Good morning, everyone!
It’s time for another writing prompt, chosen by you over on Twitter! 🙂 I know this is a few weeks overdue. Things got a little crazy for a while and then last week Monday this blog refused to let me in so I couldn’t do anything, but I’m going to catch up now 🙂 There’ll be another prompt poll on Twitter later today, too, so keep an eye out for that!
This week, the prompt you chose is…
Time to decide my next #writingprompt! 😊 My interpretation will be on my blog next week Monday 🙂
— Sarina Langer (@sarinalanger) February 27, 2017
Thank you to everyone who voted 🙂 As always, if the prompt speaks to you feel free to borrow it. If you publish your interpretation please link back here so I can be nosy ^-^
(m.; yew wood)
All around him the leaves rustled in warning. They are coming. They brought revenge. They wouldn’t see him. He would observe as his people were slaughtered until every corner of the settlement ran red with the blood of the last child.
He sat perfectly still as he waited. The forest around him – yew trees possessed by nature spirits – was ancient, and had accepted him into a role he hadn’t wanted. Trust us, their leaves had whispered. We will protect you. You will grow strong with us, their solid trunks had promised. He didn’t want to be safe. He wanted to be out there, trusting nothing but his own instincts and the people who had raised him, and die with them. But what the spirits demanded…
His grandmother had told him the trees were magic, come to the world from the beyond itself at the beginning of all things. These woods had always fascinated him, and had always calmed him when he had been angry, or upset. He had never doubted their magical properties, but he had also never dwelled on them.
They are here.
The branches drew closer around him, shielding him and rendering him invisible to the invaders outsiders.
The forest spirits had chosen him to survive. It was an honour. He shouldn’t have questioned their decision.
Hearing his loved ones cry out and beg for mercy wasn’t as simple as sitting still. He tried to stand and get a better look, to ingrain the faces of those who did this in his memory, but the branches twisted around him and held him in place. He struggled against them; for every inch he moved the trees dug deeper under his skin. His struggles stopped when the cries ended. It was over. Everyone he had known-
He could no longer move. The trees had rooted deep inside him, and drained the last of his will from his bones. He could feel them change his blood.
What have you done? he wondered. What am I to become?
Stronger. they whispered. Something new.
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All writing belongs to the author, Sarina Langer
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