Mandu saw spirit life in everything around him. He’d been well trained in the way of his people. His people trusted his wisdom and the power brought to him by his ancestors.
When he recounted a dream, all listened aware his dreams foretold what was to be, “The blackness just enveloped me yet it was day.”
As the sun reached its highest point, an evil spirit was devouring it. Mandu’s people hid in fear.
Day became night. Mandu danced, his chanting and rhythmic movement hypnotic. As he reached crescendo, the sun began to reveal itself. Mandu had saved his people.
Mirrin thought to herself, “Nothing can go wrong.”
This was to be her first catwalk appearance. She felt confident. She was an expert at “the walk”.
Music started. A voice was heard. Movement, the sparkle of gowns and the twinkle of jewels as one after the other made their journey to applause from those watching.
Mirrin was ready. She was sleek and graceful as she started her walk on the catwalk.
Expecting to be cheered, she heard laughter. Mirrin ran off the stage.
How was she to know when humans said catwalk they had no thoughts of cats walking? Humans!
“Windows!” toddler screamed.
Mother thought Finn excited by his reflection but saw fear in his face. As Finn grew, he was often lost in thought when staring at the windows.
“Mumma…” Finn would say.
She knew what would come next, a haunting hint at what would be. He was always correct, sometimes frighteningly so.
Visions were weighing heavily on Finn. Counselling suggested smashing the windows. Finn’s mother acted.
Hearing smashing glass, Finn screamed, “NO, MUMMA!”
It was a vision often seen but never spoken. One day the windows would be smashed. Soon after tragedy would take his mother.
The end of day. I sit in comfort, the day nearly done.
Have I dozed?
Silence broken by a moment in time.
A cup of tea nearby, untouched.
Am I dreaming?
The interval seeming unnatural in length, an eternity of reflection.
Thoughts of long lives and loves lost.
Laughter and sadness, good times and bad…
Children and friends, the times we had.
Growing old together.
The pain of being alone.
Whenever I hear it, I think of you.
Much slower now.
Memories fade. Lights dim.
Sleep eternal with a life well spent.
“…tea, coffee, hot chocolate or…” words so often heard in my small café.
For some, it’s an excuse to take a break and think their thoughts. For others, talking with friends. Some want nothing more than a sympathetic ear. So it seemed with my regular morning customer, one coffee and a friendly ear.
Harry had lost his wife and missed their mornings’ coffees together. With his coffee, he shared his life, his children and grandchildren.
In time, he joined his wife. I missed our conversations.
Each morning, I placed a coffee on the counter with a small sign, “For Harry and the life he shared.”
Michael was a typical curious four year old. He had the wide-eyed amazement we all had at seeing something new. He was studying the way a toilet flushes.
“Where does the water go?”
“Down the drain,” I replied.
“…but where does the water go?”
I explained how water travels down the drain through pipes to a treatment works where it’s cleaned before being released into the sea.
“Won’t the sea fill up?”
“…then where does the water go?”
I explained the water cycle and how the water is used again and again.
His face screwed up at the thought, “We drink water from the toilet?”
My aplogies for being absent from the 100WCGU for the last three prompts.