a asmall open fireplace play across the planes of his face, highlighting first a firm chin, then a high cheekbone, then making jagged spikes of shadow shoot up across his cheek from his eyelashes. His right hand absently caresses the shoulders of a small dog curled up beside him, its head resting on his thigh.
Fall Day
A single bush of flaming red leaves stands defiantly amidst the more sober and dignified russets and bronzes of nearby flora. A single evergreen, arrow straight, is the only splash of green, and it appears more a tear than a splash, cutting up into the sky. The sky itself is gray and threatening with stormclouds racing hither and thither, and an occassional flash of lightning off in the distance. A single deer poses delicately, one small hoof up, gazing about cautiously, nostrils flared to catch every scent before moving forward.
Child's Play
The yard behind the shingled cottage is small, surrounded by a thick hedge. Its size seems to fit the people in it, though. A little boy sits in a small alcove in the hedge, curled up and looking out into the yard as he draws, sketchpad resting on his thigh. His face is dreamy, pale green eyes soft and gentle, thick black hair making him paler than he is. His hand holds his pen delicately, as he moves it lightly over his pad, catching in ink the play in the middle of the yard, where two children and a dog roughhouse, laughing helplessly as they run and leap and knock one another about.
Music Room
A girl sits at a harp, a look of concentration mixed equally with pleasure as her fingertips caress the strings, head cocked slightly to one side, listening. Her violet eyes open but unfocused and the same color as her beautiful velvet gown. Her posture is gracefully erect, and her black hair falls in soft curls about her shoulders. The harp itself is beautiful, carved of some golden wood that seems to glow from within, and strung with silver, sparkling as the light catches them.
The ones that come from a fantasy world
Fallen Knight
Battle surges in every direction, warriors sinking to their ankles in dirt turned mud by blood. In the mud, a man clad in silvery mail with a deep purple adn black tabbard, lies against the shoulder of a horse of dark steel gray. His face is young, clear of any sign of beard, and curly blond hair drapes coltishly into green eyes staring in blank surprise at nothing out of a good humored face, pale beneath its tan. One hand is on the gelding's neck, though the touch no longer comforts either. His other hand lies on his stomach, over a large red stain, now beginning to dry, that soaks his tunic and further moistens the ground around him.
The Journey
Twelve young men with hair in vibrant shades of blue and green and purple stride down a road of packed earth. Although they are grouped tightly together and dressed similarly, they show no sign of beign aware of one another. Each expression is abstract, unfocused or focused on something nobody else can see. Dense forest crowds the raod and an eerie stillness and silence covers all. Only the men themselves move, and they without noise. No weapons hang at their sides, yet they have nto the look of scholars. They move purposefully towards some unknown destination, each alone in the crowd.
The ones that come from already written stories
Dragon's Find
A dragon stands statue still, every scale shining metallic green with a hint of blue here and there in the light of dawn. He stands regally on three feet, neck up and arched to gaze down at the contents of his remaining hand-like claw, with its five fingers tipped in long claws harder than steel. The tiny scales of his face, smaller than a child's fingernail, ripple over powerful muscles as his jaw tightens and sapphire eyes narrow as he studies his find. Two beings that fit easily together in his paw. Two infant elves, covered in skin as black as night, waving their limbs randomly and gurgling cheerfully up at the surprised dragon in the friendliest way possible.