This piece has been written under the rules of visdare. I have added the prompt in quotes below from Writerish Ramblings for an extra challenge. This is also part 2 of a trilogy. Part 1 is here and part 3 is here.
If someone you didn’t like could suddenly read your mind, what kind of conversation would you be forced to have?
Warm bands enclosed her neck; eyes snapped wide in the dark. Eclipsing a full moon, her patient straddled her waist, towering above. Gone was vacant expression, and cringing subservience; instead there was an animistic snarl to his features, akin to that of a wounded animal. Through sheer willpower she forced herself to relax, instinctive understanding the need to act submissive. “You loath him; buying him like a mule for labour, why heal him?” She froze; this man knew. As she tensed so did his fingers round her neck. “It is not him I loath,” She replied, ungluing her tongue, “I loath what he has become.” His grip relaxed. “I see,” She observed, “You are the ‘demon’ that the slavers feared.”
“Demon? No. I am the survivor; he is but the shell.” With that strange remark, her patient returned to his bed; leaving her to quite contemplation.
Today’s project is a poem just to make a change. The photo prompt simply did not inspire a story. The Visdare challenge can be found here
Splash of paint upon canvas.
Imperfection. Start again.
Beauty of the model transcendent;
ethereal, surreal now reaffirmedly real.
The elusive muse.
Beckoning with her beauty.
Charming in her form.
In her cage, so inviting,
With hope she is confiding,
Despairing not in her devotion
To the love that gave her life.
Timeless, she waits
Ageless in her patience
Waiting for the dreamer.
Essence of purest love.
I’ve written this piece as part of Visdare 48. Original photo source here.
The pair huddled together in the ruined remains of a once beautiful house. Evidence of the disaster that had rocked world was littered around them. The very foundations of the house had be rent by the turbulent upheavals; lives of privilege now reduced to refuse scavenging. The girl shuffled to draw the dirty duvet closer, pressing into her male companion. “Do you think they’ll find us?” She asked, trembling. In response he drew her closer, resting his chin in her greasy hair. She flinched at the icy chill of his dog tags. After awhile he said, “I know where to be. It’s classified, but state secrets are meaningless now.” Venturing a hand into the icy chill she reached up to stroke his cheek; sensing a need for comfort. Of course, he would never tell her they were never coming. Tomorrow he would simply take her to the launch site.