Go bird go

What about now?

 Watch for the riveting…

…hey! look at me…

Image sourced from Jackpot Hounds

I’m sure your all missing the riveting…

 Um… the wise old owl and… the big black crow…

… were flapping their wings singing… Go bird go…?

Image sourced from Fandango

Woah… hey…

 …don’t flick that switch just yet…

and don’t give me that look, I’m trying…!

Image Sourced from BuzzFeed

Oh… I see… a fence sitter…

There’s no place for sitters here…

…you’re either in or your out…

We’re in…

Image sourced from Pinterest

My Unknowing – inspired by Edgar Allen-Poe

A story inspired by Edgar Allen-Poe

Shaken and harrowed, I cup my hand across my eyes to blot out the quickly setting sun. Seated upon the earth, with no clear idea of what it was that I saw, I stand to right myself. My leg is bleeding from the wound inflicted by the backsword of a curved bladed Sabre, with a soft yellow leather wrap at its handle and silver etchings engraved into the steel. My blood soaks into the soft white sand. To fearful to return, I limp towards the open fields as fast as my legs can carry me, until I find the long winding pathway that brought me to such hell.

 

A little way back from the house, I notice a trail of my own blood ghosts my every step and so I pull the tail of my cotton shirt from my waistband, and tear off a tourniquet in an attempt to stem the flow.  As I tighten the knot of the bandage, a small whimper escapes with my breath and I lift my left hand to cover my mouth, whilst holding firm with my right to help compress my wound. Running my soft brown leather shoes across my trail I am attempting to dampen my scent.

 

The sun is almost set and looking back I take in the wild oak boards that drape about its foundations tensioning the pull on a shaky bed of spring grasses and foul scented leaves. Dappled sun light reflects from the dilapidated shingles held limply by centuries old oregon uprights and beams. The shallow dip at its entrance teeters in the soft winds and murmurs as it sways. The eerie sounds of whistling drafts echo through the once supportive sills. Slithers of gutters and skirting strips swing and fall from their nests as soft wood dowels lose their grip. Standing tall, clay fired bricks hold it all together.

 

As I purvey the site of my horror from a distance, I still cannot inform my rattled mind and pounding heart what it was that first induced me to enter such a dwelling. Brief memories slip into my thoughts and before I can evaluate their imagery, it is as if it is stolen from me. Each time I attempt to catch them, I understand that I do not have any hold over such things and I recognise that my minds eye might never reveal to me, what truth lays within my nightmares.

 

My Galley

As I make my way south I begin to hear the wild roar of the Atlantic and I am well pleased unto my very soul. Still shattered and wounded from events not of my control, I stagger through this strange and ghoulish landscape. The guiding light of the days sun has retreated beyond the horizon, but as luck would have, a full and clear moon has begun its rise. So near does it seem that I can identify Galileo’s ellipticity and the deep crevices of its craters. Generously it shines a path to the shores, highlighting the white of my Galley and the foam of the oceans wave nearing its  moor.

Galileo’s moon

 

My leg throbs intensely as its tourniquet drips as if dipped in the reddest oceans and begins its slide down along the length of my breeches. At last I break through the final obstacle to my liberty. Now in a clear land of small rounded stones like glass and bead, I haul my fading spirits into my conveyance. Still some measure from the waters edge, I lay within the Galley’s confines, feeling some sense of relief at my escape. As I watch the moons glow against a black sky, I fear that I did sleep, for as I woke, did I feel the toss and turn of the icy waters of the Atlantic beneath the Galley’s hull and yet my oar lays upon its shore.

 

Praying for calm seas, a fickle prayer indeed, I lay back down in a vain attempt to conceal myself from the oceans spray. Holding tight to its edges with hand and feet, a decided rocking built up its sway as the oceans waves grew. As if hours had passed, still I held tight as I conceded to myself that King Poseidon seems to have found me lacking. Rolling over waves, larger than I have witnessed, my Galley  rolled and braked, I fell into Poseidon’s sea. Struggling to grasp hold of the reed and skins which made up my Galley, I began to lower beneath the waves. Looking up along my descent, the waters appeared calmed as if they had been awaiting my arrival. I could see the wondrous rays of that nights moon sparkling down through the oceans

My Final Rest

embrace. I felt at peace when once I accepted my fate and loosed from my mortal coil, the bounds that had binded me.

 

I now lay upon the rippled white sands of Poseidon’s Kingdom, looking up into Galileo’s moon light, beneath the warring waves forever cursing the horrors that led to a life short lived, and a diary of tales now lost. I watch each passing vessel with the deep blues of an oceans depth and the milky haze of the moons final glow.