One of the things I have enjoyed playing with is using my photographs and writing little fictions inspired by them right on the image in Photoshop. These aren’t technically flash fictions because to be honest I don’t know how long each bit is. But they are fun and a way to combine two of my hobbies. Emjoy
The long path through pale orange fog leads I do not know where. I walk this path for what seems like days but it never changes. The sun, or is it the moon, sits at the same place, each time I look. The trees bend over, barely touching yet impenetrable when I try to pass. How did I come here? Why did I come here? I am lost in a forest of mist and fog and know not why. Once I knew where I was going, knew who I was, but now I keep walking. Maybe when I reach the end of this path, I will know who I am. When will this forest end and life begin again?
Summer Solstice is just another day to most. Filled with lots of sunlight, warmth and good times. Pull out the barbecue and beer and enjoy the long hours of golden sunlight. Play in that light and soak up the heat, good times are here.
But not too long ago people remembered, people held ceremonies celebrating the day. For it is the turning point of the year. The shortest night of the longest day, meant to get so much living done. There are a few who burn the bonfire, the bone fire still. They burn for the turning, to remind the world that they year will grow darker now. Long ago the fires called us to you but now they simply light up the dark, for few know how to get our attention any longer.
Look closely and you will see my eyes in those fires. Watching and waiting for you to invite us out to play. The summer will be only so long, so go ahead and live those lazy days of play for soon enough you will need to work to stay warm.
With the last golden ray of silken sunshine the torch is thrust into the perfumed wood. You, oh wise one, ignored the others and brought with you fragrant boughs. You brought woods that are not common for this place, Oak and Ash and Thorn, just as the old songs call for. You peeked my curiosity with those pieces of wood and I slid into the fire to watch. I wanted to see if you would notice me, dancing about below in the hottest part of the flames, and you did.
He smoke tasted so good when you leaned in, adding resins to the coals left when the wood burned low. I danced a jig and for a moment you watched me. A simple yet joyful smile built in your eyes and you winked at me before turning to speak to the young being at your side.
You fed the fire the whole night through. Your friends sang songs and drank fine wine but you paid attention to the fire, keeping it hot and bright enough that I felt welcomed once more. Will you gift me once more? Give me a place to play? If you do I will keep your fires burning bright the whole yearlong. For I am Salamander and you have called me from my cold sleep.
The sunflowers drooped as the rain dripped down. The day was gray, overcast and sad, not anything like I had planned. I stood there, staring down, wondering where it all went wrong.
Yesterday she told me to meet her and to bring them with me. That she had something important to tell me, something that would change our lives forever. Well my life has changed, as has hers. Changed forever, in a split second.
She had been waiting for me, that is what they told me. Sitting on the hood of her car, basking in the early morning sunshine, when the truck came over the hill. They tell me the driver had a medical emergency, that there was nothing that could have stopped what happened, but that doesn’t make it any better.
Bending down, I place the sunflowers on that place where we should have met. At the side of the road by the mountain overlook. These flowers were meant for her, and so I leave them here, in her memory.
Standing below the skeleton tree I looked up at the golden glow coming from the window. It had been too long since I left her side, wandering the world in search of my destiny. So many miles of road beneath my feet, yet my path brought me back here, ending up in the place I had started.
It had been winter when I walked away, the world blanketed in soft white that reflected the glow from her window. She had sent me away, angry at my choices. I swore then I would never return. Spring had found me far away, yet my heart harked back to that window, longing curling in my belly for her sweet face.
I fought my way through summer, splashes of red staining the bright green that flowed across fields. Men and boys dying meant less to me than the home I could have had. The song of a single bird echoed with my memories of home.
Fall called me back, the dying of the colors bringing memories of times lost. Finally I came back to where I started, standing here working up the courage to climb those stairs and ask if I could come home.
When did we become something silly? Big heads and tiny bodies, made out of a ball and some yarn? Really now? Once we were poppets, used by witches to curse people. Then we were voodoo dolls, made to look like a person and take control of them. Now? Now we are cute little things, hanging on key chains or strings attached to book bags. I am so ashamed!
My great uncle ten times removed was used to take down a tyrant and my great great grandma was used to take down a slave owner. Me? Well I get used by a wannabe goth child to make her teacher sick enough to cancel a test. Really? A test! Life is so unfair! I wanted to be used for something great, something important, but no, I get used for a test. What happened to the good old days!